It’s Super Bowl time and for some people I know, that’s exciting. For me it’s just a day without the husband.

I’ve never been much of a sports nut. Aside from watching some of the Olympics and the occasional hockey game, there isn’t a sport I’ll even watch on TV. But if I had to pick just one, the sport I’d be least likely to watch is football.

It’s not that I don’t like the look of it, some of those uniforms are awfully cute. And it’s not like I don’t like the hype, I love seeing how excited people get. But personally, I can’t stand to watch one minute of the game itself. 

“You’d like it if you understood better,” my friend said, eager to explain all the rules. But that’s just it: I don’t want to understand better. I know that touchdowns are like scoring goals and that’s all I need to know.

“How do you know you don’t like something if you won’t even give it a try?” my friend persisted. I don’t know. I just have no interest in liking it and the only thing that could get me interested is if my son started playing. 

And I guess that’s why so many women I know have become football fans: because of their kids.

“No,” one pal disagreed. “That had nothing to do with it. I started watching it when Dave and I were dating and I’ve been watching it ever since.”

“And you like it?” I asked. “For real?”

“Yes! I love it!” she said. “I’d even watch it by myself.” Okay, now that’s just weird.

“You said you liked hockey when I met you,” my husband reminded me.

“I do,” I confirmed. “As long as it’s playoff hockey. And the Canucks are playing. And there’s only a handful of games left.”

But from what I’ve observed, he hasn’t minded watching the big sporting events without me. After all, they provide a great excuse to connect with his bro-friends over beer, snacks and a whole lot of camaraderie.

It’s entertaining to watch these grown men transform into excited little kids as they prepare for whatever event they’re about to watch.

And in the case of my husband, he also gets domestic.

“Taste this,” he says cheerfully, stuffing a crab cake into my mouth. “Is it too fishy?”

“Too fishy for what?” I asked.

“For the Super Bowl game on Sunday,” he said. “You didn’t forget about the party did you? I told you about it a month ago.”

No, I didn’t forget about his Super Bowl party. And I didn’t forget about another opportunity to see him as the little boy he once was. For as much as I’m not into the game, I do like to see him having fun with his friends.

And this year I’m actually going to watch a little of the game myself. Okay, not the game exactly: the half-time show with Madonna. Now that’s an event I can get excited about. 

To watch the video that accompanies this column please click below:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_EBSjei7sA

About five years ago one of my business associates told me that he spent at least an hour a day watching YouTube. At the time I had no idea what in the heck he was talking about and wasn’t the least bit curious to check it out. These days, I’m regularly posting videos of my own.

It wasn’t the path I planned to take when I started writing this column, but once I began sharing my written stories, I felt compelled to do it visually as well, especially since there’s such a large number of people who prefer watching to reading. And, as it turns out, the process is very similar to writing, it’s just done with a much more expensive pen.

The people reading my column in the newspaper are often not the same ones who are watching my videos on TV or online, and some might wonder what a viral video even is. Not everyone has access to the Internet or has any interest in it at all. If this includes you, you may be tempted to abandon reading this article right about now.

But if you’d like to learn what a viral video is and how it becomes that way, I can explain. Sort of. A viral video is one that becomes extremely popular through the process of Internet sharing. How it gets to that level, I have no idea.

My video this week has fun with some of the wildly successful clips out there, but it doesn’t explain how one particular production stands out like a brilliant star and gets passed around the world, while another one of equal or better quality does not.  That remains a mystery.

“It’s like winning the lottery,” one of my friends said referring to the likelihood of any video going viral. With 48 hours of footage being uploaded onto YouTube every hour, I think he’s quite right. It’s like being a needle in a haystack that never stops growing.

But, still, a girl can dream.

“You just need to get a baby laughing hysterically and you might have half a chance,” another friend advised. Good idea. Those little people are contagious and can result in huge payouts to the parents who film them.

My social savvy friend suggested that I “play the game” and claims there’s a real science to it. Another good idea. I almost paid a social media guru a ton of money in the hopes of increasing my numbers, but I couldn’t come up with the funds to do so.

