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Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Ebay & the Internet

The preowned Sit n Spin I recently sold for $36.
I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I wasn't immediately won over by the concept of the Internet. In the late 1990s, I worked as the marketing manager for Turtle Fur®, a cold weather accessory company in Vermont. Fortunately, we were already using some progressive techniques to market our products. For instance, we were using a digital photo studio and adjusting color electronically, as needed, to produce our product catalogs. So it was a natural next step to talk about launching an Internet presence. We planned to create a virtual catalog online, but when talks turned to customers actually placing orders on the Internet, I was the great naysayer. 


I'll never forget saying it because I laugh out loud whenever my memory whispers, "hey, remember saying this?":  "No one will ever buy anything on the Internet." I still feel the weight of my skepticism because, honestly, it was more than that. I believed emphatically that the whole idea of buying and selling goods on the Internet was PREPOSTEROUS!  





Yet by 1999, I had purchased a digital camera and was photographing and selling my own things on ebay. By now I have made well over $20K (it's likely twice that), mostly from selling stuff I no longer want in the house. Since I began selling on ebay, I've sold thousands of things: a used toilet seat was an early coup, but the list includes sheets, pillowcases, diaper bags, clothing, fabric, belts, blankets, comforters, scarves, drapes, pillows, hats, games, gloves, china, glassware, cookware, jewelry, toys, dolls and stuffed animals, purses, shoes, briefcases, luggage, art, ornaments, books, show and event tickets, electronics, rugs and furniture as well as vintage and antique items of all kinds.

I have fully integrated the Internet into my purchasing style for everything from granola for my husband's yogurt to Mogo bracelets for Christmas. I love it and my list of favorite sites is forever growing – Amazon, Craigslist, Etsy, Overstock... If you ever want advice or tips about ebay or how to get started, please get in touch with me. It's a terrific marketplace and makes for a fun, money-making hobby for many millions of people. 

Friday, December 16, 2011

Nora and I share a moment

By the way, not an omelet.
“You know what I love?”
 I nod, waiting for more.
“Spinach or broccoli, umm... What is Aphrodite's necklace called. You know, Zeus’ daughter.”
“I don’t know. Oh, an amulet?”
“Yeah, I love amulets.”
“Do you mean omelets?”

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Beautiful Black Squirrel


Only a few short years ago, right here in Durham, I caught a glimpse of something I had never seen before: a black squirrel. Now at the risk of overselling what I still consider a complete marvel, the black squirrel gives me tremendous joy. When I first saw one, I had no reference for the cute, nimble creature because in almost forty years, I had never lucked upon one. I have since learned a few things about them. For instance, most Americans have never seen a black squirrel and their discrete numbers pop them into a ratio of 1 to 10,000 when stacked against the grey squirrel in North America. I also learned that they represent a subgroup of the grey and grey squirrels can produce black offspring. 

But most fascinating to me was the genetic superiority of the black squirrel. Only brief observation was needed to realize the black squirrel was more than just super cute in his jet black coat. He is faster and more spry than all the other grey squirrels, and he is more aggressive about EVERYTHING in his world. I wasn't surprised to discover that in some parts of the world the black squirrel is rapidly overtaking the grey.
These days, my eyes are always ripe for a sighting and when one occurs, believe me when I say that I stop whatever I'm doing, alert anyone nearby and bask in the glory of my tiny black circus star. Even funnier, for the longest time I believed there could only be one living in the area. Now I know better.

On one lucky occasion (lucky for me, not for him), I spotted one "swimming" in my pool. I practically tripped over myself to get to him, grabbing a skimmer on the way. He was so pissed and scared; I could see him weighing the drowning option. Of course I'd never let that happen, but I had also grabbed my camera and his rescue would have to wait until I snapped a shot or two. The fiercely independent little bastard fought his own rescue, but I vanquished the Reaper for another day.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Raising kids to like themselves

We are raising children in an era defined by parents who no longer expect their children to be seen and not heard. On the contrary, many children are encouraged by their parents to expect the spotlight, perhaps even fight for it. These parents demand that their children be considered for every sports team, every play date, party or sleep over. They heap praise, rewards and privileges to such a ridiculous degree, that the gestures themselves lose all meaning. Sadly, many kids being raised today are sheltered, scheduled, scripted and managed.

If kids are raised to think they have the golden key, there is no motivation for personal development. Every child needs to discover who they want to be and take responsibility for their own evolution. It takes work to identify and develop personal strengths. It takes courage to give sports and activities a whirl, knowing that your performance may not measure up against your counterparts. It is painful to take the vulnerable journey required to make a new friend, with its inherent ups and downs, and devastating break-ups. And it is critical that kids recognize their own weaknesses and learn to live with them.

