The Whinery

"Hello, How Can I Annoy You Today?"

2012-01-11T16:35:00.000-08:00

Well, my dear father wrote a Pet Peeves post a few days ago, and these are some of my favorites among his blogs. As he said, we tend to grouse about the same things, so here I go:

The state of customer service in this country is deplorable. As I type, I have my cell phone pinned painfully between my ear and shoulder waiting for whatever moron at the cable company is going to pick up my call. According to their recording they are experiencing a "higher than normal call volume." My ass. That is standard for "we don't give a rat's hiny about you are or your petty question so we have one idiot answering calls and he/she smokes a cigarette after each one." Somehow I can't imagine that there is a huge call volume at 8:oopm on a Wednesday night. Had we just had a storm or power outage I might believe that load of bull, but tonight I don't.

Let me back up. First of all, I hate our cable company. They provide our cable, phone and Internet. Why not change companies, you ask? We live in the middle of a small town that has only one cable provider, something I believe is called a monopoly because we have no other choice. Bastards. The cable box was not working this morning (more accurately, it was dead) and so I exchanged it for a new one today. I got it home, and after several calls with automated advice, hooked it up. Well, I've got a picture, but no sound. All the cable company ever suggests is "restarting the system and checking the connections", all of which I've done. If I have to go back, or worse yet, wait for a service call, someone at the cable company will not be very happy. ---

2 days later: So, as it turns out, we had to program the cable box for us to get sound, something the lady snapping her gum at the service counter might have mentioned. Malcolm, my husband who never sleeps, called the Customer Service Dept at around 2 in the morning and they walked him through it. Well that's one problem solved.

This is just one example of poor service. Another is credit card companies. I'd rather scrub my toilet than have to call any credit card company. This is largely because the people who answer the phone barely speak English and all I can picture is them feeding my card number to the Al-Queda operative sitting next to them.

And then there's retail workers. The people who work in stores are, for the most part, completely uninterested in helping customers. They are far more interested in yapping with their co-workers and texting on their cell phones. When I was a kid, we had a little department store near our house called Garbers. It was a small department store; it was not part of a chain and it was tiny compared to the other department stores, such as Macys or A&S. However, if you needed a nice shirt or a gift for someone you could run to Garbers and have a very pleasant experience. The salespeople were mostly older women, or what I perceived as "older" when I was 10. They were all dressed nicely and smiled and kept their departments neat. My mother liked to shop at Garbers. She would often visit their gift department for a family member's birthday present. I recall that the gift department was right near the candy counter, and I would look longingly at the bins of multi-colored Swedish fish and the small boxes of fruit-shaped marzipan. I love a good candy counter. (Sidenote: My great Aunt Lou worked at the candy counter in A&S and would bring me bags of the Swedish fish and the boxes of marzipan when she visited. For some reason, I thought it was called "marcy-pon".) But I digress...back to Garbers. If my mother picked out a gift for someone, the saleperson would actually wrap the gift with a pretty bow for FREE. It was just part of the service. If you want something wrapped now, you must pay for it, or at some places you can wrap it yourself at the table with the giant roll of generic paper, although the tape is usually missing.

Anyway, I doubt things will ever get better in this area. So, I will continue to do most of my shopping on-line, where I can actually open a little chat window and get a customer support person to help me; I don't have to talk to anyone and they usually fix my problem. That's all I want: some one to fix my problem without my blood pressure rising to dangerous levels. And I really don't think that's too much to ask.

Jimmy Crack Corn, and I Don't Care...

2011-08-05T16:08:00.000-07:00

For some reason, my computer has been acting up lately and not allowing me to post blogs. Perhaps it's the universe's way of telling me to shut up, but no such luck.

So far it's been a good summer. We've done a lot of traveling, visiting, relaxing, pampering and just enjoying of life. I certainly cannot complain. Ava is enjoying her time off and so am I, although once school starts, a rude awakening will occur in this house, both physically and mentally.

