Of all the traveling kiddie shows that stop in Erie -- including the circus -- Disney on Ice is, by far, the event most worth the ticket price. I've never been disappointed -- or bored -- at a Disney on Ice show yet.

Last night, the girls, my mom and I went to the 2007 installment of Disney on Ice at the Erie Civic Center -- "Mickey and Minnie's Magical Journey" that included scenes from four popular Disney movies -- Peter Pan, 101 Dalmatians, The Little Mermaid and Lilo & Stitch.

Both girls, 5 1/2 and 3 1/2, loved every minute of the show. It probably helps that they've seen each of the movies about 865 times each.

Highlights of the show include:
1. Peter Pan and gang flying overhead
2. A giant inflatable crocodile that eats Capt. Hook
2. 101 Dalmatians -- really, 101 of them -- on the ice
3. A larger-than-life inflatable Sea Witch
4. David, Nani's boyfriend in the Lilo & Stitch portion of the show, is um, well, worth the price of admission, ladies.

Disney on Ice is in town until Sunday and they have several performances scheduled -- including some weekend matinees. Ticket prices range from $11 to $39.

A few words to the wise:
* Dress warmly -- it is an ice rink
* Bring loads of cash -- or warn kids ahead of time that you will not be buying light-up toys -- they're around $20 each
* Eat before you go or be prepared to shell out $10 for cotton candy (yup, $10 for sugar and air) and $12 for snow cones (yup, $12, for sugar and frozen water).
* Get there early and take advantage of nearby parking for as little as $3. Arrive late & you will be walking -- with small kids, in biting wind through 12 inches of snow and ice.
* Programs are $12. I always buy a program because I figure they are like books and they allow the kids to live the show over again and again. And, the programs last a lot longer than the light up toys and $10 cotton candy.

Is there a certain celebrity you wish you could wipe off the face of the Earth? Who and why? Post a comment or email me heather.cass@timesnews.com.

I may use your comments in an upcoming issue of Her Times magazine, so be aware that what you type could end up in print. Be sure to give me your name and the area you live in (Wattsburg, Erie, Fairview, etc.).

As for me, if I could rid the world of one "celebrity" (and I use that term lightly), it would be socialite Paris Hilton. Why, pray tell, is she famous? For sleeping around? For clubbing till 6 a.m. and hanging with rock stars? Tough life, eh? What a hero. It would be a better world if we never had to see her, her little dog, or her Brazilian-waxed, panty-less crotch again.

I used to have iron-clad willpower. I once had a cookie jar filled with homemade chocolate chip cookies on my kitchen counter for two years (they looked so pretty in the glass cookie jar). I never indulged in the office buffets and holiday feeding frenzies. I could resist anything -- a bowl of candy could sit on my desk for months and I wouldn't eat one. I hated going out to lunch -- I avoided it whenever possible. Seriously. I had scary willpower.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking ... sounds like an eating disorder, Mary Kate.

I was starting to wonder myself, but then I got pregnant. And, I started to allow myself a few treats here and there and, to my amazement, I didn't gain 20 lbs. (well, I did gain 20 lbs., but it was all baby).

When I fit right back into my old jeans post-pregnancy, I figured maybe I'd been too hard on myself all those years (ya think?) and that the occasional cookie or candy wasn't going to kill me. "Everything in moderation" afterall, right?

But, now, lately this has been ridiculous. I don't know what happened to my willpower, but I cannot seem to stop eating lately and I'm so irritated with myself. I'm already gravitating toward the fat-pants portion of my closet.

Is it the cold and snow? Am I depressed by winter? Am I just bored? Am I unconsciously packing on warmth?

Summer -- with all the short-shorts, swimsuits and sleeveless dresses -- cannot come soon enough. A few body-baring fashions should help me find my willpower again.

I've heard that some people have trouble posting a comment to our blogs.

If that's the case, you can always e-mail me at heather.cass@timesnews.com & I'll post your comment right into the body of my blog.

I'd love to hear from any of you at any time.