When she was alive, my mother would often say, "You can't expect everyone to like you." While this advice wasn't easy for me to hear, her words hardened as a foundation for me. And over the years experience has shown me, regardless of what I say or do, that only some people (some of the time) can be counted as admirers. With that said, people young and all must start out by liking themselves.

Life is hard, and kids should always have a sense of this. If not, life will be simply too hard for them.  An authentic self lives within each of us. Allowing kids to feel the full range of life's emotional spectrum is essential if we expect them to grow and embrace an evolved state of adulthood.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Fidelity

A commitment I believe in.
Most of us have a hot button (or two). One of mine is having a commitment to fidelity. A breach of fidelity in a marriage need not involve a physical gesture. No, indeed, emotional infidelity can trump any touch. When I was a much younger person, my family life combusted. I witnessed a breakup so heart-wrenching, I realized for the first time how powerful the game of love can be, especially for the loser. In fact, we were all losers - my mother, my two brothers and their families, and poor little old unmarried me.

For my mother, surpassing thirty two years of marriage felt like reaching a bomb shelter at the edge of a field, some kind of safety check-point where she could finally breathe. But the heart is a tricky beast, and there was to be no rest for the weary. My mother experienced rejection at a time when she looked forward to retirement with her husband and buying a house on the Cape.

My father had other ideas. A woman that he had known when he was a teenager had looked him up, finding it difficult to pick up the pieces on her own as she exited her own failed marriage. My Dad was her ticket back to normalcy (and a provider to boot).

So there I was, only a few months from leaving for college, and my life felt like a snow globe, never knowing when the storm would pass and the night would be still. My nuclear family life was never the same, and I can say with full disclosure, never truly good again. An awful lot more went down in the months that followed the revelation of my Dad's infidelity. I'll leave that for another time. Through it all, my takeaway has never left me. I feel unwavering disdain for cheating behavior, and I don’t believe in excuses. I do believe, however, in the idea that some people move on from one another, and cease to make their relationship a priority. Please notice that I did not say that I believe that people fall out of love. I'm just not sure I believe in that. 

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Number 4: Remember other people's birthdays


BACKSTORY: Does anyone remember the small book by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.?  Life's Little Instruction Book, as many of my peers may recall, was written by a father as a gift for his college-bound son. For anyone unfamiliar with the format of the book, it lists “511 suggestions, observations, and reminders on how to live a happy and rewarding life”.  I thought it would be fun to blog about the entries as they relate to my own experiences. 

Number 4: Remember other people's birthdays
Once upon a time, I was well intentioned.  I had been in the habit of transferring birthday dates from the outgoing calendar to the incoming. And whenever a birth announcement arrived in the mail, I added the date to my calendar. But over time, my system has broken down. My calendar is still marked with some birthdays, but only the ones I'm compelled to remember - husband, children, parents, siblings... If you pressed me, I'd admit that I'm wholly disappointed in myself for this breach of memory and record keeping. At this point, my brain is unreliable and I should set up something electronically.  Facebook works well if you check your page every day, but I don't.  An email reminder might be just the thing. 

Birthdays are important. As I've gotten older, I've had to slowly extricate myself from all of my former birthday expectations. With every birthday, gift volume is reduced to a trickle. Fanfare is typically mellow.  And realistically, adult birthdays can feel like an afterthought. As I get older, it remains important to me to recognize this celebration of my birth, but sometimes the fanfare is quieter. And these days, I don't need gifts, just a simple "Happy Birthday" from a friend and I feel a bit heady. I'd like it if I could reliably do this for others by always remembering their birthdays. There's room for improvement, most definitely. Maybe tomorrow I'll research www.mybirthdaytracker.com. And if tomorrow is your birthday, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Number 3: Watch a sunrise at least once a year.


BACKSTORY: Does anyone remember the small book by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.?  Life's Little Instruction Book, as many of my peers may recall, was written by a father as a gift for his college-bound son. For anyone unfamiliar with the format of the book, it lists “511 suggestions, observations, and reminders on how to live a happy and rewarding life”.  I thought it would be fun to blog about the entries as they relate to my own experiences. 

Number 3: Watch a sunrise at least once a year.
I have only happened upon sunrises. This night owl has never been motivated enough to rise early for one. And since I have only witnessed them while en route to the airport or to the hospital (to delivery a baby), my sightings have always been overshadowed by other big events and have never forged stand-alone memories. A sunrise is beautiful to be sure, and life seems to bring us together without much effort.  I'm not sure people need to treat a sunrise like an event.  It happens every day after all.  But I'm glad to have a sense of them, and the stillness they inspire. It's comforting to know that the curtain so reliably opens on each new day, whether I've got a leading role or not. 

