If You Can't Beat 'Em...

As I look back on the year, it seems to me that the American news stream has had way too much in the way of personal, professional, and political potshots. With all the billions of our fellow humans here in the world, we will always be able to find someone who doesn't share our values, who acts differently, and whose approach to situations will be opposite ours. Somehow we need to survive, and possibly even look toward solving problems and increasing our comfort zone and level of happiness. Is hatred and criticism really the way to do it?

My view is that the hate mongering and the "holy war" M.O. is not going to cut it...just as it was horrible during the time of the Crusades. People need to find a way to work the strengths of those who don't agree with them, and agree to disagree about the rest without making the disagreement the central priority. Yes, everyone has strengths. Even the seemingly most vicious among us has an adoring mommy, or has an adored child or pet. Find a way to drill down to this, or the current nonsense will go on and on. If we don't turn it around, the 2012 Presidential election will be the least of our troubles in the long run.

Let's hope the new year will truly be a shiny one, just like in the cartoons. Peace to you.

Wry Elders

I found today's Cryptoquote in Newsday amusing. One look at the weather will tell you why I actually got to do today's puzzles today instead of months from now: snow, snow, and more snow for the LI area. Let's see how much has fallen when we wake up tomorrow.

"The only people to whose opinions I listen now with any respect are people much younger than myself. I would do anything in the world to get back my youth except get up early, exercise or be respectable." -- Oscar Wilde

And So This Is Christmas

The kid in me wants Christmas to bring out the best in people, even non-Christians. Once you get past the nonsense about looking for parking spaces, standing in long lines, schlepping and wrapping packages, etc. it is a season to be giving and to embrace the loved ones in your life. My thoughts bring me around in a complete circle now, because Christmas brings out the kid in me.

I hope you all experience joy this holiday season, regardless of what and how you celebrate.

Leave Your Name and Number at the Beep. Please!

How long have telephone answering machines been in mainstream usage? At least 20 years, right? Nowadays people even have voice mail on the run, via their cell phones. So why do some people insist on calling dozens of times and hanging up? I think it would be much easier for all parties concerned if I received a quick message to the effect of "give me a call when you're free" instead.

The odd thing I've noticed is that most of the time people who call me and do this don't have an urgent need to talk and don't have a specific agenda. So why call dozens of times within a short time period? The other thing that gets me is that I have a couple of charming correspondents who will track down other people who might come into contact with me to ask whether they've seen or heard from me. When, eventually, I either get the chance to call or to pick up the phone and speak to the caller "live" it turns out to be about something that could've been discussed any old time at all, plus some idle chit chat.

I understand that not everyone works a full time job and has a house with lots of kids and activities as I do. And I'm flattered that I'm the object of someone else's attention. It's stressful though, to be the subject of the telephone track down, when there's absolutely nothing noteworthy to say. By the time there's an actual emergency, I may totally have walled myself off from all attempts at contact because of the "crying wolf" syndrome...or at least may not feel the need to respond until a couple of days later.

So let me be clear about this: I love you. I'm glad you're in my life. But please, for goodness' sake...leave me a message!

Thanks!!! (with hugs and kisses and hearts and flowers and little blue diamonds, even)

Some Do Spring Cleaning...

Yeah I know I'm not typical...not a news flash! I had gotten a postcard from Big Brothers Big Sisters announcing that they would be driving through my neighborhood today. So I thought it would be great to do one more charitable donation in 2010, and I already had a pile of stuff that Son #3 had recently said was too small for him (i.e. the end of the line in our family).

Yesterday morning, while two of the three were at religion and the other had his nose in a reading assignment, I went through and made a list of all the items to be donated. It wasn't nearly time to pick up the kids yet, so I decided to look through the bins in the basement to see what else might be appropriate. It was like The Sorcerer's Apprentice; each time I saw a bin that might have a few items that would be too small or not suitable for my fussy little fashion prince, I realized that there were a few more applicable things in the bin behind it.

So there were lots of summer shirts and shorts that will be too small by next year...and a bunch of long pants in the size 6 bin that won't be long enough by next fall...and some extra hand-me-down winter clothes that fit him now but won't next winter. I also took the final step of donating all the old soccer cleats that the other two outgrew...since The Prince has made it clear that he is definitely not a team sports person. No cleats needed to climb a tree or swing from the monkey bars.

Ultimately I filled three large clear trash bags and emptied four large plastic bins. No guilt with the time taken, because all the Christmas stuff is already done. Feels great! Should I have been doing all that six days before Christmas? Of course not...but what the hey...

Hallelujah

What a pleasure to attend the high school winter concert last night. This was our first experience since Son #1 is a freshman. I had gotten to know some of the music teachers already, from band camp, and was further impressed by what I saw and heard. The orchestra, symphonic band, wind ensemble, women's chorus, and mixed chorus directors seem to be a cohesive team who support one another's endeavors. What a great message for the kids to take away, and what a great experience for all of us who get to participate.

The orchestra leader put on a light show to accompany their rendition of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's "Wizards in Winter" but acknowledged the help of his colleagues in pulling it all together (this being only his second year in the school). The women's chorus leader is also the accompanist for the mixed chorus. The wind ensemble accompanied the mixed chorus for two of the selections, the second being the evening's finale. For that, the women's chorus joined them as well.

The finale, which is performed every year at the winter concert, was the Hallelujah Chorus. Picture about 150 students on the risers, wearing their choral robes, and the wind ensemble (about 70 musicians) in back of them. The conductor asks all alumni, and anyone else in the audience who'd like to join in, to join them on the risers (and we're now spilling onto the floor in front of the piano and onto the stage with the wind ensemble). If that weren't enough, the conductor asks the principal and assistant principal to come up, as well as the superintendent of schools. The district fine arts director went up too, sheet music in hand. Big entertainment value there, of course -- but they really did go up and sing.

The result: a musical triumph, plus that intangible warm fuzzy feeling. Boy am I glad that all three kids are in the music program. I want them all to experience this...and I want to keep experiencing it myself for the next eight years until Son #3 graduates!

Love for a Child

Yeah, like the Jason Mraz song...but this is the real deal! Son #1 comes home complaining about his dizzy French teacher who parlayed "I'll ask my Mom if we can bake for French Club" into a definite commitment to make a buche de noel for the club meeting this afternoon. Mind you, the teacher isn't the only airhead here; my son knew about this over the weekend but didn't mention it until last night when I walked in from work at almost 6PM. "Well, I mentioned it to Dad on Friday..." Hubby is a great cook but I don't think he's ever tried to bake anything in his life, heh heh, and he certainly wouldn't take the initiative of mentioning it to me. Sigh, here we go again, the last minute desperation cha cha.

So we start googling to find easy buche de noel recipes. (For those who don't know, it's the French version of a yule log...jelly roll cake with whipped cream and chocolate...nicely decorated.) So we settled on one, and all I needed was a tub of whipped chocolate frosting and some red and green sprinkles. The class would definitely be aware that we don't own a patisserie, so why aim for bake shop perfection?

Separate five eggs. I find this to be a bit of a pain in the derriere, so don't normally gravitate towards recipes that call for it, BUT we're talking about something for one of the kids for school. So I did it. Whew, the whites didn't get any yolks in them. The yolks still had a bit of white attached, but that's okay.

Beat yolks until thickened, about five minutes. The kid took care of this while Mom measured out the 2/3 cup sugar, 2 tablespoons flour, and 3 tablespoons cocoa powder. Next was the easy part; beat in sugar first, then the flour and cocoa...although I had to show him how to stir the cocoa by hand first until it all gets moist so you avoid the fragile cocoa dust coating everything in the kitchen. Beat whites until stiff peaks form. I took care of that little chore. Fold in whites until smooth. Pour into prepared jelly roll pan. Bake at 350 for 15 minutes, or until top springs back lightly when touched.

After 15 minutes we take the pan out of the oven. After reading directions and the doneness test OUT LOUD, son sticks one of his fingers clear through the cake. Zut alors! Anyway, we turned out the cake onto a dish towel that had been sprinkled with confectionary sugar and gently rolled it up, putting it aside for half an hour to cool. Son thought it was awesome that the cake didn't break when unrolled...that's what stiff peaked egg whites will do for ya.

After spreading about 1/3 of the frosting on the cake, leaving about an inch of space on each side, we rolled it up again and used the rest of the frosting on the outside. Making lines down the log to simulate the "bark effect" we then decorated with red and green. Cake taker was stored in the basement overnight to chill. Hope it made the trip to school in one piece this morning; it was an icy snowy day.

What did I really feel like doing after dinner last night? Watching an old VHS tape of Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol. Oh well, maybe tonight!

Deflated

Sigh, I just can't be Pollyanna every day.

I'm bummed at the moment because I saw a little bit of a chance for two of my good buddies at work to become friends with each other again...but the bubble of hope was burst. Personal loyalty sometimes becomes intertwined with professional endeavors, and then emotional ties can be ruptured when work related things don't go well. Both are wonderful friends to me as individuals though, and I have to be grateful that neither has asked me to take sides or to choose. (OK we are all over 40 but stranger things have happened!) In my typical self effacing fashion though, I would be truly delighted if the two of them made up.