WARNING: This is a rant about hunting, dear readers. I'm angry with my husband and, since the man can't be bothered to read my blog, I'm going to air our dirty laundry for all of you (tee, hee, hee).

He loves to hunt. I hate that he does, but he's done it since I've known him (indeed, since he was old enough to hold a gun). He is a country boy and I can hardly expect him to change now.

Whenever I harped on him about it, he'd give the whole spiel about deer overruning our communities and starving to death and yatta, yatta, yatta.

Fine, whatever.

He hunts deer with every weapon the law allows -- from bow and arrow to rifle to muzzleloader. Hell, he'd probably go out with a slingshot or a blowtorch if they declared it a "season."

Add in turkey (spring and fall) and various other poor woodland creatures and he hunts nine months out of the year.

This is the only time of the year he doesn't hunt...until now. Now, he's planning to go Coyote hunting.

Coyotes.

Canines.

Dogs.

What the hell for? The pure joy of the kill? The challenge (how challenging is it to shoot an animal with a GUN from 50 feet away)?

He can't even justify it (and, for the record, he doesn't feel he SHOULD have to justify anything to me, by the way). Coyotes are not dangerous (I've never seen one and I know they live in the gorge behind our house), they're not overpopulated and starving (so killing them isn't for "their own good" like it is for the deer). And, well, last I knew the man didn't have crops or cattle to protect.

So, what's the point? What are they going to do with these poor creatures if they kill one (or more). Dance over them, skin them and wear the fur, hang their privates around their neck as a symbol their own manhood?

Whatever.

What a collosal waste of time and energy. Not to mention a tragic waste of life should some hapless coyote cross their path.

And he calls himself a dog lover.

A couple of years ago, my oldest daughter had trouble saying "Valentine's Day" so she called it "Love Day" and went around wishing everyone a "Happy Love Day." The moniker fit and we've been calling it "Love Day" ever since.

Every holiday is so much more fun with kids. They get so excited about simple things -- like paper valentines and pink-sugar-sprinkled cupcakes.

Their unabashed joy and giddy laughter makes me shamelessly feed the hype. I buy special Valentine's Day shirts and hair ties, I melt pink chocolate to dip pretzel rods into, I willingly gave them glue, glitter, paints and stickers to make Valentine's Day cards for all our family members (even though I knew it meant an hour of scraping Elmer's glue off the kitchen floor and picking glitter out of the living room rug).

Today, they were set to go...Valentine's clothes and hair ties in the bag (Grandma gets them dressed for school), pink cupcakes and pink lemonade for Kelly class (today's her snack day) and a pink-chocolate covered pretzel rod and Valentine for every person in Kelly and Lauren's preschool class.

Believe it or not...we even got out of the house early this morning -- nothing spurs the kids to get moving and cooperate (and put their boots on the first time they're asked) like the promise of a party.

I dropped them off at Grandmas, drove into work and saw my message light blinking on my phone. Sure enough, preschool had been canceled and my mother now had two disappointed, wailing preschoolers at her feet. Two preschoolers who don't care about snow, ice or whiteout conditions and are definitely not feeling the love.

Today the things I LOVE most in my life (not counting the obvious ones like husband -- even if he does hunt dogs -- and my kids -- even if they are sometimes inconsolable temper-tantrum-throwing tyrants) are:

* My garage
* My four-wheel drive vehicle
* The fact that snow removal is soley my husband's job
* The coffee man -- who just delivered a new box of regular coffee to the newsroom kitchenette. A newsroom on decaf is just, well, wrong. Hot caffeine is almost as central to the newspaper business as ink and paper.

Happy LOVE Day all. Here's hoping you find something worth loving today (and every day).

I went to an Erie Ad Club luncheon today where they had a guest speaker talk about how to use emotional branding to market to women. The guest speaker -- Emily Spensieri -- is the founder and General Manager of F.E.M. (Female Engineered Marketing), a division of Quiller & Blake Advertising.