Number 2: Have a dog.


Does anyone remember the little book by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.?  Life's Little Instruction Book, as many of my peers can probably recall, was written by a father as a gift for his college-bound son. We have two copies in our house. One was given to my husband by his mother, and the other was given to me by my mother. This actually makes sense since the once popular book was published in 1991, about the same time that we graduated from college. For anyone unfamiliar with the format of the book, it lists “511 suggestions, observations, and reminders on how to live a happy and rewarding life”. 

Of course I’ve read the book, at least once, but I thought it would be fun to blog about each entry and deconstruct them one by one through my own experiences. 

Number 2: Have a dog.
For starters, I have a dog. Her name is Ella and she ate a squirrel last week. Even still she is a constant source of joy for me (and for the rest of our family). I kiss her soft head more than I kiss anything else in this world. I feel honored to have her trust. I love to look at her beautiful face and I marvel at her agility and endurance. At night time, I look forward to sharing my bed with her, especially when it's cold. She asserts herself cozily in between me and my husband. Best of all, I believe that Ella loves me. I'm her human and that is a responsibility I don't take lightly. Having a dog gives my life depth because I'm not exclusively coming at the world as a person would. Life is somehow reduced to its most basic parts when I'm forced awake at 3AM because Ella ate something that disagreed with her. 

Life's Little Instruction Book Deconstructed


Does anyone remember the little book by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.?  Life's Little Instruction Book, as many of my peers can probably recall, was written by a father as a gift for his college-bound son. We have two copies in our house. One was given to my husband by his mother, and the other was given to me by my mother. This actually makes sense since the once popular book was published in 1991, about the same time that we graduated from college. For anyone unfamiliar with the format of the book, it lists “511 suggestions, observations, and reminders on how to live a happy and rewarding life”. 

Of course I’ve read the book, at least once, but I thought it would be fun to blog about each entry and deconstruct them one by one through my own experiences. 

Number 1: Compliment three people every day.
This one almost isn't fair. I have three kids (and one husband) and if I don't throw a compliment to each of them at least once a day, I feel like an animal. Right? Aren't we programmed to compliment those we love. Complimenting loved ones nurtures alliances and rewards good behavior. On the other hand, I enjoy telling my son that he has beautiful fingers because there's clearly no manipulation going on.  Outside of that, I would say that I'm pretty free and easy with my compliments. I like reminding people of their talents and strengths. It's powerful giving to people in this way, and while it's absolutely free, it can yield greatness.

Monday, October 17, 2011

I have my limits

I thought a walk in the woods with my dog was SUCH a good idea...until she found the dead squirrel. (I'm still not talking to my dog.) As it happened, she lagged behind, presumably wrestling some tree or another. I kept walking. Once she fell in step with me again, I noticed the bloody grey squirrel balanced in her mouth. Every time I tried to grab her, she lunged out of reach. Keep-away. I knew she would win her favorite game. I was disgusted - yelling, pleading, and intermittently hoping she'd remember her manners. Finally, she stopped being soft with her Labrador Retriever mouth, and I heard her start to crunch that poor dead creature's bones. By the time she caught up with me at the car, her mouth was empty.


I just got off the phone with the vet. I can't say that I was really worried about the health of my dog, but I do think I wanted to assuage my guilt. I didn't try very hard to get that squirrel. It was too gross. I didn't want to touch it. Of course, Ella is locked in the mudroom now. Her stomach is rumbling already, and her backend stinks.  


Monday, September 26, 2011

Tears?

The other night, while watching a movie at home with my husband, I began to cry. It wasn't a drama, or a suspense film. No, it was just one of those formulaic date movies. It was late, the movie was nearly over, and I was grateful to slip into bed without having to compose myself. And while it wasn't that unusual for me to shed tears over a movie of this genre, it was unusual to give it any degree of follow-up thought. In fact, something clicked for me the next day. I reminded myself that in my day-to-day life, things come up all the time. In any given moment I may be temporarily rattled, angry, frustrated, overwhelmed, or all four at once. But in almost every situation, these things have short, manageable up and down cycles that rebound to a state of wellness, almost without effort (well, maybe a little effort:). This cycle plays out countless times, and occurs daily during arguments with my spouse and challenges from my children.


