I’m not a pocket person. There’s just something about putting what you need all together in a bag and grabbing it by the hand. Canvas totes. Leather clutches. Courier bags. They all have a place in my wardrobe. And with my pregnancy, the door opened to the mother bag of them all: the diaper bag.

Diaper bags have come a long way. They’re no longer hideously pink or blue with protruding pockets. (Though, you can still find those). They’re streamlined and ergonomic. Husband-friendly colors? You got it. Some don’t even look like diaper bags at all.

Forget stroller envy. I have diaper bag envy.

It’s no surprise that by the time my first son was born I had carefully selected a diaper bag. What was surprising was how little I enjoyed packing it.

Gone were the days of gathering a few things, throwing them into a bag, and heading out the door. Toss my keys into my diaper bag? No way. I could lose them.

On any given day my ergonomic-pocket, gender-neutral-colored diaper bag contained the basics: diapers, diaper cream, pacifiers and wipes. Soon I learned it should also have a bunch of other stuff, including onesies, antibacterial wipes, infant acetaminophen, petroleum jelly, alcohol swabs, bibs, burp cloths, that snot squeezie thing and a spare shirt (for myself, of course). It was heavy, but unless I wanted to use the drive-thu napkins as a burp cloth, I had to be prepared.

As if all that weren’t enough, I also carried around plenty of unnecessary things. Like teethers for a baby months away from actually cutting teeth. Oh, and toys. Newborns don’t get bored.

Eventually, I ditched the non-age-appropriate toys and carried two or three extra diapers instead of five or ten. Things were lightening up. Then my maternity leave ended.

On that day, if I could have stuffed myself in his diaper bag as I dropped him off, I would have. I had carried around my baby for months in the best-packed carrying case in the world. My uterus. And, in a way, my diaper bag and its contents had become the next best thing. No wonder it was hard to let go.

But I did.

And, eventually, I found that when you learn to let go once and awhile, it makes picking it all up again that much more enjoyable. Plus, my new diaper bag has stroller clips and insulated side pockets. Super handy.

As a freelancer, I work for myself. But all it takes is trying to make a business call to remind me who my boss truly is. And he wants string cheese. Bad. So this parenting analogy has been created with the help of the old SAT. Because, today, I felt tested.

And in the spirit of the SAT, I whipped out my #2 pencil and created some more analogies you might be able to relate to. (But don’t get me wrong. I’d much rather be a parent than a junior in high school.)

Toy : Music :: Crack of Dawn : Jackhammer

Newborn : Sleep :: Miner : Oil

Television : Fingers :: Metal : Magnet

Kid : Candy Store :: Kid : Candy Store

“But why?” : “But why?” :: “Wine?” : “Yes.”

The holidays create togetherness, joy and are a great reminder about what truly matters. It’s magical. But it’s no secret it also brings about things like wrapping paper paper cuts and regifting, um, incidents. That’s why I’ve dedicated a twitter timeline to documenting my holiday experience as it happens. And I’m inviting you to follow along @TheYuleLog.

So bring on the jingling bells, frost nipping at my nose and candy cane sugar highs. I’m looking forward to sharing such joys in 140 merry little characters (or less). Should be a jolly good time. Or at the very least, more entertaining than a brag letter.

I can twitter with celebrities. Facebook grammar school friends. Network. Network. Network. Social media has made staying in touch with people a snap, granting access to those we wouldn’t otherwise have access to.

So what’s the problem?

As much as I enjoy the hilarious links Ashton Kutcher serves up, keeping up with the @Joneses is not all that easy. It’s like dirty laundry. There’s just no end.

To visualize my point, here are some sample to-do lists. The first is what I call a BSM (Before Social Media) to-do list:

And the second is, of course, an ASM (After Social Media) list:

The thing is, the after list doesn’t magically make the before to-dos go away. So maybe I can tweet out if anyone has a casserole recipe they’d recommend, but nobody can water my plants for me (as my wilted plants would hope.)

And all the incessant communication is so distracting that it can make it harder to get “real” things done. But I’d argue that it’s the mundane “real” things like grocery shopping and school activities that make social media interactions so much more interesting. So don’t ignore your BSM to-dos in favor of your ASM ones. At least, not all the time. Because sometimes you have to do the dishes. Other times, it’s best to ignore the crusty casserole pan in the sink.

A frankenword is a term cobbled together from pieces of other words. It’s proper grammar with a side order mad scientist. The best ones are not only easy to pronounce, but also they evoke meaning from the word or word parts they blend. (Spork! Chrismukkah!) Here’s one I recently learned courtesy of People Magazine:

Mantrum

(n) A grown man’s fit when he can’t have his way.

Mantrum alert! Jon Gosselin storms out of Entertainment Tonight interview.

The “math” behind memorable frankenwords is pretty simple: Spoon + Fork = Spork or Man + Tantrum = Mantrum. While the majority put your spellchecker on overdrive, as they aren’t “real” words, Beyonce actually got bootylicious recognized by the dictionary.

Popular culture isn’t the only place you’ll find frankenwords. Check out the Internet. There’s “favicon” which is short for “favorites icon,” which the doohickey icon to the left of a URL. (Now you know.) There’s also “minisite”  which (obviously) is a “mini website.”

The advertising industry is also rife with them. Take VW’s “turbonium.” It was created to convey speed as if it were an element from the Periodic Table. Or Yoplait’s “Go-gurt” line to convey grab and go yogurt.

So how do I feel about frankenwords? A little mixed. While I commend their economy of words, and the grammar nerd in me enjoys creating them, I do think they can go wrong. Very wrong. And not just from overuse.

Take T.J.Maxx and Target. Almost simultaneously they launched “Maxxinistas” and “Frugalistas,” respectively. While I know both are trying to elevate the idea that great fashion doesn’t have to mean high cost, Maxxinista doesn’t make a lot of sense without context. “Maxx” with an extra X doesn’t inherently say “T.J.Maxx” to me. On the other hand, Frugalista is a nicer, more meaningful way of saying “I spend less on looking fabulous.” And it’s easier to spell to boot.

So at the end of the day, frankenword is still my favorite frankenword. Maybe someday a new term will get cobbled together, rise up and throw my love of it in the lake. But for now, I’ll be standing by, defending it with my pitchfork.