Thanks, Playboy, for making me feel old.

I recently read or heard somewhere that you know you're getting old when you start noticing that the Playmates keep getting younger and younger. If that's the case, then I must be ancient, because I've been noticing for a while now.

Before I continue, yes, my husband has had a Playboy subscription for several years. No, I don't care if he's looking at pictures of airbrushed naked girls whom he will never meet and/or have a chance in hell of sleeping with. And yes, I do read the magazine and the stories it runs are usually pretty good stuff. So there.

Anyway, one of the habits I've gotten into each month is checking to see how old the Playmate is. Sad, I know, but I do it. And each year it just gets more depressing. I actually find my spirits lifting a bit on the rare occasion when the Playmate is 23 or (gasp!) 25. A few months ago I think they ran a 28-year-old. I was practically floating on air for a day.

But this month's Miss April should have been called Miss Awful, because that's how I felt when I saw her. As I casually flipped through the pages, I noticed she was born in 1990. I realize that makes her 21, but still ...

... 1990! I remember that year!

I was 7. It was the year one of my mom's horses was born. That's my most vivid memory because I loved horses, and I woke up one sunshiney day and heard the dogs barking and I looked out my window and boom, there was a new baby horse in our pasture, and I was the first person in our house to notice. But other big things happened, too. One of my many little cousins was born that year, and many more were born in the years after that.

I guess seeing someone of their age taking her clothes off for a magazine is vaguely disturbing to me. Doesn't seem that long ago that they were running around in diapers ... or that I was running outside to greet that baby horse.

The weird thing is, I'm still young. Twenty-seven, by most adult standards, is a far cry from being "old," and I'm really not much older than the girl in the magazine. So why am I suddenly feeling like a dinosaur? Could it be the increasing disconnect I feel toward everything that is "young and hip" by today's standards? Have I reached that age where my brain has become stuck in a certain generational time warp, never to evolve further? (Side note: I still don't have a Twitter account or smartphone. Take that, Generation Tech!)

Whatever it is, one thing's for sure: I've got a lot of life left to live. I might not be young and modern anymore, but these days "older and wiser" isn't looking so bad.

Let's stop being nice. Really.

The older I get, the more I realize that I'm just not a nice person. Some might say I'm straightforward. Others might call me abrasive. Most people who know me well just call me a bitch.

It's not that I can't be tactful or carry on with social niceties. I can, and I have. I just don't care for it. Being "nice" all the time is exhausting. Because being nice these days doesn't involve just being a likable person. Being nice has since devolved into simply being non-offensive or politically correct.

Seems like it doesn't matter these days if you lie your face off, or if you never say anything substantial, as long as you don't hurt anyone's feelings. To all of you who fall into this category and try to be non-offensive all the time, I just want you to know, having a conversation with you is absolutely maddening.

There once was a time -- not that long ago, really -- when honesty and straightforwardness were commendable qualities. Nowadays, they make you an asshole. Too many people end up getting their feelings hurt. But I say, if you don't want my opinion, don't ask. (Yes, I've learned the value of keeping my mouth shut.)

Here's the thing. I really don't care much anymore if people think I'm nice. It's not that I'm deliberately mean to people (well, not unless you deserve it). I'm just honest and I don't like to sugar-coat things. I'd rather just say what I think instead of dancing around a topic, worrying about whether what I say will offend someone. And I know there are plenty of people out there like me, but sometimes I suspect I'm part of a dying breed.

My approach to conversation doesn't always make people feel good. It doesn't always make me friends. But the friends I have made will always know where I stand.

Editing for farmers: A love story

For the past few months, as many of you know, I've been freelance editing with a national agriculture magazine. It's been fun, but also an interesting change of pace from the newspaper world I'm used to.

At first, I wasn't sure how well I would adjust. While there's usually enough work to keep me pretty busy, the magazine office seems ... slower. More relaxed. There are deadline pressures, but it's nothing like the frantic last-minute drive I experienced in the newsroom, where there was almost always breaking news to cover and a nightly deadline looming over my head. The magazine office is organized; the newsroom was organized chaos. You get the picture.

So I was a little worried at first that I would get bored or annoyed working in a quieter space at a quieter pace. However, I soon found that there were other things to enjoy about the magazine's culture, and while I loved the newsroom, I LOVE what I'm doing now.