Emily made some interesting points about why businesses should be tartgeting women. Here are her top three reasons:

1. Women refer more than men. On average women will tell 20 other people about an experience -- good or bad.
2. Women notice the details and they matter to them (clean bathrooms, boutique-like shelving, etc. is noticed, and appreciated, by women).
3. Women are more loyal customers.

I would agree with all three of these and, I'd add one more -- in most households, women make 80 percent of the household purchasing decisions.

For all of these reasons, women should be the main target of all advertisers -- from luxury cars to grocery stores and tire stores. Yet, so many are missing the mark by a mile.

I couldn't help but wonder if that is because the people at the top of most major organizations -- including the entire news industry -- are males who don't have a clue what women want and/or need.

And, then, they can't understand why their business is failing (because they make a high-quality product or offer a great service).

Maybe that's because it takes a woman's insight to reach a woman.

I bought my first pair of flip-flops last night -- good thing retailers jump the seasons like they do because one would think flip-flops would be hard to find in February when we are buried under 2 feet of snow and shivering through single-digit temps. But, no, there was an entire aisle full of them.

I've never been able to wear flip-flops. I just don't know how anyone can walk with that piece of rubber/cloth between their toes. It is seriously painful and, well, I'm not one to suffer for fashion.

When it comes to beauty and fashion, I'm very low-maintenance. My husband says it's one of my most redeeming qualities. I don't primp. I don't fuss. I don't care about labels or designer clothes. I don't even own eye shadow. I can be ready to go anywhere in 30 minutes. I ride in my car with the windows down and the A.C. off (well, not now, but...you get the point).

Don't get me wrong, I like to look good. I try to buy stylish clothes, I put on lipstick every morning. I just got my hair highlighted for the winter. I run miles upon miles to keep the old body in shape.

And, I'm not criticizing those who do care about all those things. In fact, I admire your tolerance for beauty and fashion routines that can suck up some serious time (and money). It's just not my thing.

So when we were in our editorial meeting discussing story ideas for the April issue of Her Times and the topic rolled around to pedicures and manicures, I mentioned that I had never either.

Every woman in the room looked at me like I had three heads. What? Are you kidding? Everybody's had a pedicure.

I tried to explain ... "Well, you know..I just have this thing about being pampered. I don't really like it, actually. It makes me uncomfortable. I never go to full-service gas stations (even though I hate pumping gas) because I feel bad for the guy who has to stand in the cold and pump my gas. I just would rather do things myself than impose on others."

They all agreed that my objections were ridiculous and that I, the pedicure virgin, needed to be deflowered immediately.

So, this afternoon, I am headed to Ambridge Rose Spa and Salon to have my very first pedicure. And I'll be writing about my experience in the next issue of Her Times magazine so that other pedicure virgins might be less frightened of the unknown.

Ambridge Rose may be sorry they offered to take me on once they get a gander at my runners piggies. The good news is, since my marathon training has just begun, I still have ten toenails (it's highly unlikely I'll have that many in May when I do the Cleveland Marathon -- toenails take the brunt of the big mileage build-up).

So, I've got my flip-flops and my digital camera and notebook to document the whole experience. I still think I'm going to be uncomfortable with the whole pampering thing, but it's all in the name of good girlfriendly journalism.

Do you see how I suffer for you, dear readers! :-)

Oh. My. God. That pedicure was wonderful. I feel so soft and happy and relaxed. And I smell fantastic -- like summer.

If only I didn't have to stick these pretty piggies back into my socks and winter boots!

I can't settle on one blog topic today, so I'm just going across the board with all the stuff I want to share:

* It seems Mother Nature has taken pity on poor, frozen Erie and given us a reprieve from the bitter-cold temps of last week. Nothing like a week or two of single-digit temperatures to make me truly appreciate 40 degrees. I walked outside of the house today & thought..."Man, I don't even really need a coat." Which is hysterical because, come June, I'll be "freezing" when it's below 80.

* Went to a Tastefully simple home party last night. If you've never been to one of these, you don't know what you're missing. Their line of dip mixes, sauces, soup mixes, bread mixes and desserts make even a culinary-challenged, kitchen-fearing woman like me want to spend some time whipping up yummy things.