Oh well, the holiday season is nowhere near over, and just maybe...yippee I see Pollyanna in the doorway again... :-)

Vive La Difference

This parenting thing is really a kick in the head sometimes. My first born is almost a carbon copy of my personality. My second son is the polar opposite. This is sometimes entertaining, intriguing, and invigorating...and sometimes it's frustrating as all get-out.

Tomorrow night is the band concert at the middle school. This is the first year that Son #2 is playing the bassoon. He's only had the instrument since September...but not the beginning of September because of a procurement delay...and then there were several times he forgot to bring it home...plus a two week period when it got lost in the band room but then mysteriously reappeared.

Now...if I were in his shoes, I would have been practicing like mad to make up for lost time, and to make sure I knew the songs backwards and forwards before concert day. But I am the princess of compulsive preparedness. My middle child, whose philosophy is more like "que sera, sera," figures that he'll just play the pieces of the pieces that he knows and he'll keep silent the rest of the time. Mind you, there are only two bassoons in their symphonic band.

This would drive me crazy. And I am trying not to let it. But Sonny Boy keeps saying "It'll be fine, Mom. Don't worry." I'm trying to take him at his word, even though this laissez faire M.O. often comes back to bite him on the butt. Breathe deeply, Mom...and intone a calming mantra.

How to Make Someone's Life

On Sunday, hubby and a good friend of ours took Sons #1 and 2 to their first Rangers game. Both play hockey and are big fans of the team (and never fail to point out when Mom's team, the Islanders, takes a nosedive). Hubby got the tickets (face value over $100 apiece) through a deal with his boss. He'd saved a pile of cash for souvenirs...because how can you take the kids to their first game and not get them official NYR jerseys etc.?

They took the train to MSG, scheduled to arrive when the gates opened. They had good seats, at least as good as you can get in the upper deck. About 20 minutes before game time, hubby called the house, almost yelling with excitement. A representative of MSG had gone up to their section and saw them all geared up in their Ranger attire...and told hubby that he was "comping" them for seats at ice level. Hubby was suspicious at first but he thought that they could still return to their original seats if this was a gag.

It was 100% for real. I guess they have some season tickets that get returned at the last minute, and this is a good way to fill the seats with genuine fans. So they show up in their new location, and a waitress comes over to ask whether they would like food or drinks. Pretty cool not to have to stand on line at the concession area. So hubby is relating all this to me on the phone, and the kids are screaming in the background. "This is AWESOME, Mom!" Whoops, the food arrives, so they have to get off the phone.

OK so the Rangers didn't win the game, but don't we think that the four of them will tell just about everyone they know the story of how they were comped down to ice level seats? A Cinderella kind of tale...kids' first game and all. How much good will does that generate for the Rangers/MSG organization...and guess what, the ice seats have a face value of $250 apiece...so the difference was only $600. Advertising in the traditional way costs millions for a 30 second commercial. Smart, n'est-ce pas?

One Giant Step for...

Thanks to my sister-in-law for rattling my cage and reminding me that I'd been slacking off on blogging these past few weeks. Hanukkah was early this year, and I had to have everything bought, wrapped and organized before leaving for my annual business trip to Boston the Sunday after Turkey Day.

Boston is a wonderful city, and I was luckily able to arrange three visits with friends in the evenings after I was done with the day's work. Two of my PhD physicist colleagues who usually attend that meeting were home with flulike illnesses, but the work part of the meeting went well anyway, thanks to a great journal support person (and her husband who was along for the ride) and a fantastic PhD chemist colleague who picked up the slack.

Over the weekend I was an elf. I have most of the Christmas gifts I bought wrapped now. I have a few more to get, but nothing horrifying. I don't think I will decorate until after Hanukkah has drawn to a close this Wednesday night. I don't even think I can process it yet, to be honest.

Here's an inspiring quote from the pile of puzzle pages I attacked while I was in Boston (dated February 24, 2010!). It's amazing what can be done over breakfast and lunch when there is no conversational companion...this one appeals to me not only because of its meaning but also because it uses 23 of the 26 letters of the alphabet which is possibly the most I've ever seen in a Cryptoquote.

Don't be afraid to take a big step if one is indicated. You can't cross a chasm in two small jumps. -- David Lloyd George

Rah Rah Etiquette

Last night we were at Hofstra, supporting the marching band who were supporting the high school football team as they played the county championship game. Into the third quarter of the game, one of the guys on our squad got hurt and was down for several minutes while he was being examined. During the time he was down, the other team's pep band was playing and their cheerleaders were performing. The other crowd got loud doing their hometown cheers.

Why would it be OK to do this? I found it disturbing that anyone would condone this behavior. Even if the pep band conductor didn't realize that a man on the other team was down, someone ought to have alerted the conductor to stop the music. Ditto for cheerleading; they aren't facing the crowd, but someone could have gotten their coach's attention. Mercifully, a referee finally walked to that side of the field and motioned to them to stop.

Sportsmanship, anyone? Concern for one's fellow man? Does competition really trump all of that?

Ambivalence

I remember an old Dom Irrera standup routine about his hassling his buddy as to whether the buddy would hit his cat or his mother-in-law with his car if he had no choice but to choose one. Talk about a choice.

I'm really torn here. Should I be happy or sad? My business trip to Boston (which I take annually) happens to fall on the week of parent-teacher conferences this time. The high school is Tuesday, and the middle school is Thursday. Hubby will have to do it all this time. It's lovely to think about how I get a break from all that zipping around the school playing Beat the Clock, but I really do enjoy talking to all the teachers and seeing all the other parents who have become old friends over the years.

If I'm happy, I'm reminded that I won't be missing the elementary conference, which is next Monday. If I'm sad, I can console myself with the fact that I still get to do the elementary school deal. What to think? Sigh.

P.S. Son #1 has an orthodontist appointment on the Wednesday night that I'm away, and I can honestly say I don't mind missing that. :-)

Marching Band Mom

Guess you'd better add that to my list of credentials or nicknames. Last night I didn't mind traveling all the way from Eastern LI to Hofstra after work, because Son #1 was in the halftime show at the second round high school football playoff game. I also didn't mind sitting on the bleachers in breezy 40 degree weather, either...and those of you know my body thermostat know that's highly unusual for me. OK well I was wearing two pairs of panty hose under my jeans and four layers.

Part of it is the solidarity of wearing the band parent "school color" sweatshirts and hanging out with the moms and dads who were so wonderful during band camp weekend. It's a group of friends I hope to keep for years. Some have younger kids like me, so we'll cycle through it again together. A really feel-good, supportive club I've joined. And it's a great network to find out what's going on in the school, and with the kids. Of course my own kid tells me precious little. :-)

I was really excited about the actual game too. Jumping up and down for touchdowns, "whoo-hoo" and all that stuff. Good thing we won, and are headed to the county championships next week. Whoo-hoo!

Brrr, It's the Special Olympics

I work with a mom of a Down's Syndrome child who is involved with the Special Olympics. Last year she put the local knitters and crocheters in touch with the scarf project, which provided almost 60,000 welcome gifts for the athletes participating in the winter event. This year we're about to start making more scarves; the special colors of yarn arrived in the office today. Anyone know knitters or crocheters who'd like to help? Send 'em here: http://www.scarvesforspecialolympics.org/

Fur Flying Down the LIE?

Another license plate, which I saw as I was exiting the Expressway yesterday on the way home:

CRUELLA

Was this tongue-in-cheek or was it a self proclaimed witch on wheels who couldn't care less if people think she's mean? Couldn't get a look at the driver to see whether she was wearing a dalmation coat. We had wet snow yesterday so it could've been fur coat weather according to some people.

Nyah Nyah

I saw this license plate as I was driving home on the Long Island Expressway today:

NOYOUARE

I started giggling, thinking of childhood banter.

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"Am not." "Are too!"

and of course:

"You are." "No, YOU are!"

Is this a parent of several children? Or a schoolteacher? Regardless, cute plate.

Fall Cleaning

Doesn't have that same ring to it that "spring cleaning" does, eh? Well, I'm going with it. Not sure why he was motivated, but hubby spent a good chunk of weekend time (OK not when football or hockey was being televised) cleaning out his office downstairs.

Seven bundles of old catalogues tied up and brought to the curb for recycling. Heaven knows how much paper to be shredded. Old Windows PC that was already old ten years ago when we moved into the house, plus old keyboard, speakers (big ones) and printer.

Not wanting to be a bad citizen, I brought the equipment to work where we have a dumpster that is emptied by a waste management firm that separates computer equipment out for proper disposal. I have to say, however good it felt to bring the stuff out of the house, it felt DAMN good to pitch the printer into the dumpster! (I didn't throw the PC tower in there because it was too heavy; an angel where I work helped with that.) If I can get hubby to bring the old clunky monitor to the car, I'll do the same thing with it later in the week. Yippee!

Upending the Natural Order

Today I took the eldest to his travel soccer game, in Brentwood. There happened to be a big playoff game going on at the same time in another field in the same sports complex. Huge crowd lining both sides of the field, looked like high school boys playing. Our team eked out a 3-3 tie.