I’m not saying I won’t when the timing’s right, as it could be an incredibly smart investment, but at this point paying someone to play the game and get me more hits just isn’t my focus. And neither is creating short videos that will appeal to the masses. Yes, I want people to read and watch my work, but my hope is that it will grow organically with added media broadcasts and more people sharing it on social media and email.

I’m so grateful to Shaw TV Okanagan and all the newspapers and websites that do showcase my work. If I never register on the YouTube radar and none of my videos ever goes viral, I’m okay with that. But having one of them get the measles or chickenpox would be nice. Does anyone have a baby I could borrow?

To watch my video that goes with this column please click below:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=BNvnhKkObqU

Like many men I know, my husband has no problem with lying on the couch for hours on end watching television. He’s not watching shows that hold any interest for me, mind you. He watches the stuff that would put me to sleep within seconds.

He can’t wait to see what’s been contained in abandoned storage lockers. He watches in anticipation to find out how much a grandmother’s antique goblet might be worth.  And he learns about things as random as how a decorative sombrero is made. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t even know television programs like this existed.

He’ll also watch just about any sporting event there is, including poker, curling and golf.

He’s what you would call a couch potato. He might argue that he’s no such thing since he works hard all day, then comes home and works hard here too. But from the time the kids are asleep until the time he goes to bed himself, he is, more often than not, a couch potato.

It might bother me, except that I have a label of my own that is even more accurate than his: I am a mouse potato.

I’m not able to watch TV for long periods of time, but I have no problem sitting still in front of a computer.  I’m usually on and off to varying degrees from morning until night, so while he’s channel-surfing in the living room, I retire to my home office to work some more. 

Okay, maybe everything I’m doing doesn’t look exactly like work and might even appear to look leisurely to the untrained eye. But the beauty of what I do is that I can easily explain away e-mail, Facebook, Twitter and YouTube as being a necessary part of my job.

“My mom fools around for a living,” my eight year old daughter has informed people. I’ve requested a rewording of this description, but it seems to work for her.

“Couldn’t you just say I’m a writer?” I asked.

“But you do silly videos too,” she replied. “And you have fun.”

She has a point. I do. And being a mouse potato is part of that fun. But too much time in front of the computer is like too much time in front of the TV. It’s just too much.

So I’ve started to set a timer and talk to myself.

Okay, from 9-10 am, I tell myself, I’m going to sit still and start writing my column. After that I’m going to get up and visit the fridge again. I mean, I’m going to go downstairs and work out for an hour.   

If I don’t break up the day and schedule my time I can easily sit at the computer for hours on end, often getting less accomplished than if I had compartmentalized my time and alternated between stationary, physical and social activities.  

As for TV, I’ve been trying to slate a little of that in too. It’s easy to justify the insanity of keeping up with the Kardashians if I’m running on a treadmill while I do it.

To watch the silly video that accompanies this column please click below:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHNGQdEsTjY

If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, is the way to a woman’s heart through her feet? In my case, the answer is a resounding yes.

I love getting a foot massage, and if I were a princess living in a castle with servants at my beck and call, I’d have one every day for hours on end while relaxing with a wonderful book.

Unfortunately I’m not a princess and I don’t live in a castle. I’m a middle-aged gal living in a messy ‘70s house with a husband, a son, a daughter and two dogs - none of whom will endlessly rub my feet.

It’s not as though massages never happen in my house; they do. My daughter or I will often ask my husband for a massage while we’re watching TV. Because she has more free time, my daughter is usually the recipient.

My life is so busy that I don’t even give myself a pedicure before going for reflexology.  Are you wondering what reflexology is? Okay, it’s the touching of feet, if you must know. But it’s also a healing procedure.

I discovered it a few years ago when my friend and neighbour would come over to my house to give me a treatment. The theory is that all parts of the body are connected to the bottom of the feet, so tension and ailments within us can be improved through a strategic foot massage by a registered practitioner.

I didn’t have any ailments to complain about, but I had all sorts of stress that seemed to soften after having my feet in her hands. I also was able to engage in some social interaction with my friend and saw that as valuable time spent. But because of my hectic schedule I only had a few sessions with Karen before she switched to a different profession.  

And then, as fate would have it, another one of my friends switched professions as well - to reflexology.