It took me a while to figure it out, but I've finally come up with the reasons why I love my job so much: 

1. The people. And I'm not just talking about the people I work with, though they're all nice, down-to-earth people who place a high value on family and tradition. I love the contributing writers and the readers, too. These people are farmers, and a far cry from the stereotypical manure-shoveling, hayseed-chewing country bumpkin a lot of people associate with the word. They are proud, no-frills businessmen and women, and savvy ones, too. After dealing with newspaper readers for several years (i.e. the general public), serving such a readership is pretty darn refreshing to me.
2. The topics. As an editor, it's pretty easy to get burned out on reading the same old stuff day after day. But the stories I edit are almost always interesting to me on some level. I get a nice variety of science, marketing, technology, mechanics, economics, politics and plain-old-family-feel-good stuff. I'm always learning something new, and I'm guessing our readers are, too. And best of all, I haven't had to edit a single story about some meth head throwing a baby off a bridge. (Is it really any wonder I have no faith in society?)
3. I'm nationwide. People across the country are reading the stories I've edited. Readers nationwide are "seeing" my work. And I get formal credit for it, to boot. Take that, local news.

When I first started into journalism, I remember thinking how cool it would be if I someday reported for some big, important magazine like National Geographic. Well, the work I do now isn't as flashy as that, but I think it's probably more important. Editing for an ag magazine might not sound that exciting, but it's still pretty cool to me.

Changes in the weather

I am writing this during a blizzard. But not just any blizzard; a Missouri blizzard. For those of you who have never experienced snow in Missouri, it's quite a trip. It typically goes something like this:

1. A forecast is given for snow. People get nervous.

2. If the forecast is calling for more than 2 inches of snow, people get really nervous.

3. Those nervous people go to the grocery stores (gotta get bread and milk) and the post office. The forecast "on the street" has suddenly changed to 8 inches of snow with -20 degree wind chills and possible ice.

4. It snows. We get half an inch of accumulation.

Now, this is the typical scenario. What's going on outside right now is a different story. We are actually having a legitimate blizzard, although I really don't think it's going to be as bad as the forecast. We're supposed to get 18-24 inches of snow. I think it will be more like a foot.

But boy, has this weather caused some excitement down here. Grocery stores were practically ransacked. Businesses, schools, even garbage pickups and doctors offices, have shut down. Heck, I've hardly seen a snowplow go by my house. People are freaked out.

That's the thing I've noticed the most since I've moved here. People in different regions handle the weather so much differently. Out here, snow is a monumental event. They don't get that much of it, so they aren't prepared for it. Where I come from in Pennsylvania, everyone is used to snow. And they should be. It snows about 7 months out of the year there. Yes, they complain about the snow, but it's just normal, everyday griping.

Summers are much different. Missourians gripe about the summer heat the way Pennsylvanians gripe about snow. In Missouri, it's not unusual to have weeks of the highs inching up to 100 and the lows a "balmy" 90 degrees. Hence, my lack of sympathy when I hear people in Pennsylvania complain about having a weekend or two of 90-degree heat. If Pennsylvanians had to deal with Missouri heat for a week, they'd all think the world was ending.

But regardless of whether it's snow or heat, I've found that since I've moved I have very little patience for people who complain about the weather. Personally, I like how the weather changes, from day to day and region to region, and I enjoy getting a taste of the unexpected. Moreover, what's the point in complaining? Is the weather really making your life that miserable? If it is, then perhaps you should move.

The weather is one of those things in life that we just can't change. Why complain about it? I'd much rather spend my energy on things I can actually do something about.

7 reasons why everyone should try canning (at least once)

"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are." -- Theodore Roosevelt

I saw this quote in a magazine the other day, and was reminded that one of the hardest parts about moving to Missouri was getting used to living in town. My husband and I both grew up in the country, both of us at least a 30-minute drive from any kind of shopping center, and so suddenly living right on Main Street, even in a small town, was a bit of a trial for us.

So what was our solution? Did we change our mindset, get involved in the community and become "townies" so to speak? No, although I briefly considered it. Instead, we came to terms with where we live by pretending we still live in the country.