However, this would not be the Whinery if I could complain about nothing. Here goes:

Complaint #1. I'm just going to say it: I do not like summer weather. I know, most people think I should be publicly lynched for this, but it's true. I hate the heat. I love fall weather and spring weather, and would even take cold over heat. (Note: I said "cold" not snow and ice; I don't mind cold, but I hate snow and ice.) Ava and I do not do well in the heat. Despite sunscreen, we get sunburned. Despite bug repellent, we get bug bites and rashes. Rashes from anything...plants, air, whatever. We seem to be allergic to the summer. I love the carefree lifestyle of summer, and the activities of summer, but I hate the weather, if that makes any sense. I do not see a reason for it ever to be over 75 degrees, unless I am at a beach or pool, in which case it must be at least 90 so I can cool off in the water. Yes, I am choosy and I don't care.

Complaint #2. It's that time of year when classroom assignment letters come out. They used to come in early August, but I think the school administrators got tired of complaining parents, so they send them out later and later every year. Some parents are actually waited for these, as if life itself depended on it. A group of women was complaining, wondering why we don't get our classroom assignments in June with our child's report cards. Finally I could not take it any more and said"It's because they don't want parents calling up and complaining who their child got for a classroom teacher. The later they send them out, the less complaining they have to listen to." That shut them up. I am sick of people worrying over who their child will get for a teacher. I don't believe in asking for a certain teacher, or worse asking not to have a certain teacher for the precious child whose life might be ruined if he or she were to get Mrs. Crabapple for grade 1. In fact, I am so evil that I could almost considering getting an administrator's credential so I could be a principal, solely because I would be filled with glee to assign a child a teacher who their parents requested they not have. I'm not sure how warped that makes me, but again...I don't care.

Complaint #3. Why is that people seem to all flock to the same place at the same time to enjoy summer vacation? How can one relax like this? I mean, obviously places like the beach and Six Flags parks are PACKED with people at this time of year. Now of course you can't go to Six Flags in the dead of winter, but why anyone would pay an enormous amount of money to stand in lane for rides is beyond me. I mean, I know once your kids get older they want to go places like Six Flags and I will likely give in. But take them there voluntarily, without being begged? I don't think so. We tried it last year and it was all the things I just love: HOT, overcrowded, overpriced and overrated. I will never go there until until my child begs with every ounce of her being to do so. Maybe this makes me a poor parent, but I don't really care.

And so there you have it. Not much to complain about, just a few little things. I am grateful that I have nothing major to grouse about. Just give me a few more weeks of heat...and I'll be back to my regular Whining self.

Doubles-About 6 Months Late

2011-07-07T17:11:00.000-07:00

Well here it is, the summer of 2011. I am sure you have all missed me terribly, as my last post was February. But last year I had this thing called a job, which interfered with my nap schedule, my blogging, and my ability to get a decent meal on the table. But, the money came in handy, and I enjoyed working again. I am hoping to return to work in the fall, but I am at the mercy of a school system's budget, so we shall see.

Anyway, 2 weeks ago I turned 44. For some reason, 44 sounds A LOT older than 43; this is especially true when one of your close friends is 28. This was one of those "double "birthdays, meaning there are two digits in my age that that are the same.

My first "double" was age 11. I don't really know what I was doing when I was 11. I was about to enter 6th grade. I think I was at that age where I was still a child inside, but was expected to display some form of maturity. I doubt I did. Eleven is one of those ages I just don't remember well.

My next double was 22. It was 1989 and I was working as an assistant to a Vice President of a publishing company in Manhattan. I had just graduated from college and was one of lucky few who had found a job. It was an economic climate much like that of today. Anyway, around that time the movie Working Girl was released. It was about a young woman from Staten Island who...well, worked as an assistant to a VP of a big company. In the movie Sigourney Weaver, the evil VP, gets injured and her assistant, played by Melanie Griffith, ends up running the company and somehow running away with Harrison Ford. Around that time, my VP went out on maternity leave...and while I didn't actually run the company or run away with Harrison Ford...I do admit sitting in her office, which overlooked Madison Square Garden, and dreaming of a more glamorous and wealthier life. I thought about going to business school, as she had done, to get my MBA. One look at the GRE exam, which is required to enter an MBA program, and my hopes were destroyed. I did terribly on it and then ran away to San Francisco.