When we were finished, I had a fleeting thought about using the ladies' room but it quickly faded as I glanced over at the building and saw a long line coming from the area where the rest rooms were. As we got closer, walking towards the car, I did a double take when I looked there again. The long line was full of MEN and there was absolutely no line for the ladies' room! I don't think that's ever happened as far as I've seen, not even at pro hockey or football games. I wished I'd had a camera. I guess there were not many women there at all. Some of the other moms on our team were talking about it too. What a pleasure to use the facilities and walk out of there within a few minutes.

When we left the parking lot, there still was a line of at least thirty guys for the other bathroom. Maybe a lot of guys feel this same sense of relief whenever they see a long line in front of the ladies' room in many public places. Oh, how the other half lives.

Fall Foliage

Yesterday afternoon, it struck me how gorgeous the trees are outside my office window and around the back of the building. Now you can enjoy them too.

15 Bands

That's how many high school marching bands performed at the Newsday Marching Band Festival at Hofstra University last night. This was the third night of the festival, which has been held for almost 50 years. A Marine Corps marching band from Athens, GA began the evening with a multifaceted performance. The school bands ranged from small to large, growing in size as the night went on. Most of them did an excellent job, and I was really impressed with the showmanship...singing, dancing, rapping, cheering, clapping, ad libbing...in addition to turning out some fabulous tunes. A lot of classic rock was played, and quite a few numbers were not natural choices in my mind for a marching band. These are just a handful I recall off the top of my head.

• Free Bird (trumpet solo replaced the guitar solo towards the end)
• Who Are You (but no one yelled "who the $%#@ are you")
• Come Sail Away (yes, Styx, that's right)
• Beat It (as part of an entire Michael Jackson tribute set)
• Back in Black (dancers really got into this one)
• and perhaps the most surprising...in a montage of KISS music, following Rock and Roll all Night, they immediately mellowed out with "Beth" before pumping up the volume again

Very exciting and enjoyable evening! I have to admit that it wasn't much fun waiting half an hour for the buses to return to the high school so I could take my son home...since it was too cold to take a snooze in the car...and after arriving home at 12:30 it wasn't even exciting or enjoyable for this early morning enthusiast to wake up at 05:30.

My son is the real trooper, though; after school there's a pep rally at 5pm followed by a football game so he won't get home until after 10pm most likely. Oh to be young and have lots of energy! (maybe)

Squawking

Yesterday afternoon, I took my late day snack outside, which I often do if it's nice enough to walk, and went for a couple of spins around the building. When I got to the northwest corner of the parking lot, oodles of birds were making lots of noise in one of the tallest trees. Because we're on the edge of a nature preserve, I couldn't get close enough to the tree to see what was going on. Several people were leaving for the day while the uproar was in full swing, and some commentary ensued. My three favorite guesses as to what the birds were doing:

• Filming a remake of the Hitchcock classic.
• Conducting an emergency evacuation drill (naturally, this came from someone in the Facilities department).
• Male and female birds were fighting about asking for directions.

Emotional Strides

Yesterday morning, Son #1 and I left the house at 7am to pick up my friend and her daughter at the train station. They'd left their house at a much more obscene hour for a Sunday so we could all participate in the American Cancer Society's "Making Strides" five mile walk at Jones Beach at 8:00.

It turns out that there were over 50,000 participants, and it took us about half an hour to get into the parking lot; good thing we'd left plenty of time. Other than the obvious benefit of raising money for breast cancer research, and helping my son satisfy a community service requirement for his curriculum, I am always touched by what I see and hear when I walk in this event. Some of yesterday's highlights as I recall them:

• A sea of pink, which is a color I like. Tee shirts, sweatshirts, scarves, hats, you name it. One middle aged man, obviously secure in his masculinity, sported a pink feather boa. Yeah baby!
• Three kids jumping on and off benches as they walked, with stickers on the back of their shirts that said "Walking in memory of Grandma."
• An entire high school football team walking together.
• So many cheerleading squads, in full uniform, that I lost count. Some were engaged in cheers as we passed them.
• Impressive creativity with slogans on banners and tee shirts...cute sayings about breasts, but in a good way...about saving breasts and saving lives.
• So many SURVIVOR tee shirts and banners. One woman in a SURVIVOR tee shirt was walking with what looked like an entire family of children, grandchildren, and possibly great grandchildren.
• As we were almost finished, an elderly man who needed a cane for support was just beginning his walk. I asked my son to consider the emotional significance this event must have for the man if he were willing to undertake such a physically demanding task.

45 minutes after we left there, my son was due on the soccer field with his travel team. Yes he did have a bite to eat in between, but he was tired. Regardless, he helped his squad emerge with a 4-3 win. In addition to the intrinsic rewards, I indulged his request for a treat from the ice cream truck before we headed for home.

Get a Load of Your Aunt Barbara

Last night, one of the neighborhood moms hosted a Tupperware party with a very unusual Tupperware "lady." It's actually a local guy named Robert Suchan in drag as a middle aged woman who calls herself Aunt Barbara. Get a load of this.

He got the idea because his sister was making a stab at selling Tupperware but was not successful...he needed some extra cash and had a brainstorm. Part of the Aunt Barbara persona is modeled after his own Aunt Barbara. And let me tell you, this guy is a scream. You can check out the YouTube videos to see all the different outfits and makeup, but last night Aunt Barbara wore a yellow checkered knee length dress with the Tupperware logo on it...it could have been crafted from tote bags or table coverings that I recall from my sales career that ended about ten years ago. Engaging kitsch which the average Long Island mom could find charming...and hilarious.

Henceforth I shall refer to Aunt Barbara as a she, in character. Before the demo began, she put her arm around the hostess (who dwarfed her by at least a foot) and applauded her for holding a raffle for the benefit of cancer research...and then went on to say that we should buy a chance on all the lovely prizes because the hostess earned the money to buy the prizes by pole dancing at a local club. "Please, girls, help us get her off the pole!" The entire time, she said the most outrageous things. She asked who the soccer/lacrosse/football moms were, and then she pointed out that the insulated tumbler could hold a can of beer inside it...which you could use to wash down your Vicodin or Pamprin which can be neatly stored in the compartment at bottom.

Pamprin? Those of us over 40 got all the jokes. She said she was doing Tupperware to pay off her balances on her charge cards: Gertz, Korvettes, Caldor, Times Square Stores, etc. Only someone in my age group or older would remember those long-departed department stores on Long Island. She was wearing a Gimbels employee name tag that said "Barbara" -- maybe her own aunt used to work there? All the little touches made the schtick more of a riot.

Another reason to love it: Aunt Barbara is the top selling Tupperware representative in the Northeastern United States. What began as a part time endeavor to make a few bucks has turned into a $100,000 a year second job -- Suchan works five nights a week for Tupperware in addition to his day job. He'd be great at open mike night at a local comedy club too, but he doesn't really need to do that: he has his own traveling sound system. Good thing he does: people were crammed into my friend's house last night to the point where there were two extra groups of folding chairs in the living room, people sitting on the stairs, and people standing just inside the front door who couldn't get near the living room. He has several months of appointments on the calendar at any given time; this one was booked in January.

Here's one Aunt Barbara video clip but there are dozens more. Check it out! See why women are coming out in droves to hear her tell them to buy the "plastic crap."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EtCSOtrl6g0

Give Everything But Up

I borrowed the title of this post from my high school classmate whose daughter, Lexi, took her own life about seven months ago. This slogan has since been emblazoned on web pages, tee shirts, tattoos, banners, murals, and probably just about anything you can think of. The story was publicized heavily here on Long Island and around the globe. Lexi was a victim of cruelty by her peers, and felt that she would never be able to escape her misery.

My own childhood was pretty miserable too, and it took me years to find the silver lining. Cried every day after school. Internalized the image that people were projecting on me. Didn't feel there was anything I could do except suck it up and wait for each day to be over. Commiserated with my back yard neighbor (who was in a different grade at school) about the teasing she endured. Eventually it hit me that I couldn't control the behavior of those who were torturing me on a daily basis. All I could do was control my reaction to it. Bingo! Slowly I began to find peers who were willing to become my friends regardless of what the "cool" kids thought, and I built it up from there. By the time I went away to school (yippee, where very few people knew me) I was well on my way to being a social butterfly and a happy, positive person.

No more playing the victim. I now control my thoughts. I create my outlook. Might sound simplistic or even childlike but it really works for me, and I tend to attract people who are good for my self image (as opposed to toxic). I go to the extreme: I'm not a "glass half full" person but "one drop can easily be stretched to fill the glass" person. I live to put a positive spin on things. I give situations the full benefit of the doubt before I'm willing to give up on them. That goes double for people.

So why this post, at this time? Someone I care about, who has endured miserable circumstances for some time now, is thinking about throwing in the towel of life. Same as Lexi, feels that the persecution will never stop. Any life left is not worth living. Even though this person is ready to give up, I can't give up on this person. My conscience won't allow it. Also, as a parent, how would I explain it to my children? How could I give them the idea that they could use suicide as a way out of any prolonged adversity that they may encounter...with one of them barely into teenage and the other two soon to follow?