This doesn't mean that my husband steps out on the back porch in his underwear or that we have a tractor parked in our driveway. Instead, we've brought our country lifestyle to town in smaller, less noticeable ways. Mainly, we live the country life through our food.

For my husband, that means hunting and fishing regularly, and keeping our freezer stocked with fresh meat. For me, that means taking advantage of the longer growing season here and keeping our pantry stocked with jars of garden-fresh goodies.

I can easily thank my parents for my canning obsession. As far back as I can remember, I had to take part in the growing and storing of our family's food, and though it seemed like a chore at the time, being able to crack into a jar of golden, brandied peaches or homemade spiced gooseberry jam in the dead of winter was all the reward I needed.

Now, food preservation has pretty much become a hobby for me, and I firmly believe everyone should at least give it a try. Here's why:

1. It gives you a more solid understanding of how food is "made." You've probably already anticipated this argument, or even heard it before. But in today's food culture, there's a sort of obsession with understanding where food comes from and how it's processed. Instead of just reading or hearing about it, why not do it yourself?
2. It's not that hard. Really. Some books and websites make it sound a lot more tedious than it is. Basically, just make sure your jars, utensils and workspace are clean, and make sure you follow the instructions on the recipe. Once you get the hang of it, you'll figure out where you can cut corners.
3. It's old-fashioned. Home-canned food is what our grandparents and great-grandparents lived off of. Embrace the nostalgia.
4. It's not that time-consuming. Well, okay, it can be. The key is to do it in steps if you can. For example, if you're making something like salsa, cook it up one day; reheat it and process the jars the next. Many canning recipes can be broken up like this. Of course there are some things that should be done and processed the same day, but really, what's one Saturday?
5. You have full control over your food. Thus, it's generally tastier than store-bought, and often better for you since you don't have all the preservatives in it.
6. You will gain a new sense of independence. Knowing that you have a skill that makes you more self-reliant is a beautiful thing. And the idea of not having to depend on the store for everything is kind of nice, isn't it?
7. It's not that hard. Really, I mean it.

And for all you newbies out there, don't worry, there are plenty of easy recipes you can try. I recommend starting off making something like applesauce or salsa. Intrigued? Here's a great place to get started.

Veteran canners, do you have a favorite recipe or technique? I'd love to hear it. Please share by posting your comments below.

A master's in ... motherhood?

A friend of mine posted something on Facebook the other day that really struck a chord with me. To paraphrase a bit, she said she was very annoyed that people kept asking her why she bothered getting a master's degree when she planned on staying home with her kids. When I read her post, my heart actually went out to her. I've dealt with those types of people and fielded those questions and, as trivial as it might seem, it can be rather infuriating after a while.

Before I go further, I should clarify myself: I understand that there are many reasons why parents put their kids in daycare, and that in some households, for financial reasons both parents do need to work. And I'm certainly not implying that women should just stay home and make babies. I sure as hell didn't go through seven years of schooling and earn three degrees because I think women are the inferior gender.

That said, in today's world there seems to be this notion that all smart women should go to college, have careers, and maintain said careers no matter what. If kids happen to enter the picture, big deal. You shouldn't have to give up your job. (Because a man wouldn't. Never, ever. Those penis-wielding jerks.) That's what daycares and nannies are for. Just pay someone else to deal with your kids so you can continue achieving and show all those men out there how smart and capable you are. You are woman. Roar.

This mentality implies that the women (and men) who choose to stay at home with their children full-time must be uneducated, lazy or simply too dense to handle a career. Because we all know that the only things housewives do are 1) eat bon-bons, 2) watch Oprah, and 3) the gardener.

Right? No? Well, that's awkward.

So why is it so absurd for a woman to want to be educated and knowledgeable and able to stand on her own two feet in the working world, but at the same time be happy to trade in that day job for a full-time position as "mom"?

Being a stay-at-home parent is an incredible challenge. What better job for an educated woman?

Let's think of what "being educated" entails. When most people think of a college graduate, they probably think of the smart, successful, career-driven go-getter. You can spin it any way you want, but let's face it: to really be that person you have to be a bit selfish. You're focusing on you, after all.