On my next double, 33, I was married and living in CT. How this happened I'll never know. I moved to San Francisco when I was 24 and LOVED it there. After a series of not-so-good relationships, I finally met my husband Malcolm when we both worked for the same company. We got married in 1999 and decided in 2000 we wanted to be closer to family. In the meantime, I had gone back to school and earned a teaching credential, so now I was an elementary school teacher. We chose CT because it was between my parents on Staten Island and Malcolm's parents in Albany. It was purely accidental that we ended up in the small (population less than 10,000) town of Portland. However, I am happy we did. It's a lovely place. We have a very small house, but lots of land and central air conditioning, which, at the moment, is a blessing.

And now I am 44. The girl in the mirror has aged. She is a little chunkier than she used to be. She has to dye her hair and watch what she eats. I can't believe that my paternal grandfather died 30 years ago. I can't believe that I can say that I recall something that happened 3o years ago. But between 33 and 44 I received the greatest gift of my life, my daughter Ava. While she has many needs, and her medical status requites constant vigilance, I can honestly say she is the best thing that ever happened to me. Although her first years of life were nothing short of exhausting and terrifying, she has managed to overcome a lot and become a precious little 8-year old girl. She loves karate, music, dancing, her family, her home, and just life in general. She has taught me to be a better person. She has taught me that life is not about what you have, but how you appreciate what you have. She has taught me to be thankful, grateful, more patient, more compassionate, and more understanding. She can also challenge me mentally, physically, and emotionally than any other person I have ever known. She is a force to be reckoned with.

On my next double I will be 55. Part of me looks forward to this and part of me dreads it. I think I will follow Ava's example and go with the part that is looking forward to it. Hey that's all I can do! Cheers!

I Didn't Realize Christmas Was Moved to February 14

2011-02-10T16:28:00.000-08:00

Lately, I need to check back over my old posts to make sure the issue I am about to whine about is not one I've written about already. I tend to complain about the same things all the time, and I don't wish to repeat myself.

So here goes....Is it me or has Valentine's Day gotten completely out of control? I went to the store today to get a few small bags of chocolate for my husband and daughter, along with Valentine cards for Ava to give her classmates. I found five aisles of Valentine's day crap, and I do mean crap. Huge stuffed animals; heart-shaped games, puzzles, and trinkets; and any kind of candy you can imagine with a special Valentine wrapping (meaning it costs more). There were also rows and rows of cards: Happy Valentine's Day to my husband, wife, boyfriend. girlfriend, Mom, Dad, son, daughter, grandparents, aunt, uncle, teacher, garbage man, hairdresser, mail carrier, doctor, lawyer, and accountant. As far as I am concerned you should get a card for your significant other, maybe your child, and that's it. The rest is nonsense.

Each year my daughter's class has a Valentine Party. They make a little mailbox out of a manila folder and decorate it. It's very cute and the kids enjoy getting their little notes from each other. Oh but that's not enough, you see. Disney, Nickelodean, and other manufacturers of children's media have jumped on the bandwagon and designed Valentines -emblazed with pictures of TV and cartoon characters - that kids can give to each other. Each one comes with a pencil or a lollipop, small toy or candy. So do this times 20 and your kid comes home with a whole pile of junk. Add to this the parents who feel to send in a small BAG for each child. Yes, a bag filled with more candy, pencils, erasers, little toys, bubbles, bracelets, you name it. Oh and then there's the party itself where he kids usually get a whole pile of treats and more stuff.