As for the movie, it wasn't sad, but it depicted a woman for whom things weren't quite coming together. So why did I cry? I understood that I cried for all those things in my life that I wish weren't so. For the most part, these things are outside my sphere of influence, otherwise I would label them regrets. I cried because I wish my parents hadn't divorced, and that I had no first hand knowledge of extramarital affairs and their aftermath. I wish that my mother hadn't died when she was 61 (and I was 22). I wish that my siblings wanted to know me in a meaningful way, and that all my attempts at closeness over the years actually led somewhere. These aren't exactly the sorts of things I like to spend time thinking about. I imagine most of us feel this way. But if a mediocre movie has to be an emotional trigger now and again, then I'll just go with it.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Living With Awareness

Today I 'm reminded that I continue to develop a keen awareness of my personal context within a much bigger picture. I learned that a dirty look can still go the distance, even when cast from my 5 foot 1 inch frame. I learned that it was the right decision to pass on the t-shirt printed, "I'm not short, I'm fun sized". And finally, I realized just in time that my act of ripping page after page from a magazine while waiting for my child at the hair salon caused the grey haired woman beside me to admonish through a punishing sidewise stare meant for me. Of course, why would she ever assume that I had bothered to bring a magazine from home? 

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Sort of Sounds Sort of Smart

I listen to NPR a lot. But it only speaks to the fact that I hate pop music and there is no alternative on my car radio. Even when I have the foresight to tote around a collection of CDs, I tire of them quickly. Heck, I thought I loved PRINCE, but after one listening and skipping through most of the tracks, I am BORED! So I listen to National Public Radio. Usually I hear a program with some experts responding to callers - sound familiar? Don't get me wrong, I really do love it. But I've noticed that many of these super smart experts have developed a habit. I'm convinced it is learned. It had to have started when they heard someone smart, talking about something intelligent, and they noticed the speaker pepper their discussion with the phrasing "sort of".  (After you read this, you will notice it everywhere.) So, because they want to sound smart, they adopt this phrasing habit and throw it in like an overzealous dash of cayenne. But what ends up happening is that they don't sound bright at all. Instead they sound like they haven't developed the vocabulary to express the nuances steeped in their area of expertise. Whatever their reason, they lose me immediately. Like a flash in the pan, I'm once more rocking out like it's 1999. 

Friday, July 1, 2011

Middle Finger

photo credit: Rowan O'Connell
As usual, most of my inspiration comes outside of myself, and sometimes from someone I've actually spawned. Luckily, my children continually offer a rich variety of writing material. Last week, I sat beside Nora (my seven year old) and waited poolside for her swim class to begin. As we sat side by side on a bench, I took her hand into my own and admired the slender fingers topped by her long fingernails. As she named her fingers for me, she took me by surprise when she reached the middle one. She actually called it her spare finger. Whoa!!! "The what?", I interrupted. I couldn't imagine where she might have picked up the reference, and I didn't bother to ask. My guess is that someone, somewhere decided that it was just too dangerous to refer to something exactly as it is. By default, the odd-numbered five digit configuration positions that tall boy smack dab in the middle of all the action. But spare? What the hell is spare about a finger. Just try holding a pencil without the rock steady, ever-present middle finger to lean on. And after you try that, see how far you get with Cat's Cradle. 

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Birth Order

Your moment of zen - you can buy happiness, one laugh at a time.
There is much to be said with regard to birth order. Being the youngest child with siblings who peaked the decade before is strange. What I feel (and have felt for many years) is an oppressive state of regulated status. I am the youngest, the little one, the overlooked. I seek attention. I want to please. And I have never been inducted into adulthood, parenthood, or any hood for that matter, feeling like I have access to the  same degree of privilege as my older brothers. I know that some of it comes from the fact that I have never been the first in the family to do ANYTHING. I graduated last, I was employed last, I married last, I had children last - all those last places add up to one big "you can't relate because we are ten years ahead of you". Honestly, it's gotten to the point where I don't ever discuss my personal achievements with family for fear that they might fall on deaf ears, with my audience preoccupied with the next phase - something I'm certain not to reach for another ten years. 


And because I had practically equal doses of company (until I was 9 and my youngest brother went away to school) and alone time, I am most comfortable bridging the gap between crowded and alone, never knowing ahead of time which state I prefer in the moment.  On the one hand, I crave alone time. Picture a forty something woman turning up the volume on music from the eighties, and dancing like she's got something to prove. And yet being with people, all people, and relating in an honest and open format, excluding pretense all the while...well, there's nothing better.  


I know that my experience isn't all that unusual, but I happen to have a circle of friends that are rich in a way that I am not. Their relationships with their siblings are lovely, and while not always perfect, they generate and embrace kinship as a rule, even when it doesn't come easily. As they rally together with support and respect, I admire them. I feel lucky to know them because they treat me like family, and they let me know that "it ain't no thing" to include me. Thanks guys!