I like to believe that everything happens for a reason and the reason my friend Kim Girard went to school to become a registered practitioner in reflexology was so I would resume getting my feet touched and be forced to get pedicures so they would look pretty enough to deserve her treatment.

“Your feet are fine,” Kim said when I shared my regret over not filing down the callouses and polishing my nails before my first appointment with her. “I’ve seen worse.”

True or not, I felt better after she said that, but I vowed to have a pedicure before visiting her at Sole Reflection Reflexology the next time. And I did. And I felt better.

Preparing my feet before seeing Kim is similar to tidying my house and putting everything away before the housecleaner arrives. Not that I actually have a housecleaner. But if I were a princess in a castle I would for sure.

To watch the video that goes along with this column please click below: 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=0MKgnuuWquk

My eight year old daughter did something recently that I’ve never done in my life: she sang all alone on stage.

Over the years there’s been the rare occasion I’ve been too intoxicated to fend off friends who dragged me up to sing karaoke or mortify some local band by joining in. But never have I deliberately walked out to sing a real song in front of a real audience all by myself, like Daisy did. If I ever had the inclination to do so, I can’t imagine I’d even have the strength.

Singing is hard work. When I’m belting out lyrics from the comfort of my little orange Beetle I feel like the wind’s been knocked out of me before I even hit the chorus if I’m trying to sing in-tune. Should I just crank up the volume of the stereo to cover up the fact that I’m way off-key? Yep, that helps. I sound terrific then.  

I’ve heard that public speaking is the number one fear for a lot of people, but I’m guessing that if I took a poll, most people would rather do that than sing in public. And anyone who wouldn’t must have better pipes than me.

My daughter certainly does.

She’s been singing since she was a toddler. She often falls asleep with headphones on singing away to Miley Cyrus, Fergie or LMFAO, so when I suggested she take singing lessons to accompany her guitar lessons I thought she’d be all over it. She wasn’t.

“But, Mama,” she protested. “I don’t want anyone to hear me.”

After I explained that only Terilyn Spooner, her guitar teacher, would be hearing her, she agreed. Neither of us had any idea that only two short months later she’d be singing solo in a Christmas concert. I didn’t even know until that very night because she had kept it her own fearful secret.

When Daisy walked out on the stage by herself she looked really nervous. The music started and she softly sang into the microphone looking out at the crowd, and then she promptly forgot the words and froze like a deer in the headlights. Terilyn stopped the music and asked if she wanted to start over. I wasn’t sure how she’d react, but she started singing again and finished the entire song.

She didn’t belt it out like she would have done at home, and she didn’t dance around like she normally would either. She stood still, arms crossed, looking terrified and quietly singing. As soon as the song ended she bolted across the stage and down the stairs to take a seat in the audience, only to be called back up 10 minutes later to sing the duet that I did know about. 

Later she cried from a pounding headache and an aching tummy. But after a good talk she seemed to appreciate her wonderful accomplishment.

She faced her fear and she conquered it. And in the process she did something her parents and big brother have never had the courage to do: she sang on stage all alone in front of an audience. She now knows that if she can do that, she can accomplish anything she sets her mind to. 

To watch the video that accompanies this column please click below:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iw2pu3gXT_U

Staring at a blank page before typing the first word for my column this week reminded me of what I love about New Years: a clean slate and a fresh start.

Okay, so the slate of life can’t be completely clean when we begin a new year, I know that. But it can be tidied up so the fresh start is stronger.   

That’s where the beauty of resolution lists come in.  They help un-clutter our minds from all the things we want to do and organize them accordingly. Yet this is where ugliness can also occur when we fail with our lists, even those with only one thing on it.

I just filmed a parody about New Years resolutions where I dole out silly advice on how to keep them, but ironically, I take this time of year very seriously. My addiction to setting goals and trying to improve has me doing what most people want to do: get rid of my bad addictions and habits that are holding me back. But what’s going to happen if I don’t?

Our propensity as a society is to grumble about the pressures of New Years resolutions and surrender to the belief that we usually fail so why bother with them at all. Of course the alternative to that is to remember that it’s not perfection that delivers our dreams, it’s persistence.