Here's hoping this person takes one last look at the alternatives, and decides to run at full tilt for the best one. I'm not religious, but those who are might say that ending one's own life guarantees a worse experience in the hereafter than one could ever have here.

I Dream Of...

Referring to Friday's post, about the license plate HPY PNTS, when I spoke with my brother over the weekend, he told me that he'd had a completely different thought when he read that post. He thought of hippy pants, a la Barbara Eden in I Dream of Jeannie. That hadn't occurred to me at all!

It also blasted me back to the 60's and early 70's, when I used to wear Faded Glory jeans with bell bottoms. My most comfortable pair zipped up the back (in the middle of the tush). Now those were the days of fashion...before the disastrous velour shirts of the early eighties. I had a bunch of peasant tops with elastic gathering around the bust line, with pretty floral patterns and cotton doilies. And I used to make banana curls with my curling iron. %$#@ that was over 30 years ago! I still do remember those hippy pants though.

Decode This If You Dare

Last night, when I exited the Long Island Expressway, I pulled up at the traffic light behind a small SUV that had the license plate HPY PNTS. What's the story behind that?

• Successful dieter who can now fit entire body in one old pants leg?
• Clothing designer who finally made a killing?
• Beer enthusiast?
• A guy who carries autoerotic devices in his underwear?

It was dusk, so I didn't get a look at the driver. Nothing to go on except my own wayward thoughts. Which could be dangerous.

I'll Have the Lump of Dry Poison, Please

I know I'm way behind in my puzzle pages, as this one was from the August 7 edition of Newsday, but it was a fine Cryptoquote in my opinion.

Publicity is like poison: it doesn't hurt unless you swallow it. Joe Paterno

Obviously Coach Paterno has a great deal of wisdom and capability apart from this quote. It occurred to me that the quote may also be applied to bullying and guilt. You know, like the other quote "don't let anyone 'should' on you." And the old adage about sticks and stones...but many people do internalize the garbage that others say. We certainly wouldn't put any food into our mouths that we find distasteful, but human nature allows us to swallow verbal rancidity. I'm going to try to remember this quote and use it.

Let It Slide

Oh joy, oh bliss! Son #3 has been waiting for this for a long time. Although he loves his recorder (which he got to play all last year in the third grade) he really really wanted to be in the band. His instrument request list was 1) saxophone 2) trumpet 3) trombone. The band teacher tried all the kids out on different mouthpieces, and our little darling was sent home with the trombone.

He hasn't done much with it except practice Hot Cross Buns (if you honestly could discern any of those notes) and blow randomly to hear what happens when you use the slide. What he loves to do most of all, it seems, is to put the instrument together and take it apart again. Anyhow, he has lessons on Fridays, so we'll see whether he sounds any better next weekend.

Take a gander at the boy and his trombone, which is just about as big as he is. Watching him carry the instrument case is a real hoot too.

You're Not Welcome, Apparently

OK I know I'm a language snob, but c'mon. When was the last time you went into a restaurant or retail establishment and said "thank you" or "thanks" and received an appropriate response? In my mind, an appropriate response is "you're welcome." The creative among you might even come up with "my pleasure" or "think nothing of it" which would also be music to my ears. If you do hear things like this, it's likely from someone old enough to be a parent. The American casual conversation has been dumbed down to frustrating levels.

Since when was "no problem" an appropriate answer? Since never! Why mention a nonexistent problem when I'm thanking you for an uneventful but successful cash register encounter?

"No problem" becomes even more ridiculous when there WAS actually a problem and the customer service person helped to solve it. The week before the band camp trip, two Target employees collaborated to find the price for the sleeping bag I wanted to buy and to generate and print a bar code for it so the cashier would be able to ring it up for me. This entire process took close to half an hour, as the line at Guest Services built up behind me. How did the conversation end? You guessed it. "No problem." Sigh.

My lovely friend J had mentioned a while back that I really should look up a movie called "Idiocracy" because it had a lot of funny bits. I found it in the library on Saturday, so I borrowed the DVD. Luke Wilson plays Joe Average America who's accidentally kept in a military time capsule for 500 years, and wakes up to find out that America's become progressively more stupid as a society, with terrifying results. He drops into a hospital after he regains consciousness, where he's seen by a doctor who looks like he's just staggered out of Margaritaville and who gives the official diagnosis that Joe's sh&t is all f%$#@'d up. A contrived screwball comedy, to be sure, but 500 years is a long time to creep downhill from "no problem."

Self-Mutilation

Last night, I had to go straight to the high school after work, to attend the open house. They began homeroom at 6:12PM. Just enough time to stop for a slice of pizza on the way (whole wheat crust, spinach, tomato, and ricotta...mmm). I arrived home around 8:45 to find Son #3 gleefully showing off a bloody tooth in the palm of his hand. It matched the bloody tooth socket in his lower front jaw.

After I washed the tooth and handed it back to him, I took a closer look in his mouth. It was obvious that the tooth had been torn out with some force. Not even a tiny point of the adult tooth was showing. Sigh. Son #2 came over and whispered to me that the tooth wasn't ready to come out and that his brother worked on it until it came loose.

Our tooth fairy is middle class, so the kids don't make an exceptional amount of money. Is it the fun of counting all the quarters? Is it just the thrill of waking up and knowing that there will be something under the pillow? Maybe I can get the dentist to speak with my little tooth puller. Sigh.

The Great Bra Strap Controversy

Weather was warm and sunny the entire weekend in the country. The kids wore street clothes, not their uniforms, to do their marching and cheerleading drills. Tank tops and shorts.

AND...now that all the girls have marched into puberty, all the little bra straps are showing outside the tank tops. Sometimes it's just a little hint of a bra strap sticking out by the shoulder, which is passable in my book, but often the strap is closer to the spine and it's clearly visible in full. A lot of the kids make fashion statements...such as black shorts, black bra, and then white tank over it. Lots of different color brassieres, and patterns like polka dots. If these were bathing suits, they'd be adorable. But we're talking about underwear.

One thing I don't get is the apparent inconsistency with regard to the school administration's enforcement of dress code. We have been told in orientation meetings by the principal (both middle school and high school) that NO underwear is to be seen hanging out of pants, ever. I agree with this wholeheartedly, of course. But why are obvious bra straps OK? Is it because it's only the strap and not the cup? Or maybe because boys don't wear bras, and we don't want to discriminate?

Should I be content that my eyesight is slowly deteriorating and I can tune these things out in the near future? Sigh.

Do the Huddle!

Those of us over 40 remember the dance classic by Van McCoy: The Hustle. In those days, even if you were making up the steps as you went along instead of following someone's choreography, you needed at least six or eight square feet of dance floor space. Even today...if you're over the age of 18, apparently.

On Saturday at band camp, they had DJ night. The chaperones were naturally on hand to make sure the kids didn't leave the event unsupervised, and to do crowd control including separating couples who were a little too zealous with their bumping and grinding etc.

I was fully prepared to listen to some selections that I don't exactly consider to be music, such as rap with a drum machine beat...but I was NOT prepared to witness what today's teens consider proper dance floor form.

Think of the last time you went to a bar or bat mitzvah and they played Hava Nagila. Remember what it's like when everyone runs into the center and screams? OK, now picture everyone in the center, but standing there calmly, sort of like a football huddle without the strategizing. A dance floor posse, if you will. "Music" is played, and the teenagers either jump up and down or they pulsate in place. Occasionally a few will get jiggy wid it and will run screaming around the circle...but then they are reabsorbed into the mix. This went on continuously for the entire event, almost two hours. What the...???

It isn't often that I feel like a fossil, but now I know I'm not really a kid anymore...or maybe the definition of "kid" has been changed without my knowledge...

Middle School Madness

No rest for the weary. Who wanted to know why I stayed up 'til midnight doing laundry the other night? Last night was open house at the middle school...until 9:15. Son #2 is the polar opposite of Son #1...primal, boisterous, excitable, easy going about academics. Most of his teachers are the same ones his brother had in the seventh grade. Lots of fun last night.

• Math. I called the teacher a sucker because he was unlucky enough to get my second child too. His reaction: "Are there any more?" Heh heh.
• Health. Teacher throws a Nerf ball around the classroom to keep the kids alert and focused. Good thing it's Nerf. A few kids have already been hit in the head.
• Science. Growing radish seeds in Petri dishes. Excellent.
• Chorus. Kids have to dress in white and black for concerts. Teacher has a stash of her husband's nerdy ties in the closet in case the boys show up without a tie on concert night (kind of guaranteeing that no one will ever forget a second time).
• Band. Young, bubbly, gorgeous new symphonic band director. 148 kids in the band this year. 24 more rehearsals to go 'til the winter concert. Let's see how young and bubbly she appears to be come January.
• English. Teacher has aged, and mellowed, since we had her two years ago...the mellowing part could be due to the fact that Son #2 is not in the honors program so the teacher just couldn't care less. We hated her two years ago, and Son #2 loves her. Son #1's comments about this are not fit for polite society.
• Art. Another repeat teacher, lots of enthusiasm and passion, describes herself (and the rest of the art department) as crazy. Cheerful kind of crazy, which is OK in my book. Had the parents do an ambidextrous writing experiment. Good to know I still suck at writing lefty.
• French. Madame seems the same as she was two years ago. Bon soir et bienvenue! Spent the majority of her time talking about where in the world one can use an education in French, including her own daughter's employment with an international finance outfit in Manhattan. Et bien, c'est la guerre.
• History. Completely blown away by the teacher's quirky yet engaging personality, and mystified by his looks. Young guy. Body looks like a Weeble. Elvis sideburns. Bowtie (the old fashioned kind that you actually have to tie, none of this clip on nonsense). Mondays don't have enough going for them, so he does Bowtie Mondays. He has the entire school year's assignments and curriculum on his web site already. Loves his job to the point of obsession. The classroom seemed like the set of a reality show.