* Got an anonymous message on my office voice mail (by the way, we have caller ID people, so ... you're not so anonymous) from a woman who was upset about a story in our Feb. issue of Her Times about women's history. She was upset about the graphic at the bottom of the story -- a timeline of important moments in women's history. She thought it was wrong that we had included race in some of the "firsts" and felt it didn't belong there. After taking another look at the graphic, I see that there are only three events (out of 20) in which race is mentioned and that is because it is important to the historical moment -- as in "Sharon Pratt Dixon is sworn in as a mayor of Washington, D.C., becoming the first black woman to serve as mayor of a major city." So, I'm not sure what the caller was so angry about (and, boy, was she angry).

* The Chinese New Year started on Sunday and this is the year of the pig. Never did I think I would ever be proud to call myself a pig, but, indeed, I'm a pig ... having been born in the Year of the Pig in 1971. The pig is one of 12 animals on the 12-year cycle of the Chinese zodiac, which follows the lunar calendar. According to Chinese astrology, people born in pig years are polite, honest, hardworking and loyal. They are also said to be lucky, which is why many Chinese like to have babies in a pig year (according to an AP article in Sunday's Erie Times-News). Want to find out what the Chinese zodiak says about you? Check out this really cool Web site (copy and paste into your browser) www.usbridalguide.com/ special/chinesehoroscopes -- they even include information on how you relate to your mate and your children based on their Chinese zodiak signs.

* Went to the Kid's Expo at the Ambassador on Saturday afternoon. My kudos to all involved. It was a great event with lots of fun things for the kids to do. EXCEPT that we couldn't do most of them because it was so crowded. If organizers are to continue this event, they definitely need to find a bigger venue.

* Jif and Skippy are eating Peter Pan's lunch. The store shelves were cleared of nearly all the p-bar at the local grocery stores this weekend -- no doubt the result of p-bar lovers restocking their pantry after dumping their Peter Pan and Great Value peanut butter. I was comtemplating forking over $5 for a small jar of organic peanut butter because it was the only thing left on the shelves (and I live with two preschoolers who LIVE on p-bar)...lucky, I noticed a jar of Skippy hiding waaaaayyy in the back. It was creamy and we prefer chunky, but in a times like these choosy mothers can't be choosy.

Have you seen the latest in the Anna Nicole debacle? I've tried not to pay too much attention to the whole sordid mess, but when I saw a picture of the woman in clown makeup on the home page of AOL yesterday, I just had to click on it.

I wish I hadn’t. It’s probably one of the saddest things I’ve seen in my life. There, on film, being taped by her BOYFRIEND — the man who claims to love her and now has possession of her infant child (who he claims is his child) — is Anna Nicole, 8 months pregnant, with a clown-makeup face talking to a baby doll. She is clearly stoned out of her mind and he taunts and teases her asking “Is this a mushroom trip?” She seems unable to even comprehend the question as she responds "What? What?" in a soft, Minnie-mouse-like voice. At the end he says "I'm just kidding."

Oh, dear God. This poor woman.

I couldn’t help but wonder — and surely she struggled with this same thought every day of her life — if there was anyone on Earth who had ever loved that woman for who she really was. Surely her now-deceased son did. But, I imagine everyone else just treated her like a meal ticket (or a trash can).

People who love you do not film you while you make a fool of yourself. People who love you do not laugh about your being stoned when you are 8 months pregnant with their child. People who love you intervene and drag your sorry, stoned ass to rehab.

And, then there’s Brittany. Same situation, I fear.

This is what happens when women lose their self-esteem, confidence and belief that they are worth something. They let other people tell them who and what they are. They let other people control their lives and money. They are manipulated, used, abused and exploited. They were objectified, and made larger than life by their publicists, the media and the public who have all taken pleasure (and made even more money) in the "stars" inevitable fall.

Say what you want about the morality, character or talents (or lack there of ) of these women — but they were just women. Women who were hurt and taken advantage of by the people who are supposed to be looking out for them.

