Today I am going to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

For the first time.

Last week there was a tweet. It was about things I had not ever done. Watched A Charlie Brown Christmas. Ridden a horse. Bought a lottery ticket. And eaten a PB&J.

There was shock. There were gasps.

And then this arrived.

People are always quick to tell you when people who work in PR get it wrong. I mean, just last week I was sharing a bad pitch with you. One that came in and said…”Good day, Ali. I was looking at your site xxxx, and I think it’s excellent.”

Oh really? You love my site xxx? Amazing! I’m super flattered. I work hard writing xxx. 

Seriously, though. I get a lot of bad pitches. I get a lot of copied and pasted emails that I know have been sent to 100 other Canadian mom bloggers. I get a lot of Dear Editor of Cheaper Then Therapys. I get a lot of DEAR AUTHORs. I get a lot of Dear Abigails. No really, I do. Here’s the thing, though. It’s really not hard to do right by bloggers. It just takes a little bit of thinking outside the box and a little bit more time and energy. I mean, I get that it’s easier to throw together a mass email and send it out to every blogger out there and hope that you get a few bites. But wouldn’t it be better to read a little bit more, dig a little bit deeper, develop relationships, pitch to people you love?

I can tell you right now—this was PR at its very best. Alana didn’t ask me for anything. She didn’t request that I pimp anything new about Kraft peanut butter on my site. She didn’t even send me a press release. Here’s what she did. She read my tweet; she sent this box to me. I haven’t been able to stop smiling. I have told at least 20 people about it. And here I am, writing about it today. Telling some more people about it. And you know why? BECAUSE I WANT TO.

You know what else I want to do?

I want to fill this book.

Because there are other things.

I’d like to learn to say hello in 50 languages.

I’d like to walk the red carpet at the Oscars with Emily.

I’d like to learn to use a sewing machine.

I’d like to ride an elephant.

I’d like to have a family portrait taken.

I’d like to rid the world of leggings-as-pants.

I’d like to see my ab muscles.

I’d like to own a really, really expensive pair of shoes.

I’d like to watch a meteor shower.

I’d like to have a feature story published in a magazine.

I’d like to learn to play golf.

I’d like to live in the same place as my sister. And my brother. And my other brother.

I’d like to spend a month dressed as Betty Draper.

I’d like to watch every Academy Award winning best picture.

I’d like to stand on the field at Lambeau Field.

I’d like to be in a flash mob. Thriller, obviously.

I’d like to play the piano again.

I’d like to live off the grid.

I’d like to take a religion class.

I’d like to learn web design.

One day I’d like to own an Alfa Romeo.

I’d like to see Auschwitz.

I’d like to sit on a jury.

I’d like to sleep in a castle.

I’d like to get a tattoo.

I’d like to own a perfect-fitting bra.

I’d like to recover my kitchen chairs.

I’d like to visit the Cotswolds in England.

I’d like to be a contestant on a game show.

I’d like to go back to school.

I’d like to attend a royal wedding.

I’d like to tan on Anguilla.

I’d like to watch turtles hatch.

I’d like to live in NYC.

I’d like to love running. Or even *like* running.

I’d like to be at both the Cannes and Sundance film festivals in the same year.

I’d like to attend the Groundhog Day ceremonies in Punxsutawney.

I’d like to drink Guinness in Ireland.

I’d like to make pasta from scratch.

I’d like to have a menu item named after me.

I’d like to learn to appreciate wine.

I’d like to see Italy.

Today, though?

Today I’m having a PB&J.