So you’ve started smoking again or you’ve gone off your diet already – so what? Falling off the wagon is just part of life. Get up, dust yourself off and jump back on again.

Can you tell I’m writing this article more for me than for you? I should paint “Get back on the wagon” with a few exclamation marks on my wall to remind myself just how important that is.

Last spring I had the word “perseverance” tattooed on my forearm. I look at it often and it reminds me to keep going and stay the course. It also reminds me to pick a nicer font with a thinner needle and double check the spelling the next time I decide to mark my body with permanent ink.  

2011 was a tough year for a lot of people I know, myself included. That old saying that we learn more from our failures than our successes has me believing I’m far wiser than I once was. But I’m ready to learn less and succeed more in the year 2012 and I wish that for all of you as well.

The other thing I was sadly reminded of this past year is how precious life is and how short it can be  - another reason not to beat ourselves up for failing to be perfect.

A quote I have displayed in my office says this: “Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.” Add in there: “and have fun while you do” and it’s the perfect quote.

Happy New Year and good luck with whatever goals you set and remember that our fresh starts can start at any moment we choose. As long as we’re living, there are no limits to how many times we can re-set our fresh start button.

To watch my parody on resolutions please click below: 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=8rcrt2vI1BQ

I never wondered how Boxing Day got its name until this year, when one of my kids asked me. Naturally, I had no idea. So, as I always do whenever I need to look up information, I turned to Google. 

Turns out there are a few different theories as to the exact origin. One is that in England during the Middle Ages, servants who worked on Christmas Day were given the next day off and presented with gift boxes from their employers. 

Another theory is that boxes were placed in churches to collect money for the poor and then distributed to them on December 26th. 

But a lot of people I know seem to think the day after Christmas got it’s name because that’s the day we box up and put away all our Christmas presents and decorations. I can’t picture anyone doing that. I’m lucky if I get everything put away before New Years. 

My kids thought the sport of boxing had something to do with it’s naming, and no wonder they did with all the boxing gloves used for ads in flyers and on TV. I remember these boxing images being used in advertisements even when I was a kid, when I would wonder not about the gloves, but about the reason there would be such a big sale after Christmas rather than before. 

Even as a child, long before I was actually buying presents for others, I’d question the logic of such silly timing and suggested that our family have Christmas on December 27th . My hope was that my parents would be able to afford to buy us more presents with all the door-busting deals that were offered. 

But my suggestion was never taken and we continued to celebrate Christmas on December 25th. I can’t recall ever shopping the next day, not even when I became old enough to make my own decisions. December 26th was, and still is, a second day of Christmas for us as we celebrate it with friends and extended family. 

Caring little about Christmas gifts at this point in my life, I joke to my husband that whatever he gets me, I’m going to return to the store the next day in an effort to keep him from buying me much. If I were smarter I would have refrained from purchasing a punching bag this past summer, allowing him to put it under the tree for me on Christmas Day, along with a pair of boxing gloves. That could have been a fun gift to play with on Boxing Day itself. 

Hey, now there’s an idea. There’s no doubt I’ll have an excess of calories to work off from the holiday season and it would be fun to give the day a big boxing theme. We could watch Rocky, the Champ or Million Dollar Baby and create a new tradition for our family that completely revolves around boxing. 

My family doesn’t always agree with my grand ideas, but this one is sure to be a contender. 

For my Boxing Day parody please click below:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3zAE9vf_MI

Years ago, as a typical little kid with a toothless grin, I remember the song my friends and I sang with great delight in class: “All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth.” I thought it was written just for us.

Years later, it’s interesting to see what other memories have stuck with me. I recall being acutely aware that Santa knew when I was bad or good and that I should be good for goodness sake. And I was good, exceptionally good. Until I wasn’t.

When I was bad I imagined him watching me in his crystal ball. You know – the same one the Wicked Witch used in The Wizard of Oz to keep tabs on Dorothy and her trio. Except Santa wouldn’t be cackling, scary and green, he’d be ho-ho-ho-ing, jolly and red.

Why would I be comparing Santa Claus with the Wicked Witch of the East? Perhaps because The Wizard of Oz was my favourite movie and the only time I ever saw it was at Christmas when it was on TV. This was well before the days of video machines and DVD players, so watching it once a year became a cherished annual tradition.