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Pulling an All-Nighter

Around my house things get done. And by things, I mean things that really should get done. For instance, we always have something clean to wear. And we always have something good to eat. We practice decent hygiene (with the exception of the ten year old who still believes that the shower is akin to a torture chamber). We clean dishes and put them away. We exercise our bodies and read books. Collection agencies don't call, so it seems that the bills are actually being paid on time. Outside the lawn gets a regular trim and the pool gets a granular diet. Yet occasionally I fantasize about pulling an all-nighter. Although I haven't actually done this yet, doing this once a month might be a good starting point. I could stay up all night and pay bills, organize files and receipts, edit and order photos, fold MORE laundry, mend things, clean out the refrigerator, and research our next vacation. The reason that I haven't yet incorporated the all-nighter as a means to diminish my to-dos is that I'm afraid of the day after. The next day could materialize the nightmare I skipped by cheating sleep and that would suck. 

Monday, May 23, 2011

Teach by Example

Sometimes I listen to the noise of others and I think blah, blah, blah. 


In a nutshell, think what you want, disparage at will, and realize it is your power to discriminate. Whatever you do, don't live an unexamined life. The power to judge is yours, even if it's quietly from the sidelines. Remember that the act of judging is not to regard within a cultural hierarchy, but to use examples as a spectrum of behavioral direction. You witness a friend or acquaintance do one thing with poor results (perhaps they are disciplining their child). You learn quite readily to use a different approach. The reason I say this is that we are demonstrative learners. We live better lives, sometimes, because we witness failed examples. 

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Authority Figures

The principal at my daughter's school called me yesterday afternoon and within 45 seconds, both my cell phone AND landline were ringing in from the same number. I was in the middle of rehearsing one of my regular after school specials replete with tears, yelling and people talking to me (all while I'm already talking to someone on the phone, by the way). As soon as things around me eased, I returned his call, but he had already left for the day. I hope I'm not alone when I admit that I still quake at the thought of meeting or talking with an authority figure. This time it ended up being no big deal. But historically whenever this sort of thing has happened to me, I ALWAYS feel nervous and stressed and I contemplate worst case scenarios. Please tell me I'm not the only one.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Back on the Horse

I used to ride horses. I was never great and I never competed, but one instructor described me as "a persevering rider".  I rode western as a kid, then found myself missing it in college and took a job as a hostess to pay for lessons, English this time. The instructor and owner of the barn was a character named Bree, and as I got into regular lessons, she would invite me into her home after my lesson and offer me a glass of sherry.  Eventually, she began to ask me how she could get a hold of some pot. And finally, if I could find some for her around the campus. Well, I didn't know what to tell her as I didn't number any drug dealers among my pals at Providence College. Not that Catholics don't smoke pot; I'm sure some do.  Needless to say, my lesson format took a creepy turn and I stopped going.  I was pretty bummed.  After that, I rode rarely.  My husband and I went on a trail ride during our honeymoon and I rode in a cattle drive two years ago in Arizona. When I was pregnant with my youngest child seven years ago, my husband gave me an extremely meaningful Christmas present: a gift certificate for three riding lessons at a local barn. That was back in 2004 and the paper certificate has moved often from one place for safe-keeping to another, most recently tucked inside my wallet like an origami cast-off. One day last week, on a whim, I drove over to the barn and told them I was ready to trade in my paper token for the real thing. I felt like a walking antique after I was dressed in my twenty-year old stuff. My lesson was great, though, and I had a lot of fun. I know now that fear is the only reason that I took action (to finally cash in my gift certificate).  I was afraid not to ride again, and what that might mean to the scope of my life. It had been easy to defer extra-curricular fancies, and deny myself of doing the things that I love for many years. But that time needs to pass.    

Monday, May 9, 2011

Perfectly Boring

The next time you find yourself engaged in a conversation that sounds too good to be true, remind yourself that it is. When people draw out their painfully embellished fairy tales like graffiti for all the world to see, I just want to excuse myself and yawn in a corner. There is nothing more boring than someone who keeps their sharpest knives in the drawer. Seriously, why do people flip through tabloids? Of course, to relish Hollywood's finest caught at their weakest moment. Plain and simple, people are interesting because of their weaknesses. Hell, that's why bad boys have such a following and the reason why Robert Downey, Jr. compels me to love him. So relax, next time you find yourself sharing your stuff, don't be afraid to put it out there "as is". 

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Raising the Bar

I knew it would happen. It was just a matter of time. First I wrote a blog about raising the kids, with a healthy dose of self-deprecation. Then I needed to write about me - what an egotist, right? Here I am, look at me, part time mom, full-time narcissist. Just kidding, part-time narcissist. Now I need another blog to write about my super secretive stuff. Come on, it should go to 11 (reference: This is Spinal Tap). The trouble is, if it's a secret, perhaps no one should read it. Maybe I just need to lean in close with my friends and let my loose lips sink some ships.  