I had to give my son the lowdown on what we did in "class" and what I thought of his teachers when I got home. He was amused and pleased that I immersed myself in the experience. Hey, why not? It was only for an evening. He has to do this until the end of June. But he's smiling!

It's Raining WHAT?!?

Band camp weekend was held at a charming, well maintained place called Pine Forest Camp. Funny thing is, the entire campgrounds seemed to be overrun by oak trees, not pine trees. Every time a good breeze blew through, we had a rapid fire of acorns falling from above. This barrage sounded like gunfire when it hit the wooden cabins (one of the veteran chaperones called it The Blitzkrieg).

After a while I was laughing whenever I saw and heard it, except when my cabin mate got hit in the head with an acorn. They were landing in my crocheting as I sat on path patrol during rehearsals. They covered the ground everyplace. When we walked around, they were sometimes moving in synch like rollers, and we had to be careful not to lose our footing. People kept commenting that we never saw any squirrels eating the acorns. My theory is that they were full. We actually did see a few tiny squirrels throughout the trip, but there could've been thousands of them showing up at the all you can eat acorn buffet.

Wonder whether any squirrels read this blog. We'll soon find out. :-)

How to Make the House Smell GREAT on a Wednesday Morning

1. Tuesday night after the kids to go bed, take those six overripe bananas in the Ziploc bag in the fridge that you've been saving for "whenever" and put them in a plastic container. Mash them well, and stir in a liberal sprinkling of cinnamon. Refrigerate.

2. Put three cups of brown sugar in a container and set on kitchen counter. Get another container and do likewise with half a cup of oats, a cup and a half of whole wheat flour, and two teaspoons of baking soda.

3. Wednesday morning, get up 10 minutes early (the hardest part of all of this!).

4. Before you shower and start your routine, heat your oven to 350. Dump the bananas in a huge bowl. Mix in four eggs, a cup of vegetable oil, and a cup of plain nonfat yogurt. Mix in the brown sugar and then the dry ingredients until everything is just combined. Divide into three greased loaf pans and pop in oven.

5. Go about your regular business but don't forget to take the pans out of the oven when the contents have browned ever so nicely.

BOY were the kids excited to wake up this morning and smell the banana bread. And they even got to taste some before leaving for school.

One Time, at Band Camp...

Assuming I'm in the process of kicking a nasty respiratory infection to the curb, I'll be chaperoning my ninth grader's band camp trip to rural Pennsylvania this weekend. We leave Thursday at lunchtime and return Sunday at dinnertime. Schedule looks like this:

• Thu: arrive at camp, unload the bus, bring luggage to cabins
• Dinner followed by rehearsal
• Fri: breakfast followed by rehearsal
• Lunch followed by rehearsal
• Dinner followed by play time (movie or basketball)
• Sat: breakfast followed by rehearsal followed by lunch followed by rehearsal
• Dinner followed by last play time (DJ night)
• Sun: breakfast followed by last rehearsal followed by lunch
• Load up buses and head home

Sounds exhausting, doesn't it? But all the veterans swear that the kids have a blast. My son's been playing the clarinet since the fourth grade so it's time he had a bit of fun. LOL. Being that this is a summer campground, they don't have the usual hotel amenities...though we're lucky we get to sleep in cabins with bunks, toilets, and showers. Some of the items that I don't normally take on business trips that I have to take on this weekend:

• alarm clock
• toilet paper
• towels
• shower curtain and hooks
• sleeping bag, blanket, pillow
• bug spray
• folding chair
• flashlights (for chaperone patrol!)
• rain poncho (rehearsals are held regardless of the weather)

This is as close to a bona fide camping trip as I've ever been. Even the trailer camping I did with my best friend as a kid, with the Good Sams, had more of the comforts of home. And I'm a little nervous about the flashlights. Hubby got the heavy duty kind at Home Depot, as wide and as long as my forearm. It's supposed to be in case I have to do battle with a small animal, but I'm wondering whether I'll get tired carrying it. Oh well, gotta go and see what it's all about, Alfie. Wish me luck!

"Drive Safely"

I know we use this as our parting sentence to loved ones as the social gathering ends. For me it's not merely reading a script; I say it because I truly hope and imagine in my heart of hearts that people will arrive home without incident. This morning I was reminded of the depth of my feelings.

Almost two years ago, the brother of a dear friend of ours was driving home from a Jets game on a rainy November evening. He'd dropped off his brother and was continuing to his own home nearby. Sadly, before he made it, his Jeep plowed into a tree. He entered a coma, where he remained until last Thursday evening when his body succumbed to pneumonia. The funeral was this morning.

The deceased had been a law enforcement professional for 25 years. Dozens of his colleagues assembled in front of the church to honor him with their official salute, including a bagpiper. Our dear friend, the clown of our social group who wears his inner child as a lapel pin, buried his head in his hands and sobbed as his best friend was rolled out in a coffin. I can't help being affected deeply when grown men cry with the intensity of small children, which often happens only in the rare circumstance when their hearts are truly broken.

Might the Jeep not have crashed if it had been traveling slower? Perhaps. Were there other factors at work, such as the glare of an oncoming car's headlights? Maybe. No amount of "what if" will bring back the 45-year-old federal agent who was a cherished friend and uncle, a beloved caretaker to his retired mother, a loyal officer in his local Polish-American club, and an all around nice guy who had seemed to have a fantastic long life ahead of him.

What we all should be able to agree on is that there is always the opportunity for disaster if we do not actively anticipate and correct for road hazards beyond our control. Yes I know I sound like a commercial for the Defensive Driving course, but it is absolutely true that the difference between life and death can be made in just a few seconds behind the wheel.

To all of you I once again say, with feeling: Drive Safely.

That WAS Easy!

Last night, when I arrived home from work, my brand new high schooler had a couple of school supply requests. So we had to zip over to Staples after dinner and pray that half the town wasn't also in the store. Full parking lot, but not a total disaster.

We were actually able to find what we needed, and when we got on the line it had stretched to the back of the store plus all the way down the back hallway to aisle 1 (a complete "ell" shape). If this weren't managed well, it would have taken us until bedtime to get out of there. Au contraire.

One gal was at the head of the line, directing people to one of eight different registers each time someone finished a transaction. She was cheerful and was greeting each customer personally, trying to keep people upbeat. About one third of the way back on the line, a team of two staffers was scanning and bagging people's orders, so that the transaction would go quickly once the customer arrived at the register. They too were friendly and positive.

Would you believe it only took us 15 minutes to work our way to the register, pay, and make it out the door? Even my son, who is often quick to point out the negative, was in awe over the smart and efficient management. This was BY FAR the best back to school shopping experience in the ten years I've been at it. Kudos to Staples. Thank you from a happy mom who was able to get home in plenty of time to make sure the three boys were showered and ready for bed, and to make the two Rosh Hashanah dishes I'd planned to knock off before my own bedtime (sweet potato casserole, noodle pudding).

Commentary on Change

Thank you to my friend Lynn for forwarding this amusing quip, which is attributed widely to someone named Robert C. Gallagher:

Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine.

Safecracking

This morning I showed up bright and early at the high school, as soon as they opened the building. Oldest son was unable to open his locker after the freshman orientation session on Wednesday morning, after trying in vain for half an hour. Son #3, who normally must be pried from his pillow at 7AM on a school day, wanted to join us, so he popped out of bed at 6:45 to scarf down three waffles...and was therefore along for the ride.

The principal's assistant, bless her heart, took us under her wing as soon as we arrived in the main office. She personally escorted us to the locker and tried the combination. Presto...it opened right away. Seeing the dejected look on my son's face, she explained that there's a trick to it...grabbing the left side of the locker and pushing on it while you pull the door out with your right hand. He tried it a few more times and didn't get it open, so our guardian angel promised to have a custodian loosen the cylinder. Just to be helpful, before we finished with the locker, Son #3 memorized the combination. Ya never know.

We walked the halls in sync with my son's schedule to get him more used to the surroundings. The map looks like a hand (the palm is the central commons area where the library, main office, lecture hall, and auditorium are). But there are some connecting hallways too, like the webbing on a duck's foot. We ran into a friend of ours who teaches earth science there. She gave us some good tips about navigating the corridors, and showed us the magic location of the building's elevator. She also gave us some insider info on some of the teachers...apparently the first period teacher is "tough as nails and doesn't take any %$#@." Some of my best teachers fell into that category!