Is all this really necessary? I don't think so. I am not anti-fun; I think the kids should have their party and their treats, and be allowed to exchange cards. But it should be limited to cards, since they get enough treats at the party, and who needs a houseful of more small toys that no one will ever touch? It is all part of something I despise: excess. I hate when people (mostly helicopter parents) feel the need to micromanage and make sure their children's holidays are filled with more than they could ever want. I don't know if they are compensating for something else they lack, or if they felt deprived as children, or what. But I cannot stand that people overdo everything in an effort to create a perfect situation, as if there is such a thing. And what upsets me more is that many children have come to expect all this nonsense, and then moan "That's IT?" when someone gives them one piece of candy or a treat bag that has only 3 items in it. "You want somethin'? I'll give you somethin'..."

In any event, I will buy 2 Valentines cards: one for my husband and one for my daughter. I will buy them a bag of their favorite candy to share and that will be it. Enough is enough already. Maybe one day my daughter will tell her therapist I was a bad mother for not giving her a huge heart-shaped poofy pink bear for Valentine's Day, but I'll be dead by then so who cares? Oh and Happy Valentine's Day.

I's All About Me

2011-01-25T16:44:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows me well knows that I am not the most patient person that ever lived...hell just read this blog and you'll understand that. The Whinery was built upon the fact that I am continuously irritated by the countless number of people I encounter who are self-absorbed, ill-mannered, and believe that the world revolves around them.

Recently I took my daughter to physical therapy at the outpatient office of our local children's hospital. Ava goes to PT once a week, at the same time each week, and so I see the same people there all the time. Most people are typical, but there are always a few who irritate me.

Today there was a woman who I've seen a handful of times. Her son was in the therapy room for his session and she was in the waiting room, ordering dinner from her cell phone. I usually go to the lobby or outside if I have to talk on my phone, but since she was just ordering dinner I figures it would be a short call. Oh how wrong I was.

The conversation went like this:

"Hello? Is this the Glastonbury location? Oh good, I've made a few calls and I finally found you. I'd like to place an order. Um, it will be to go. I'd like the balsamic chicken and the fried chicken. (Pause) Does the fried chicken come with mashed potatoes? It does? Can I have fries instead? OK now does the balsamic chicken come with mashed potatoes? (Pause) Allright that's fine. Can I add a green salad to that order? Dressing? What kind do you have? (Pause) Um, I'll take the house dressing. (Pause) Yes that will be all. Can I get a total on that please? You know, a total of how much it all costs? (Pause) Now I have a gift card. Do I need to give you the number or do I just turn that it when I come? When I come? OK. Can you have that ready at 5:15 for pickup? Wait what time is it now? (Pause) Do you know what time it is now? Allright, better make it 5:30 then. Yes, see you then."

The phone call mercifully ended, until about 40 seconds later I hear her pick up the phone and say, "Hi, I just placed an order to go. Can I make a change to it? (Pause) Um it had the balsamic chicken and the fried chicken? Yeah I need to make a change? You can't find it? Oh maybe it's because I am picking it up at 5:30, it hasn't been placed yet..."

At that point of course I wanted to rip the phone out of her hand, stomp on it with both my feet until it was smashed to bits rip up the menu and scream "GET OUT!" However, I my thought process was interrupted my "favorite"child who comes to PT every week. Every week this child comes tearing into the waiting room at a 1oo miles an hour, his bedraggled mother following behind him. He is one of those kids who is inherently annoying: hyper, mouthy, and his mother thinks he's a real charmer. I do not. His first task, after bouncing in like a kangaroo, was to grab a truck from another smaller child and start running around the waiting room. It took every ounce of my self restraint not to stick my foot out and trip the little shit. He is about 6 or 7 and I have no idea what his "issue" is. The therapist always looks like she'd rather have every hair on her head ripped out by the root than see this kid. Since I am in the waiting room for an hour waiting for Ava I have overheard a few conversation between his mother and he therapist. His mother is now home-schooling him because "the school just doesn't know what to do with him and it's all we can do until we find an appropriate placement for him." I was about to suggest the local zoo, but felt this would not be well received. I shouldn't judge, but this kid just seems like a brat who has parents who enable his behavior. Maybe he really does have a problem, but the cynic in me thinks not.