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Holy Soap Opera Batman

My 84 year old dad is living the life.  His 71 year old wife (not my mother) decided to walk out on him last week, staying with an "old friend" of the male variety.  Cell phone detail is a bitch. Oh my mother must be doing cartwheels in the sky. Alas, his wife came back after only a week.  It seems the older we get, it gets harder to hide our baggage.  Somehow, all the contents just spill out onto the floor. There's a memoir in here somewhere.  

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Best Mother Ever

By the way, I just found out that I'm the best mother ever.  My seven year-old told me so just a few minutes ago.  No, really.  I'm sure there's plenty of reasons why, but the precipitating cause du jour is that I let her close her pierced ears for the second time. Two years ago, God knows why, I let Nora have her ears pierced at the age of 5.  It could have gone well, but it didn't mainly because she has no stomach for blood, puss or crust. Are you with me? So when her ear became infected the first time around, she freaked out and screamed when you came toward her with so much as a cotton ball. She begged me to let her close the holes. Now anyone who knows me at all, knows that I am frugal to a fault. The fact that I paid for pierced ears, and would no longer have pierced ears to show for it KILLED ME. But it was the lesser of two evils to not have to navigate Nora's tears and irrational fears that she was going to die from her ear infection. So around Christmas time (2010), Nora told me that she was ready to have her ears re-pierced. We deliberated over it for two months until I conceded. This time, she didn't get an infection. She kept them in for a long time and asked to change earrings a week ago. Let's just say, it didn't go well. Her older sister came through and changed them out for new lady bug studs. Then, yesterday morning, Nora asked me to change them for her. Based on the history, I was nervous and afraid to hurt her. When I tried to insert the new earring, I couldn't tell which hole was the right hole (the second piercing was actually a better aligned version of the imperfect first). I panicked while Nora had a nervous breakdown. She went to school with only one earring in. She had a bad day at school. Her teacher called later to tell me that she cried for me. But really, Nora admitted, she cried because she wanted to put an end to this earring fiasco, and close them once (or twice) and for all. Today, she came home and said she had decided that she just wants to close both holes. I sighed, and told her o.k. with one condition. I would never have her ears pierced again. One day, when she has her own car, money and cotton balls, she can decide to pierce them again. I'm out. She was so relieved. And of course she told me what I already know, that I'm the best mother ever. 

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Everything will be better when...

During my twenties, I had the annoying habit of creating optimism through contingency. In those years I lived a fairly carefree existence in Vermont, of all places, with my boyfriend (you may know him as Brendan). I was forever eating and drinking with friends, hiking and biking, and buying whatever it was I thought that I needed. But it quickly became my habit, in times of stress, to believe that my personal happiness would come only after something else happened. I remember letting things (stupid things) weigh me down without relief simply because I had relinquished all control. I was so quick to defer to some other event, that I had no choice but to wait out the arrival of my so labeled cavalry. It could have been anything: a big project at work, six feet of snow in May, a persistent sinus infection. Can you see where I'm going with this? As a default, I would say things like "...things will be better when I get through trade show season", or "...things will be better when I don't have this nasty sinus infection anymore", or "everything will be better once I start my new job." I was unrelenting with my scape goat rhythms of life and so they took hold. In fact, I was so unhappily happy with this pattern that it took years to break. Finally, Brendan and I started to give voice to what we'd been doing. It was depressing to realize that we were so deeply married to our habit. For years, we had readily abandoned our chances for contentment in favor of deferment. It took some time, but we were eventually able to seize the day and enjoy it for what it was at that moment. By the way, the reason I thought again about my long retired past-time is that, after seven months of my 3 kids in weekly rehearsals for Willie Wonka, I was on the verge of falling in step with my old ways.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Too Cheap for a Cupcake Carrier




So a couple of times a year, I bake cupcakes for my kids' in-school birthday celebrations. Typically, I need to transport between 20 and 30 cupcakes. The other day, I saw a mother carrying her cupcakes in a carrier. I sighed because I have passed on this item again and again, thinking that I should be able to make do WITHOUT. Afterall, my kids are 7, 9 and 11, and eventually they won't want me bringing cupcakes to class anymore. So each year passes and I find a way to carry them without the cool-beyond-a-doubt contraption. I have used shirt boxes and rimmed trays lined with foil or waxed paper. Everytime I'm close to breaking down, I consider what I will do with a cupcake carrier when my kids are 12, 14 and 16. And so the martyr lives on...