Wonderful ending to this story...after walking the schedule we went back to the locker and tried it again. This time it opened without a problem. Big relief to cross one item off the "first day worry" list. Whew!

Here's to Your Health

Today we got a memo from our HR department and our chief officers that we would have a new health insurance carrier for medical and pharmacy as of October 1.

The good news: we're not enduring a 32.5% increase in our premium by staying with the previous carrier; it's a major network so all our doctors seem to be in it; we already have some documentation about how it's supposed to work; costs and policies are at least as good as they were before.

The bad news: we have to remember to produce our new insurance cards any time any one of the five of us sees a doctor in the near future (up to a year for those who only see us for annual checkups); we have to verify that everything works as advertised; there's almost always something funky with how the prescription plan handles diabetic supplies. I know, Hubby has been a diabetic for close to 40 years, and we should be used to it by now...we just don't have to like it.

I guess another point for the "good" side is that we have another month to prepare. Off we go into the wild Blue Cross/Blue Shield yonder.

Asking for Help

Hey, I like to think I'm an expert on help because I manage a help desk. But we are in the business of giving it, not receiving it.

This morning my dad was out around town, on foot, as he often is on a weekday morning, running errands. He's 83 years old, and used to work full time until about two years ago when his old beater of a car conked out after more than 200,000 miles. He worked in New Jersey (one heck of a commute, even for a young person) and couldn't afford to get a new car. So now he walks and sometimes he takes the bus when going more than a couple of miles.

My brother alerted me that he'd been trying to call for a few hours, with no answer. Dad normally isn't out for that long. Sure enough, there was a problem. He'd fallen down on the street, and strangers came to his rescue by calling the police. They checked him at the local hospital, treated him for cuts and bruises, and released him. Would you believe that he waited on the corner for the bus home because he didn't want to tell anyone that he needed a ride? My brother scolded him for that (via long distance phone call) and encouraged him to accept assistance from me with grocery shopping and errands that are some distance away.

Of course I followed up with a phone call. Dad basically pooh poohed me, although he did express his appreciation. I felt a bit frustrated, but thinking about it now, I wonder what I will be like when I am 83 and the Three Amigos want me to call them to ask for a ride to the grocery store. I might pooh pooh them unless it were something too heavy for me to carry or unless I were feeling ill. I hope I remember today's events and thoughts some thirty five plus years into the future. If not, remind me please...

Renewal

I made a deal with my twelve-year-old for this morning. If he accompanied me to the Department of Motor Vehicles to renew my driver's license when they opened at 8:30, we'd go to the middle school afterwards so he could "walk through" his schedule to get ready for the opening of school next Tuesday.

So off we went to the DMV in Bethpage. Stood on a line of about 20 people (which split into two windows) to handle license applications and renewals. At the window, the very cheerful and friendly woman (really!) asked me to provide my signature (which would be scanned for the license) and took my photo (which had not been updated in about 12 years). She told me that the picture came out good; let's see what I think when the license is sent to me! After about one minute we were done, and we got to go sit in a row of pews and wait for our number to come up on the big tote board.

At one point, F023 (three numbers before ours) came up for two windows at the same time, and then repeated three times on the tote board. An obvious computer glitch. My son, who expects unfailing wizardry with anything involving computers, announced, "This computer system sucks." I tried to explain to him how it used to be to go to DMV when I first got my learner's permit, 30 years ago, before any of the customer service was computerized. This is the stuff that nightmares are made of.

You had to show up at the huge building on Privado Road in Westbury, suffering through the local traffic to get near the place, and then circling around to find parking. The first prayer of the day was that you would later recall where you'd left the car. Entering the building with the rest of the sheep, you had to stand on Line 27 for at least three hours no matter what your transaction was. Once you'd survived that experience, you were physically and emotionally drained of whatever energy you'd had for the entire day. People weren't overly cooperative, and it was accepted that it was a necessary evil one had to endure to obtain or renew a license, register or surrender plates, etc. Any other Nassau County old timers recall this drudgery?

When our number came up on the big tote board, we went up to the counter and I had to take the eye test. Son found this amusing, and he did it too (which in turn amused the lady behind the counter). Son had to make sure that my receipt showed "Corrective Lenses Required" just to yank my chain and remind me that my distance vision has deteriorated in my old age. To further underscore the point, the charming lady admired my specs and asked me whether they were progressives (they aren't, but my ophthalmologist keeps threatening this for next year). All told, we were there for about an hour, which was pretty good according to me. Left plenty of time to truck around the school before I had to collect my personal belongings and head on in to work for a late shift. My son's parting shot as we left the DMV was that he'd show up here again in four years when it was time for him to get his learner's permit. Yikes!

How the Other Half Lives

My husband took two weeks of vacation time (one week saved from last year) so he could chill after we got back from Florida. Fair enough. So he has been hanging with the boys the rest of this week while I go to work. It's strangely wonderful to wake up in the morning and worry only about myself and what I have to do that day.

Normally I have to make sure the Amigos are out of bed and start their day, and I have to take at least one of them with me as I go out the door (and make sure that we leave on time so I can get to work at a reasonable hour). That usually entails getting up no later than 5:30, showering, eating breakfast, getting myself ready, and then working on the kids. This week, I didn't have to wake up until at least 6:00 or 6:30 in order to leave the house by 7:30. Also, I was able to take care of organizing some back to school paperwork and straightening up the kitchen, with the knowledge that I was only playing beat the clock with myself. This morning, I left at 6:40 so I could get to work early. Still, a 5:30 wakeup left plenty of time.

Too bad the week's almost over! Waaah!

Traveling Three Ring Circus

So we survived the family road trip to Florida. Hurrah for us! Here are my observations and lessons learned.

• Having extra leg room (e.g. seven passenger van with only five people in it) really helps!
• Taking an empty suitcase or large duffel for souvenirs would have helped.
• Next time we stay overnight in the middle of a long drive, we're taking one change of clothes for everyone, plus toiletries, and putting it in one duffel bag...so all the suitcases don't have to come out of the car at the hotel. I thought of this on the way back home, and it made the hotel experience much easier.
• Having a variety of snacks, plus a case of water, was great.
• Having trash bags for empty snack packs and water bottles was nice.
• Having a power adaptor (electrical plug to car socket) was a plus.
• Having a vehicle with three (!) sockets was very nice: one for the GPS and two for the DVD players and the electronic games.
• Having a printout of Google Maps directions was helpful. It gave us the courage to ignore the GPS when it started telling us to do crazy things that didn't make sense.
• Giving the GPS a cute nickname increases the entertainment factor. We all had a good laugh when our youngest would yell out, "Be quiet, Bertha!"
• Every time we hit a different state, we took a potty break at the welcome center. The kids had a ball picking out road maps and brochures.
• It helps if at least one person in the car is silly enough to come up with creative modifications of place names on the road signs. For instance, in North Carolina...Fayetteville became Fajitaville. (OK I think that being hungry had something to do with it!)

Hope your road trips and summer vacations have all been grand!

Driving Ms. Crazy

We're collecting our thoughts, and our belongings, to drive to Florida to visit my father-in-law and his wife. Don't even THINK about ransacking the house while we're away because we have something much better than a guard dog: my mother. If you're not familiar with the chronicles of my childhood, you're just going to have to trust me.

When I double checked my "car list" with hubby, he said that it sounded like I was going overboard and that we weren't going on maneuvers fercryinoutloud. Well, I thought I was being thorough. And we rented a mini van for the trip so the kids could spread out, so we do have plenty of room inside the passenger part of the car. Is this really excessive?

• EZ-Pass (which alas, is not honored all the way to Florida)
• dollar bills, quarters, dimes, and nickels to make exact change for tolls (I have my brother to thank for that suggestion)
• portable GPS
• tissues, paper towels, wet wipes, car trash bags
• umbrellas for those rapid fire summer Southern rain storms
• two DVD players, chargers, DVDs, CDs
• a case of water bottles and a cooler bag full of snacks
• hubby's insulin kit
• a backpack of "entertainment items" for each kid
• mom's crocheting bag which will have a few books thrown in too (for when hubby is driving)

The Three Amigos have never done a road trip anywhere near this long. Wish me luck!

Eat Yer Veggies

Today I attended an info session at work about a new feature in our database. It was supposed to be held from 11:30 to 12:15. Starting at a few minutes to twelve, my stomach growled softly. My fault for eating breakfast at 5:30, eh? So at 12:15 I went to grab my lunch, nuked it, and brought it to the conference room to eat it while the meeting was still going on. Good thing, since it didn't end until 12:35 and I would've been completely famished by then.

Two of my buddies scolded me as we were all leaving the meeting, as they were enthralled by the smell of my food. I had the leftover veggies from last night's dinner: a large sized Tupperware full of spaghetti squash. I guess it was the way I'd seasoned it: lots of garlic, some black pepper, a handful of grated cheese, and a small amount of margarine. Yup, it was the garlic.