I wish I was better at ignoring these things. Why should these people irritate me? I guess I just see too much of it. Everybody is always squawking into a cell phone, blasting their business all over the place. People don't discipline their kids and let them literally run all over the place in public places. And they think that their needs are most important, first and foremost. I talk on my cell phone if I need to, but I go outside. I do text my friends but usually to make plans, not about what I ate for lunch. And I try to discipline my child, although I know I'm not perfect at it. I wonder who I will see in the waiting room at PT tomorrow? I better have a drink before I go..

"Customer Service to the Back Please!"

2010-12-01T16:48:00.000-08:00

I am getting older. This is a simple fact. But I am reminded of this fact often when I go out into the world to conduct my daily errands. This is because when I return, my ranting sounds much like the rantings of my father (see Braindrops blog).
My daughter wants an iPod from Santa. So, since Ava endures a lot more than any child should ever have to, Santa got her an iPod. I ordered it on-line from Wal-Mart, since they had a sale. You can have the item shipped to your closest store for free, then go pick it up. Easy enough, right?
Yesterday I walked into the "Site to Store" department, which consist of a small counter with a register. It's attached to a warehouse in the back of the store, and also right near the restrooms. When i got to the dept., 3 young people, maybe in their early 20's, were standing in a huddle texting pictures of a recent party they attended to each other. I knew this because they were laughing wildly and saying loudly, "LOOK HOW DRUNK I WAS HERE?" "BOY WE WERE WASTED." Not one of them approached me until I asked if I could have some help. One of the young ladies (and i use the term loosely) said she would be right back with help. Well, she never returned. The texters continued and then an older man, who was also a Wal-mart employee, walked by asked if he could help. He paged someone for me, but I had little hope. Another 5 minutes went by. Finally, I noticed the credit card pad had a place to "click" to page help.
Finally, around the corner comes my a very large young man. His first words to the young people were "REALLY? You are just standing around texting and doing nothing?" They all replied curtly that "they were on break." He started to help me.
Just when I thought he was my Savior, the large young man took a huge sack of food out of his pocket labeled "Teriyaki Steak Bits" and proceeded to shove them in his mouth while he typed my info into the computer. Yuck. He went into the back room and returned with a box. He was about to open it when I pointed out that it wasn't MY box, so he went to the back room again. This time he had the right box and he finished up my transaction. Then he said, "Hey do you have a pen? I need you to sign this slip." Was he kidding? I'm surprised he didn't ask me to buy him a soda to wash down his dried meat bits.
And finally, as I was about to leave, one of the texters says loudly, "Well my break is over so I better go PEE." What a charmer; those 4 years at Miss Porter's did wonders for her.
Honestly, it was the worst customer service ever. I rarely go to Wal-Mart for just this reason, plus the stores are full of white trash, but they do have good prices on electronics. I realize it's not Tiffany's and I shouldn't expect anything extraordinary, but it would be nice for people to at least have a small amount of work ethic. So there. Harumph.

Going to Work with Daddy

2010-11-23T18:57:00.000-08:00

My father recently wrote about a trip he made to the Museum of Natural History with his mother when he was about 10. He said that people often don't appreciate those moments as they happen. I want to write about this now so my father and mother know I did appreciate it.

When I was a kid, likely between 8 and 11, my Dad used to take me to work with him one day a year. I think it may have been on Christmas Eve, since he worked half a day, but it may have been any day close to Christmas; I can't remember exactly. We would rise early and take the Staten Island train to the Ferry, and then the subway to where Dad worked. I don't recall where the office was; all I knew was that I had my Daddy to myself for a while and that was very good. I think he may have bought me hot chocolate on the ferry.

When we got to the office, the atmosphere seemed jovial. People popped in and out of Dad's office, doing more socializing than actual work. Looking back, it was the early 70s and people likely had a little "something" in their coffee; those were the days when you could have a drink in the office and no one blinked an eye. We were like Don Draper and his daughter, Sally.