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Death of a Blog

The time has come to make a choice. I began a second blog for two reasons. As its name suggests (not fully cooked yet), I strongly identify with an idea of myself that is forever evolving, improving, deconstructing and rebuilding. But on another level, the name of my newer blog is broad enough to encapsulate anything I write. This is critical. When I sit down to write, I don't always know what I'll end up saying. It's important for me to have a catch-all. So discuss amongst yourselves, or drop me a line on FB. Should I kill off one blog to save another? And kidstodayoyvay fans (all ten of you), don't despair. I can still write about my kids. God knows, they're not fully cooked yet either. Do you favor one blog more than the other? Tell me what you think. 


P.S. This is a big decision for me and I want feedback, so you may notice me post a link to this blog on FB more than once. Sorry.

Monday, March 28, 2011

My Childhood Circa 1970s

When I was a child, I really got into it. Most days, I was beyond earshot for hours at a time, playing outside, and I got dirty. I wore plaid pants with striped shirts, polyester from head to toe. I watched lots of television with my family, and I ate meat and potatoes six nights a week. The only ethnic food I ever ate was pizza and lasagna and I doused my morning cereal with whole milk and white sugar. My house had wallpapered rooms and a kick-ass pool table in the basement. I joined a Brownie troop and lasted for about two weeks and one craft. While still in grammar school, I was known to quote Dan Aykroyd, "Jane, you ignorant slut", and routinely stayed up until 1AM on Saturdays to watch SNL. My parent's social life revolved around their church group and the highlight of my year was the annual church holiday bazaar. I rode my bike and roller skated on the sidewalks all over the neighborhood, and never once wore a helmet. I learned to ride horses at a nearby barn for ten dollars a lesson, and had to work every Saturday morning cleaning the chicken coop and mucking out the barn. By the time I was ten, I vacuumed our house every weekend, emptied the dishwasher, set the table and washed the dishes. I organized my dresser drawers and rearranged my bedroom constantly. I took baton twirling lessons, dance classes, and gymnastics for one six week session a piece. At school, I took flute lessons and quit after less than a month, no questions asked. The thought of playing a team sport didn't occur to me until freshman year when a friend suggested field hockey. I never had so much as an educated guess at my family's income, but was told "we can't afford it" more times than I can count. I don't ever remember going for a family hike or bike ride, and I spent weekends begging to have a friend over to play. They were good years, but more to the point, they were my years.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Violated

In my lifetime, I have been robbed thrice. (You're welcome Conan O'Brien.) The first time was in 1990 when my precious Toyota Corolla was stolen right out of the driveway of my apartment in Providence. Two years later, the radio I had gingerly bestowed beneath the passenger seat in my Jetta was ripped from its hiding place. And in 1993, Brendan and I watched from the window of a Burlington, VT restaurant as our mountain bikes were snatched from the rack on my car. Heady with adrenaline, we gave chase to our "his and her" thugs, eventually getting our bikes back. In every instance, no matter the value of the stolen goods, the violation felt the same. Heavy and unbelievable with an undiluted dose of adrenaline for good measure. I felt completely blindsighted and betrayed and every related detail was beyond my scope of understanding. Last week, it happened again. Someone impersonated me on Facebook. Someone (presumably one of my Facebook "Friends") invested the five minutes it took to guess that my password was rowanaidan (how clever Claudia - let's string together your eldest children's names to create a FB password) and post a bogus status as me. Let this be a cautionary tale. Always choose passwords with great care and never be afraid to remove your rose colored glasses every now and again. Wow, I can see clearly now.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Social Networking / Networthing

Ahhh, Facebook. It is such a delicate dance - call it the social network dance. Some of us are crazy ego pods while some of us are timid voyeurs, with the moderates sandwiched in between. The self-promotion piece is the biggest challenge for some, jamming themselves down your throat every time you check your feed, offending as a means to an end. Thank God for the business page option. By all means, define yourselves using the extra business page. In the words of Martha Stewart, "it's a good thing".  Facebook is a lot of things. Most of all, it is an ultrasound of your friends, real and imagined. I say imagined because so many of us "friend" people whom we barely know. Now I am guilty on this one if only because I friend people I once knew really well. Yet, I sometimes think that the friends I had in high school know the real me as well as anyone I've met since. After all, we are questing for so much at that age. I know that I wore (and wear) my heart on my sleeve. Some people really get the whole FB culture. For instance, I love it when people show a photo of some noteworthy event like a birth or a graduation. I love to see pics and videos from a school event, and ALWAYS appreciate a laugh. The birthday posts are awesome and there is no better virtual format than FB for when things aren't going so well for someone or when soliciting advice or a need. But let's be honest, we all want to get something out of Facebook. It is a true give and take community. If you make me laugh at your clever post or help me stay connected with a reference to your recent milestone, we both get something out of it. There are infinite posts, however, that just seem really useless. As busy as we are, do we really need to know that your coffee is especially strong this morning? It's a tightrope walk.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Good Jeans