I laughed at the thought of other people coveting my lunch because I sometimes have to resort to threats to get the kids to eat spaghetti squash. Regular spaghetti? No problem. Even whole wheat spaghetti is fine since they're used to that by now. I've even tried mixing real spaghetti with spaghetti squash. That really made them mad! Something about the consistency of the squash strings that puts them off. Oh well. I enjoyed it!

Who Dat?

This morning, I cooked a pot of rice mixed with quinoa and two kinds of chicken sausage, for tonight's dinner. Son #1 has "mini band camp" from 6 to 9 at the high school, and I have to go hand in a bunch of paperwork there as well. At least he'll get to eat real food before I dash home from work to grab him and take him over there, and the rest of the troops will eat real food. Tomorrow night and Thursday are a question mark right now.

After I ate my breakfast, finished cooking, and left everything on the stove top to cool, I took my crocheting bag to relax for a little while. After I looked at News 12 weather, I flipped through the movie channels. Finding "So I Married an Axe Murderer" I smiled and started watching it midway through. I love these screwball comedies, and I enjoyed the casting. Nancy Travis is the cute widow who unbeknownst to Mike Myers is covering up the trail of husbands that her mentally ill sister (Amanda Plummer) has offed. The prospective groom instead suspects that his bride to be is the murderess, and it goes on from there. Great cameo by Steven Wright as a rather unconventional airline pilot.

Anyhow, Son #2 wakes up and comes in to join me while I'm watching. He asks what's on the TV so I tell him...and uncover just enough of the plot to pique his interest. We come to the wedding scene, with the groom's family in full Scottish garb. My son's incredulous reaction: "She's marrying Austin Powers?!?"

Teen Theatre

This was the last week of the July theatre arts program sponsored by our school district's youth council. The kids going into fifth through seventh grades constituted the junior group, and the incoming eighth through twelfth graders were the senior group. Son #1 is entering the ninth grade, so he was in the elder group, but this was his first time in the theatre arts program. Many of his peers had four more years of experience there, so he really picked up a lot and worked on his dancing skills (I had failed to visualize him performing hip hop numbers until I actually saw him do it, and he was good!).

The older kids' show, last night, had some standout vocal solos and some impressive ensemble dance numbers. They were quite talented. I have to admit that I didn't enjoy a lot of the actual material as much, as it was very far removed from actual show music and more about current teenage alternative genre. The younger kids' show, on Wednesday, was much more up my alley. It was a Wizard of Oz motif, loosely based on the original story, but also pulled in songs from Wicked, Into the Woods, Tarzan, and other shows as we followed the chronicles of our four friends wandering the forest in search of the omniscient, omnipotent one.

One of the songs, which I hadn't heard before, really did move me. Part of the reason for this is that the young lady who sang it was not miked up properly, and yet we were able to hear her all the way in the back of the auditorium, over the pit band. A shame about the mike, of course...but in the second act, one of the players called her on stage in between two other numbers and said that he didn't hear her song before...and asked her to sing it again. This time the mike was working. Stunning! The program said she's going into the sixth grade. I can't even fathom what she'll do in high school, with that big voice.

The song was "What It Means to be a Friend" from the musical 13. This really tugged on my heart strings and my memory threads. At that time of life, I was just discovering friendships in my own peer group at school and had major trials...but I'm also feeling it for Son #1 who's also an intellectual and an introvert (as I was) and even though it might not be as bad for a guy he's having the same kinds of struggles as far as I can tell. These lyrics hit home with me big time.

A friend’s not a cheap little phony creep
Or a jerk trying to make a deal
A friend is a person who, most of all,
Cares about what you feel;
And nothing is harder
Than learning a friend isn’t real

A friend sends notes back and forth all day
And doesn’t care that you can’t spell
A friend knows you’ve got a crush on your teacher,
But a friend would never tell
A friend’s outside waiting
The minute you both hear the bell

And if your heart is always breaking
Cause the world is just not fair
When you’re at your worst
Your friend’s the first one there
Giving you something to lean on
And that’s what it means to be a friend

And if your heart is always breaking
And you want to run and hide
When your hope is gone
Your friend is on your side

If someone moves in ‘round the corner
And you want to show him you care
So you give him all your last month of vacation
And all of the time you can spare
But then, on the first day of classes
He acts like you’re not even there,
Then he doesn’t know…
He doesn’t know!
He’ll never know what it means
To be a friend

So last night we finished in the auditorium at about 10:10PM, and then the kids had to change and take off makeup and collect all their things. My son had procured $20 from his dad so he could go to the diner with the cast afterwards, so I dropped him off and asked him to please call no later than 11:30. I got a text from him at 11:29, asking me to meet him out front of the diner but not come in. (How embarrassing, to have your mom come inside and be seen by everyone!)

I remember what it was like at that age, to feel like I was being accepted by a group...or hope that I was, and I was willing to travel anywhere or hang out with people I really only kind of enjoyed because I was gaining that acceptance and it gave me confidence to build on. Even though the entire cast reported to the high school at 7:00 yesterday morning for the early performance, and they really only got a break for a couple of hours in the afternoon, my kid didn't seem tired at all when stepping into the shower at midnight. Meanwhile, Mama Bear was ready to drop!

Naturally I'm not the picture of energy today, but my parental satisfaction meter is off the charts.

Random Musings of...

...Son of Geek Soccer Mom?!?

Yup. Last night my eight-year-old came home from camp with a yellow spiral notebook that had his initials written on the front, and the word "Personal." He informed me that he was now keeping a journal. Before bed time, he was sitting on my bed watching TV, writing in it. I asked him what kinds of things he wrote, and he said it had a lot of emotion. "Like yesterday, when you didn't walk into the room with me, when you brought me to Care?" I reminded him that I did indeed go into the breakfast room when we arrived at his camp, and I recounted our conversation. "Oh yeah," he mumbled. At once he opened the book and crossed out a tearful face that had "Sad" written next to it, and another one just below that had "Nervous" next to it.

I asked him what else makes him nervous, and he said being alone in his room with the door closed...because someone could come in and sneak up behind him and scare him. I asked him whether he knew that we lock all the doors and windows at night, and he said yes. Then I asked whether anyone had ever come in and scared him. He said no. So what was he nervous about? One of his brothers walking in. Sigh.

Oh, to be eight again, with all the anxieties. He got lots of hugs and kisses before shut-eye last night, and more than usual this morning. I wonder what else about the family might be in his journal...but at least his musings aren't on the Internet like mine. Yet.

Five Minutes of Terror

Yesterday afternoon, another scorcher in the recent Long Island heat wave, seemed a great time to take the Amigos to the community pool. After an hour there, the sky grew dark and a few raindrops began to fall. (Not a bad thing since we need the rain.) But, without warning, a wall of water began to crash down upon us. Naturally, the lifeguards all stood up and blew their whistles repeatedly to summon everyone out of the pool.

Sprinting towards the perimeter of the deck where our towels, shoes, and pool bag were, I became drenched. Once under the overhang, I realized that the wind was whipping the rain at such an angle that there would really be no shelter there. So I decided to grab the kids and all the stuff and head for the building. However, only the older two were next to me, trying to collect our stuff while being pelted hard in the face with raindrops. Son #3 was not with us, and it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.

Of course the hearts started pounding and I could detect a shrillness rising in my voice. We agreed to split up and cover the area, meeting by the lifeguard area. It was barely possible to be heard, even while shouting, because of all the other people shouting. My heart sank as I pondered the fact that it would not have been unusual for a grownup to carry a screaming eight year old kid (mine) out of the pool area under these circumstances...and if my son were to have been dumped in a stranger's car and driven out of there, my heart would be broken forever. I tried not to freak out.

Still no luck as we met up at the lifeguard station. The boys checked the men's room and the front desk. I began to give a physical description of my son to the lifeguard in charge when, mercifully, he appeared, shivering with a towel covering his body head to toe. He hadn't heard his brothers calling for him in the rest room amid the commotion of all the people hiding from the rain in there. He'd taken his towel and gone in there because he actually had to use the facilities...which would have been fine if he'd told one of us where he was going. PHEW!

Not caring that all four of us and all of our belongings were completely waterlogged at this point, we made our way to the car as the rain continued to pour down. As we drove home, Son #2 (Mr. Melodrama) and I implored the little one to remember to always tell someone if he needed to leave the group. Murphy's Law is unfortunately still in effect. Whatever can go wrong usually does, at the worst possible time. But the feeling of relief was also washing over me at that moment, and I'd forgotten all about begin waterlogged.

Quick showers for all, and a load of laundry done, made everything seem okay again. I made an early dinner and was physically drained by 8PM. Monday morning came, and it felt like a typical one...until I got into the car to take Son #3 to camp. My seat cushion had not yet dried, and I managed to become soaked through before I realized what was happening. %$#@! I made the best of it by putting down a few canvas grocery bags from the trunk. It only took two hours to dry off. But I'm smiling, all things considered.