If you think connecting Santa Claus and the Wicked Witch is odd, get this: I was convinced that Father Christmas and God were best friends, or what my daughter would now call BFFs. I feared that if one missed out on my bad behaviour, the other would surely notice and tell his pal. Maybe even over a glass of milk and cookies.

In thinking about what was going through my young, impressionable and narcissistic mind way back when, I wondered what young children were thinking about now, and what thoughts they had about Santa. I was also curious what they might ask him if he showed up in their classroom one day.

So my 11-year-old son and I asked his school principal if we could bring in Santa Tom, a professional Santa Claus, to surprise the Kindergarten kids and invite them to ask him questions on camera. I have no idea what I would have asked him when I was that age, but I’m guessing that much like some of these kids, I would have been far too shy to say anything to him at all.

Yet many others weren’t shy and had some interesting questions for him, ones that had little or nothing to do with presents. Getting a glimpse of Santa through the eyes of these children was a fun experience and not unlike what I go through with my own kids.

To Sam and Daisy, Christmas is the most magical time of year and everything about it is fun - Santa included.

“If you don’t believe in Santa he won’t bring you presents,” I overheard my son counselling his eight year old sister last December.

“Why wouldn’t I believe in him?” she asked with surprise.

“Oh, um, you know,” he replied. “Some kids just don’t for some reason.”

“Well that’s dumb,” she said dismissively.

Fast forward to this year as they embark on another magical Christmas season enjoying traditions and creating memories they’ll likely confuse with other recollections as I have done.

In the meantime, they’ll be doing their best to stay on Santa’s “nice” list, as will I.

To see Santa’s visit with the kindergarten kids please click below:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=0XNp3SSvjW8

Canadians are known for their love of hockey, and if my family is any example, that perception is bang-on. It’s a little less so with the black sheep of our family, namely the one whose words you’re reading right now.

I could never quite understand the immense appeal hockey held for my parents and my brother and just about everyone else in my world. But I could bandwagon with the best of them and became almost obsessed with the Vancouver Canucks when they were playing for the Stanley Cup back in 1994. And I was lucky enough to attend every home game they played during that series.

Now living in the much smaller town of West Kelowna, going to an NHL game isn’t as easy for me as it used to be.  But I can still hop on the bandwagon - and Hockeyville has me jumping on with both feet.

Okay, I’ll admit it, I didn’t even know what Hockeyville was until last week. But once I found out I was hooked, and the reason had little to do with hockey and much to do with community spirit.

It’s the coming together of people and the mutual excitement they feel about something positive that draws me in and makes me want to contribute.  

For those of you wondering what Hockeyville is, please, allow me to enlighten you. Actually called Kraft Hockeyville (since Kraft is its sponsor),  it’s a nationally-televised contest on CBC that encourages small towns across Canada to compete for a terrific grand prize: $100,000 in upgrades to the local arena, a broadcast spot on Hockey Night in Canada and the honour of hosting a pre-season game between two NHL teams in their arena. 

Just last week it was announced that West Kelowna was bidding to become Hockeyville 2012, and already the community is getting involved.

But it’s going to take a lot to capture the attention of the judges who will undoubtedly be inundated with stories from hockey lovers across the country, all hoping to win the coveted prize for their own hometown. Even those individuals who aren’t overly interested in the sport itself, should support West Kelowna’s bid, especially for the national attention and resulting economic boon it has brought past winners.  

“The deadline for submitting stories, videos and pictures describing West Kelowna’s love of hockey and why we should be chosen is January 31, 2012,” said Andrew Deans, the director of operations for the Westside Warriors. “Our goal is to break the existing record and have 2000 submissions before that date. That would make them take notice of the amazing community spirit we have here.”

To show your support, register and submit content to KraftHockeyville.cbc.ca

If someone like me, who isn’t a hockey enthusiast, can get swept up in an event like this, I can just imagine how much influence true fans could have in bringing Hockeyville to the Okanagan. It’s all about community spirit – and we have that in spades … or should I say, blades?

To hear what other think about this, please watch Sam’s video below:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nw0qndTboE