But there's another part of a college education, and that is learning to be a tolerant, humble and selfless member of society. That's why there are so many programs and clubs geared toward humanitarian efforts. To me, there are few acts as selfless as putting all of your accomplishments and dreams on hold in order to make sure your child lives up to his or her full potential.

Anyone who has children knows that parenting is a job that requires the utmost devotion, patience, love and tolerance. It is a job that requires you to become both teacher and learner. You must embrace imperfection and incompetence. It is one of the most stressful and demanding jobs you could have, and recognition and thank-yous are often hard to come by. You live off of the satisfaction of knowing you've done the best you can ... and sometimes, a little Jack Daniels helps.

(Gee. This is starting to sound a hell of a lot like grad school.)

My friend doesn't have kids of her own just yet, but when she does, I know she will embrace all of these challenges with ease. Perhaps earning her master's degree has helped develop some of the patience, dedication and teaching skills she will use. Or maybe her degree will serve as an example to her children that no matter what you choose to do with your life, education is important.

All I know is that when she does become a mother, career or no career, this sharp, accomplished young woman will still have every right to hold her head high.

Kid comparison

My son went to the doctor the other day. It was nothing big, a check-up and some routine shots.

What intrigued me was what my husband reported when the two of them returned home (that's right, I have an awesome husband who is willing to do that kind of stuff). He must have spent 30 minutes relaying to me other people's reactions to our son.

Let me clarify. Gus doesn't really see other little kids that much. Well, hardly at all, really. He doesn't go to daycare and we don't know many people with children his age. But at only a year old (actually, 15 months, but I try to avoid being one of those annoying moms who counts in months), I don't see a big need to get my son out and "socialized." He gets plenty of interaction with his dad and me. And the neighbors. And the dog. We'll worry about other kids when he gets older.

That said, my son did get hit on by an older girl at the doctor's office. Another toddler kept walking up to him, trying to hand him a book and repeatedly saying "hi." She was small; she barely came up to my son's nose. Gus wasn't sure what to do. He knows how to say a few words, but "hi" is not one of them.

The girl's mother and grandmother kept staring at my silent son like he had some kind of disorder. My husband started making small talk with them, and soon they asked, "So how old is your son?" 

"Fifteen months," my husband replied. The women exchanged looks of disbelief. Their little girl was 2.

It happened again in the patient room. The nurse asked my husband some routine questions:

"Is your son talking yet?" 

Yes, a few words.

The nurse is pleased.
 

"What kinds of foods is he eating?" 

Oh, just about everything we eat. He really likes bananas, yogurt, meatloaf ...

The nurse is impressed.

"Does he do patty cake?"
No.
A look of vague concern.

"Does he know any body parts?"
Um, not really.
More vague concern.

"Wow, he's really strong!" It took two nurses to pin him down to give him his shots.
My husband explained that Gus regularly plays tug-of-war with the dog.

Upon hearing all this, at first, I got a little indignant with the doctor. Patty cake? Provided I could get Gus to sit still long enough to learn it, why on earth would I teach my little boy a girlie game like patty cake? And body parts? At 15 months? Really?

Of course, I realize doctors have to have some standard of the "average" kid, or else they would never be able to tell if a child was developmentally challenged in some way. But of course, as a mother the talons tend to come out when someone implies that your kid isn't perfect.

I also realized that I was kind of smug when Sam was telling me about Gus' little girlfriend. I kept thinking, "Wow, our son is so ahead of the game. Those ladies were impressed." But it's not like their child was stunted somehow.

Why do we always have to compare our kids to other kids? All parents do it. It's natural. But it's so easy to get caught up in comparing, and worrying about whether our kid fits the status quo, that sometimes we forget to notice what makes our child so special.

"Should my son be doing patty cake?" I wondered. "Should he know body parts? Why can't I get him to wave or clap?"

But it's occurred to me that maybe he just doesn't care about doing those things. Instead, he'd rather learn how to turn the pages of a book. Or walk backwards and sideways. Or climb up and down on the couch. Or discover new ways of harassing the dog.

He is interested in what Mom and Dad are doing. He loves trying new foods. He is devoted to figuring out how things work, and is always on the move. He has his own skills, his own personality.

He's my son, and I'm glad he's breaking the standard.