Rain and Sun

Harumph, I didn't hear that it was going to be so gloomy today on Long Island. I thought it would be at least a sunny or partly cloudy day. But the rain has ignited my sister-in-law's multiple sclerosis, and her nerve endings are killing her today. Bummer. Our dinner plan has been blown to bits. However...we made an alternate plan with my niece, who recently got engaged to a young man whom we haven't met yet...so we will meet him tonight! Lemonade comes from lemons, that's what I think.

No Humans Need Apply

You may know that I'm in charge of tech support where I work (otherwise known as a service desk or help desk) and we pride ourselves on spoiling our customers rotten. One aspect of this is our response time to emails. During "on shift" times we often answer within minutes. Many of our replies include some customization of a canned letter, or a fully customized reply if it's a one-off problem. I realize that not every tech support bureau operates this way, and I don't attempt to hold everyone to our high standards...but some things do make me cringe. Here's one of 'em.

In the middle of last week, the service provider for my personal email account had a catastrophic outage. Email was inaccessible for over 24 hours, and there were rumors that their corporate email even had an outage. Facebook and Twitter buddies of mine were posting frustrations about the outage. When the problem was fixed on Friday afternoon, I thought I'd be the atypical customer and send a quick note to their support portal to thank them for fixing it. I chuckled when I got the autoresponse email that said I'd receive an answer within three business days. I figured the rep who read it would be relieved that it wasn't a complaint, and would put a smile on his/her face.

Late last night (three business days plus about seven hours) I did receive a response from a rep named Pat. I could only tell it was Pat because his/her name was in parentheses in the From field. The message was a generic "we regret that you suffered an inconvenience" note, signed generically. So much for the personal touch. I might've received the same note if I'd written to say "you %$#%$# have held my email messages hostage for the past 24 hours you &%@&%@" or something similar. No customization and certainly no personalization. Does their software not allow for this? Or are they completely not motivated to respond to a "thanks" and a smiley face any differently than they would a complaint?

Definitely a case where I would not say "vive la difference."

Wash 'n' Dri

This week I spent a few days in Pittsburgh at an industry conference (CESSE), which went very well. CESSE stands for the Council of Engineering and Scientific Society Executives. Not that I'm an executive, but I work with some of 'em... I have to thank my friend Tom who originally asked me to moderate a session at this meeting. I met some great colleagues who work for other publishers and vendors...and have probably roped myself into moderating (at least) next year. But next year the conference is in Vancouver, where I've never been, and where the weather is probably delightful in July. But that's not exactly what motivated me to blog today.

In the hotel (the Omni William Penn, which was lovely) my room had a regular manual flush toilet, but the commodes in all the common areas were the automatic kind. And I sampled the rest rooms on quite a few floors: the lobby, the fitness center, the Conference Level, the William Penn level, and the 17th floor where they served the meals. I'd say that, at least half the time during the week, the toilet flushed as soon as I sat down initially, which means I would get sprayed with (hopefully somewhat clean) water before I conducted my personal business there. So I'd have to wipe for the usual reasons and then to dry myself off from the spray. A minor inconvenience, made slightly worse because this was a panty hose, skirt, and slip week for the poster child for blue jeans and sneakers. I chalked it up to the way the electronic sensors were tuned at the hotel.

So, around 5:30PM I arrived at Pittsburgh International Airport and decided to make a potty break before waiting on the security line. You guessed it. As soon as I sat down, I felt the flushing mechanism engage. Sigh. What does it say about my humdrum existence if I'm looking forward to flushing my toilet at home?

Filling in the Blank

Last night we had a bunch of friends over the house, and after dessert we got a big game of Apples to Apples going.

In case you've never played Apples to Apples, here's how it works. There are hundreds of red apple cards, each with a noun or phrase (e.g. Eleanor Roosevelt, Top of the Roller Coaster, My Family, Skinning Your Knee, Green Beans) or a blank apple which gives you an opportunity to make up your own answer. There are maybe one quarter as many green apple cards, each containing an adjective (e.g. slimy, tempestuous, unforgettable, arrogant, fantastic). Each player receives five red cards. During each round, one player gets to be the judge. The judge reads the adjective on the green card. The other players each choose the red card that matches the green card the best, and put them in the middle of the table. The judge turns all the red cards face up, reads them, and decides which fits the best (completely subjective so no fair arguing the point later). The person whose card was chosen gets to keep the green card. All who played during the round get a replacement red card. First player to collect ten green cards wins. The judging rotates around the table.

This game can be a real load of laughs. There are always rounds where the adjectives are hard to match (such as feathery, terrifying, or appetizing) and then it can turn into "which red card is the most outrageous." It also helps if you know something about your fellow players. For instance, most people love peanut butter, but I know that I can win in the category "disgusting" with one of my boys if I submit a red card that says "peanut butter and jelly sandwich." One round last night was the green card Industrious. The red cards in the middle of the table included Marie Curie, Joan of Arc, Eyes, and Stephen King. The twelve year old judge selected Eyes as the winner. Remember I said no fair arguing? Well, two of the players got a little peeved at that and asked the judge 1) whether he knew who all of those people really were and 2) to explain his rationale. After a short quiz we determined that yes he did understand the choices. He chose Eyes because they are constantly on the job from the moment a person wakes up in the morning until bedtime, from birth until death. Not bad for a preteen analysis, eh?

The game had one poignant moment. In order to understand, you'll need a bit of background info. My cousin's daughter, Mia, lost her battle with a rare and incurable childhood cancer (rhabdomyosarcoma) three years ago, just after her ninth birthday. My family is not a large one, and my children have cherished the few second cousins they have (no first cousins on that side). They obviously continue to hold Mia in their hearts, as evidenced by what happened here. It was my turn to be the judge. The green card said Magical. As I was reading all the red cards in the middle of the table, the last one was blank. Son #1 had put in that one. I asked him what his answer was. He said, "Mia." Through the mix of happy and sad tears that started streaming down my face, I lost sight and memory of all the other red apples, and silently pushed the green card towards my son. Because our friends knew the story, no explanation was necessary. We continued the game as I took a few minutes to regain my composure.

For all the difficulties we have had with Son #1 embracing his brothers as more than mere thorns in his side, he does have his endearing moments such as this one. His apple really didn't fall that far from my tree after all.

Blue Mood?

Last night we had a quick pizza dinner because the kids wanted to go to the community pool afterwards. When we arrived at the park, the place was crawling with cars, and there were security people and parking attendants. We hadn't known that there was a free band concert to begin at 8:00. We managed to find a spot, and the attendant assured us that we'd be able to get the car out if we left before the concert finished. So we headed on into the pool area.

Son #3 gets frustrated sometimes because he's not a strong swimmer. We've been trying to coach him, but he's also stubborn about thinking he can't do something. The walls he builds in his own way are higher than anyone else could ever build for him. Sigh. Anyway, one of his "I can't do this and I never will" rants turned into a comedic moment for a change.

The concert started promptly, and they launched into a big band medley. I was thrilled to hear one of my favorite tunes and said excitedly to the kids, "Listen! They're playing In the Mood!" Little Determined Chin scowled, and growled, "Yeah, well I'm really in a mood." The rest of us looked at each other, and went from smirk to big belly laugh in no time. Even the little crank case finally started cracking up.

I personally never underestimate the power of humor.

How Did the Geese Cross the Road?

Well, I guess it's no surprise that geese traveling on foot have chutzpah. Long Island culture screams chutzpah! I've seen groups crossing side streets and even secondary roads seemingly without regard to the vehicle traffic, even as if they had priority over cars, trucks, etc. This morning was the first time I've seen the geese crossing a road where traffic moves at 55+ miles per hour.

I was heading east on the Sunrise Highway, by Station Road in Bellport, when I saw them a short distance up the road. A few cars had slowed down -- luckily, traffic was light -- and the geese were just about across the right lane, heading for the left. By the time I got to them I'd been able to safely go to the right lane to avoid them. However, they did appear to be hurrying, as if they'd finally grasped the grim reality of highway traffic: either a driver refuses to stop for an animal on principle (sad, but true) or a driver cannot stop safely in time to avoid the animal. I wonder whether the flock has been thinned during highway crossing expeditions.

At any rate, all five of 'em made it to the median. I didn't stick around to see whether they were attempting to cross the westbound lanes as well.

Fun?!? Duh! Mental.

Those of us over 40 who grew up in the States used to see those adorable "Reading is Fundamental" TV commercials. The RIF acronym only acquired that other meaning (Reduction in Force) in the late eighties. As my own childhood was, in politically correct terms, unsatisfying, books were most of my best friends until my later teens. However, the Three Amigos have different ideas.

All three have school district recommended summer reading lists for their grade level (9, 7, and 4). The oldest has an assignment to read a novel and write about it before the beginning of the fall term. Still...last night, when I casually mentioned that we would go to the public library tonight to get summer reading material, I might as well have said that I was sending all three kids off to training camp for suicide bombers. Sheesh. What an outcry.

I'm holding the cards, though. If they want to go to the pool after dinner, they'll have to be quick about choosing their books. No moping around the library and whining about having to read over the summer. For example, last night Son #2 threw up his hands and moaned, "Mom, I already know how to read." Sigh, good thing I'm committed to this parenting thing. Or else I'd really be committed.