I know I went with Dad several times to work, and although I don't remember any single visit, a few things always stand out. People always made a fuss over me. I am sure my Mom dressed me in a cute outfit and people were just nice to a little kid in the office for a day. Sometimes there were other kids too. I played with the typewriter, drew on paper Dad gave me, and played with the telephone and the things on his desk. He had a Rolodex; it had the letters of the alphabet down one side and if you pushed a little tab down to a letter, the Rolodex popped open to the place where people whose name started with that letter were stored. I thought this was a fine piece of modern office equipment. Who knew there would ever be such a thing as a Blackberry...

I also remember the copy machine and a cafeteria where we got donuts and other assorted goodies. (Leave it to me to remember where the food was.)

On several of these occasions Dad took me to lunch, I think at McDonalds or a coffee shop, and then he took me to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center. I remember thinking that I would have been happy enough with the office and McDonalds, but the Nutcracker was a bonus. When I think of it now, it must have been a sacrifice for my parents to get those tickets. They are not cheap now, and I am sure they were not cheap then. My mother could have easily gone instead of me, but she let me have that time with my father. It was precious time that still fills my heart with warm memories. I remember the beautiful music, and the dancing, and my father reading the program with me. I got lost in the magic of that ballet, and in the magic of having a parent to myself for the day. After the ballet, we would go to my Grandma's house for Christmas Eve. (This was before the Christmas Eve celebration moved to Aunt Paula's, where it is to this day.)

I always felt that my Dad and I had special times on those days. My parents both worked hard when I was a child, and outings like that were a real treat. I often wonder what my own daughter will remember of her childhood. I hope that she retains memories of special times. I know I do.

Baby, If you Ever Wondered..

2010-10-03T15:38:00.000-07:00

...Wondered whatever became of me, I'm living on the air in Cincinnati, Cincinnati WKRP." Most of you will likely remember a quirky show from the late 70's called "WKRP in Cincinnati." I think it may been on on Saturday night and thus we watched it as a family when I was growing up. I was about 11 or 12 when this show came on: too young for a social life, so I was at home with Mom and Dad. I recently watched the theme song from this show on youtube and was surprised at how much of the scenery I could identify. Never in a million years - as I sat on the blue shag carpeting in our livingroom, watching TV and dreaming of a more glamorous life - did I ever imagine I would ever actually be in Cincinnati. I also never imagined a lot of other things, but here we are.

For some bizarre reason, Cincinnati Children's Hospital is the place to go if you have a child with a "complex airway." Dr. Robin Cotton leads an incredible team of surgeons. This is our third visit and I love the hospital. It is a very family friendly place, and we have come to enjoy the city. I can't say I would come here unless the hospital was here, but we have had our fun.

On our first trip we stayed right next to the hospital, at a place for families with children having surgery. It was clean and quiet, but somewhat depressing, as it was an old hospital building. It was fine for our initial visit because most of our time was spent at the hospital. During this visit, we discovered a beautiful Marriot, right across from the hospital, with an excellent bar and wonderful food. We ate there probably 3 of of the 5 nights we were there, because it was convenient. I looked into staying there for our next trip, but at $220 a night it was just a bit pricey. I think they have a lot of medical conferences there. On our second trip, we stayed at a different Marriot, about a mile and a half from the hospital. It was very nice, with a great pool, and we got a very reasonable rate.

On this trip, the Marriot was full, so I booked us downtown at a place called the Garfield Inn and Suites. It is right in downtown Cincinnati, next to a statue of President Garfied, who was assassinated or died in office or something. This place is a riot. When we checked in they decided to give us a 2-bedroom suite at the rate of the 1-bedroom suite we had booked. I certainly did not argue. They then mentioned the complimentary wine, beer and appetizers they served every Wed evening from 5-6. CA-ching! It was Wednesday and we were downstairs at 4:49. We had a few belts and then went to the in-house restaurant, which was decorated in retro-70s style. The food was very good.