People who love you intervene when you are spinning out of control.

Just when I think I've got it all together and I'm keeping all the balls in the air, something like this morning happens.

I'm still not sure how it happened, but it probably has something to do with the fact that we had Monday off (President's Day) which is not a big deal for me because I have every Monday off (I work a four-day, 10-hour flex schedule).

BUT, when we have a Monday holiday off, I have to "un-flex" that week which means that I work regular hours 8:15 to 5 p.m. the rest of the week.

So, this morning I woke up late, glanced at the clock which clearly read 6:05 a.m. Dang, better get a move on...at least I'm only 5 minutes off schedule and I don't have to be to work until 8:15, I thought.

I went to the basement to do my requist 90 minutes on the treadmill. I walk (rather than run) on Fridays, so I was reading a parenting book because I want to interview the author for a story in Her Times (so, you could say that, technically, I was working).

ANYWAY...the kids came downstairs (not unusual), I put a video on for them and thought..hmmm...it's awfully light outside. Then, I noticed the Today show was on and turned that on while I was on the treadmill.

Now, at this point, I should've realized something wasn't right, but I don't know where my mind was this morning.

I get in the shower...all the time thinking I'm right on schedule until my mother calls (she watches the kids) and says "where are you?"

I -- still oblivious to the time -- say, "what do you mean?"

She says "Well, you're so late today."

I say, "I'm unflexed this week, I don't have to be there until 8:15 today."

She says, "It's 8:15 a.m. now"

"What???? Oh My God...it is! What is WRONG with me? GIRLS, get your shoes and coats...let's go, let's go, let's GO!"

Yup...I went through this whole morning not realizing -- and ignoring all the signs -- that I had woke an HOUR and 5 minutes late.

Maybe mommy-dementia is setting in early.

TGIF

I'm reading the book "Kid Cooperation: How to Stop Yelling, Nagging, Pleading and Get Kids to Cooperate" by Elizabeth Pantley for a story I'm doing in the next issue of Her Times.

This paragraph made me stop and get out my highlighter yesterday. It's an interesting thought, isn't it?

"Answer the question, What do you call a mother who works outside the home? A working mother, right? Well, what do you call a father who works outside the home? A man with a job? A lawyer, a plumber, a teacher?"

Interesting, isn't it?

According to Pantley, it's proof that "in our society the mother is still, for the most part, considered the primary parent, and is seen as the primarily responsible party for her children's behavior -- even if her husband is a stay-at-home dad."

Every mom who has stood, exasperated, over a wailing, thrashing three-year-old in the middle of some aisle at the supermarket trying desperately to get her child calmed down and back in the cart while all the other customers tisk-tisk and shake their heads at the spoiled brat on the floor, has felt that pressure. The world expects us to make them behave and we wear the weight of their behavior like a yoke. Sometimes it's just too much to bear.

But, it needn't be and I'd highly reccommend you read Pantley's book to find out how to let go of the anger (and how to deal with temper-tantrum-throwing three-year-olds).

I saw this small wire story on the cover of the Erie Times-News' Health section last Monday (below) and I've been applying lotion (I use Lubriderm or Nivea) to my entire body just after my shower ever since and, well, ... let's just say that my body is now as smooth as a baby's butt.

In all seriousness, I've noticed a REAL difference in my skin since taking this advice to heart. I share with you so that you, too, might have baby-butt-worthy skin on your chest. :-)

From the Erie Times-News, Feb. 19, 2007:

"When you take a long bath, your palms become soggy and rippled. That’s because your waterproof protective layer of oil got washed away, and water was absorbed into the outer layer of your skin.

"When this happens, your skin has increased its surface area to accommodate all the water it absorbed during that time. If you watch your hand for 5 minutes or so, you’ll see that the wrinkled look disappears.

"Now, if you apply a moisturizer before the water evaporates, you can 'lock in' the water that was absorbed while you were bathing or showering. That’s because moisturizers don’t add water to the skin; instead, they reduce water loss by slowing its evaporation."