I spent a ridiculous amount of time shopping for jeans at West Farms yesterday. While not typically on my radar, I have known for some time that I infrequently step out in style. Those occasions are usually aligned with a holiday or black tie affair (in which case I borrow something from a friend). I had been told by some that my jeans were not helping me maximize my assets if you know what I mean. So off to the mall, first stop J. Crew. I felt like such an idiot because the sizing was completely foreign to me and I got nowhere fast. At the next stop, I grabbed a pair that were size 00P. But I wish that I had realized sooner what it actually means: oops, wrong size. The petite thing is definitely the way to go for me, scraping the underside of 5 feet and 1 inch in height. By now I was practically sprinting through the mall. I would not leave without jeans. I covered the Gap, Banana Republic, and Loft, and then I changed course and walked into J.C. Penney. No exaggeration, I grabbed 12 pairs at a time and headed to the fitting room. By the way, did anyone know that Gloria Vanderbilt is still in the game? I spent under an hour at my last stop and bought 3 pairs including Liz Claiborne, Gloria Vanderbilt and St. John's Bay. I was happy. They looked good and fit well. And all three pairs totaled less than one pair at J. Crew. I got them for seventy bucks. So next time you see me around town, check out my maximized assets.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Prolific Not!

I am not prolific. Really, really not. Some days I have good intentions to accomplish great things. But I usually run out of steam well before I get anything done. By 8 pm, I'm up and down the stairs, rubbing ointment on cracked hands, bribing the dog onto some one's bed, and generally waiting on people. By 9 pm, I'm sitting on the couch (yes, even if the kitchen isn't perfectly clean). My husband and I need this time to regroup and laugh together. The networks don't always cooperate, but Netflix does. We can almost always find something funny to stream. Oh, and there's usually a glass of wine in the room. Sometimes I can actually accomplish a small pesky thing from the couch. Folding laundry is a perfect example. We often stay up later than we should, shutting it all down around 11 or so. But what of all those inventors and geniuses; writers, poets and artists - when do they get all that great stuff done? If it's during the evenings, I am in deep shit.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Your Authentic Self

Riddle me this: Are you your most authentic self? According to the Webster's Dictionary that I've been leafing through since high school, authentic means "1. that can be believed or accepted; trustworthy; reliable 2. that is in fact as represented; genuine; real". So, when you are out-and-about, fraternizing, schmoozing, dealing with the daily logistics, are you authentic? As a parent, as a partner, as an employee, as a social being - are you true to your authentic self? Whether you are honest or not, a fool or a genius - no matter. You just have to be you to be authentic. If you are outspoken, then be outspoken. If you are kind, then be kind. The challenge is trying to be authentic in every setting, with every group - you get the idea. I've tried it and it's not easy. Try it on for size and tell me how it goes. By the way, check out the kid on stool. I'm pretty sure my nephew Dillon is staying true to his authentic self.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Say It Out Loud

So funny that my last post, referencing my mother's soothing advice, was on her birthday. I didn't consciously think of it on the actual day. But I do strange things with dates when it comes to remembering loss. When she died years ago, it was at the end of January, but I still don't remember which day. I did that intentionally, remaining vague so her death would not be forever associated with one day. Anyhoo, it's fun to write about things you don't get to say during polite conversation. I'm afraid that this blog may head in that direction. I've always been that way, wanting to express, but often repressing, the ideas that most people rarely give voice to. And I don't consider myself a devil's advocate either. Being contrary for the sake of sport isn't really my thing. I feel that my tendency to say what I think and feel keeps me feeling young. But more than that, it keeps me feeling like me. A friend wrote in my high school yearbook, "You are a very unusual person and I respect your individuality!" Why, thank you.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Too good for them

This is my other blog. The blog where I can write about my life as a person, rather than my life as a mother. I like the name, "Not Fully Cooked Yet", because I'm just not done. I've been thinking about relationships... again. When you live in a small town, it's easy to think that everyone likes you. But they don't. So as I tend to do, I observe interactions between people, myself included. And I notice that certain people don't care for me very much. Usually, this doesn't bother me too much, but I'd be lying if I said that it didn't bother me at all. And for anyone who keys into that sort of thing, it's downright transparent to read people this way. It's weird to admit, "hey, so and so doesn't care for my sense of humor, or so and so thinks I'm a hypocrite". You then owe it to yourself (that is if you want to come out ego-strong) to consider what your feelings are for that person. Usually you feel similarly towards that person. That's a relief. But if you still don't feel better, it may be time to put into practice that old advice we've all heard from our parents. "You're too good for them." Years ago, my mother often used those words for my benefit. It was comforting. But without her around (she died in 1992), I have to whisper those words to myself. And after all this time, they still work their magic for me.