Our suite is quite spacious....however, it was decorated in about 1974 and has not changed a bit since. It's kind of funky and interesting. The people who stay here are a mix of gay men, families for in-town weddings, and some business travelers. They pipe in 70s music throughout the hallways, so when you are waiting for the elevator you find yourself singing "Band on the Run", or some other song you haven't heard in 30 years. On Sunday they were playing a jazz mix, including Ella Fitzgerald, who I loved listening to before my child got interested in music and my CDs got buried at the bottom of a heap.

The people here are very nice. It's not quite west enough to be the midwest, but that attitude of friendliness and politeness dominates. I won't lie; I'd be much happier if this center was in San Francisco so I could visit my old stomping grounds. But I am glad I've had the opportunity to see this small city. Now, if only I could spot Dr. Johnny Fever...

2010-08-31T17:17:00.001-07:00

Well, what a coincidence; it looks like my last blog was written right around the time school ended, or more accurately, when all my free time disappeared like a box of doughnuts at a Weight Watchers meeting. Believe it or not, my summer has ended and Ava is scheduled to started second grade tomorrow. I cannot believe I have a second grader, or that yet another summer has gone by.

Back-to-school time is always filled with mixed emotions for me. As a child, I hated it. It meant grumpy teachers, the same old kids year after year, and the end of playing outside after dinner. I didn't like it much more as a high school or college student. I had a few years where it didn't matter much, since I was a working adult in an office, and the start of school really meant nothing to me.

Then I became a teacher, and back-to-school took on another whole meaning. It was the end of my summer off, and back to work. There were boring teacher's meetings to endure, and a whole bunch of new stuff to organize and label. Actually, I liked that part...when the kids came, it was another story. There was some excitement about starting fresh with a new class, but that lasted about 2 days until the chaos started and they began to drive me insane.

And now as a parent, the emotions are even more mixed. For the most part, Ava is a good kid, and I enjoy having her around. This was the first year that it was just the 2 of us; we always had a nurse with us, and this year I felt we didn't need it. We had a nurse come 2 mornings a week, while I worked, but the rest of the time it was just us. Our days were pretty predictable: we started out slowly in the morning, watching some TV or using the computer. We'd go out for the afternoon, sometimes for lunch, sometimes to the library or a friend's house. Sometimes we'd go to the beach or a museum, or to the park. We stopped at the farm stand a lot for fresh fruit and veggies. We did some crafts and made books and pictures. We had some doctor's appointment, karate once a week, and physical therapy twice a week. We tried lots of different ice cream shops and had some dance parties in the evenings. Weekends were often spent visiting friends or family, or sometimes just enjoying our yard and home. If I have tried to instill one thing in Ava, it is the appreciation of the small things in life. I try to simple things mostly. We can't really afford to vacation, so we'd spend long weekends with family of friends. For the most part, this worked fine.

Sure, there were many times, when she'd be screaming for me when I was trying to do laundry, or asking me for the fifth snack of the day, that I glanced desperately at the calendar and wish for Sept. 1. When she started complaining of boredom, or I had to watch the same episode of iCarly for the millionth time, I wanted school to start. But now that it's here, I will miss her during the day.

I hope to get back to exercising (not because I want, but because my ass will need its own zip code soon if I don't). I hope to get back to getting my laundry done, cooking meals, and doing some projects I have started. It's not exciting stuff; it's boring as hell, but boring isn't always bad. I will always be happy to see the bus come home at 3pm, because by then I will want a little Ava time. Here's to the start of school!

Sleepovers

2010-06-24T18:13:00.000-07:00

Ava went out with her friend Jayne today. Jayne used to be Ava's nurse and still comes by to take Ava out. They go to lunch, shopping, museums...whatever they want. They are an unlikely pair, considering one is 54 and one is 7, but they get along perfectly. Today they went swimming at the lake and back to Jayne's house for lunch and play. Ava has been asking if she is old enough to sleep over at Jayne's house. She told Jayne that "She would have to ask her Mom because Mom would have a lot of questions, and we don't want to shock Mom." Bless that child, she must know my nerves are shot.

I think I was about 7 when I began to sleep over at people's houses. (My first attempt, at age 3, was a disaster and ended with my poor father having to drive back to Brooklyn from Staten Island late at night to pick me up. My mother was in the hospital at the time since she had just given birth to my brother.)

I also remember crying once when I slept over at my best friend Donna's house; this resulted in Donna crying as well, but the whole mess was solved when Carol, Donna's mother, promised to make us extra large pancakes in the morning (excellent). Clever woman...she knew her target audience.

By far, the best sleepovers were at Grandma and Grandpa Salamo's house. I don't think I ever cried there; in fact, I think I jumped up and clicked my heels when everyone had gone. Most of the time I think my parents left me there on a Sunday after our visit and returned to claim me on a Tuesday.

Life at the Salamo's was far different than life at my house. For one thing, they lived in an apartment in Brooklyn, a far cry from my suburban Staten Island neighborhood. Not too mention that I was the only child there; my brothers were at home with my parents. This made me the center of attention (excellent). And for this reason I was happy to do anything that was asked of me, or cooperate with any plans my grandmother had. Grandma always wanted to go out, which was fine with me. Monday started with an Entenmann's corn muffin, toasted, and Sunday's re-heated coffee. I had Tropicana OJ rather than coffee, but this breakfast was delicious. Then we got dressed; my Grandma always wore a dress back then, and so I probably did too. We always took the bus or the subway to Manhattan, or sometimes to downtown Brooklyn. Being on the bus or subway was an adventure in itself; I was fascinated with the tokens that went into the box on the box, or the turnstile of the subway. There were so many people, and Grandma and I looked out the window and talked. She told me about the buildings and the places we were seeing. Sometimes we went shopping to Saks Fifth Avenue or Macys; A&S if we went to downtown Brooklyn. Grandma liked to shop.We always went out for lunch; it was always a little coffee shop, but it might as well have been Sardi's. I LOVED going out for lunch and ordering anything I wanted from the menu.

As I got a little older, Grandma took me to the museums, the Botanical Gardens, movies, Radio City or theatre shows. I am sure I would have groaned with boredom if my parents had suggested going to the Botanical Gardens, but with Grandma, it was different. She listened to me in a way others did not, and talked to me in a way she likely didn't talk to anyone else. We shared a lot. Wherever we went, we always got home in time to give Grandpa his dinner. He was always in his chair, reading the paper, and would peer at us when we came in, wondering what there was to eat. Most Monday nights it was leftovers from Sunday (excellent). We ate quietly in the kitchen and then changed into our pjs.

Grandpa always wanted to watch the ball game, which was usually on since our sleepovers took place mostly in summer (when school was out). But Grandpa would be snoring in his chair by 9 pm and Grandma took over the TV. We watched MASH and then Lou Grant. I didn't make one sound during any of the TV shows, mostly because I didn't want to be sent to bed. Funny thing is, they never sent me to bed...I just stayed up until they went to bed (excellent). It didn't matter that i didn't understand most of what was going on on Lou Grant; I knew the character from watching The Mary Tyler Moore Show as a younger child, but Lou Grant was a drama and dealt with some fairly mature issues. Sometimes we'd watch the 11 o'clock news and then go to bed. Mind you one of those summers was the Summer of Sam, and so I knew more about the Son of Sam than any other 10-year old around. I even remember when they caught him.

Grandpa, bless his grumpy little heart, slept on the sofa bed and I slept in the big bed with Grandma. We would chat in the morning and then Grandma would do these crazy stretching exercises, which I did too. I didn't care...I was just looking forward to lunch. I guess I was happy to see my parents on Tuesday evening, but I could have stayed at Grandma's for a month. My grandparent's treated me like I was the most precious gift they had ever received; they let me do mostly whatever I wanted; and they never sent me to bed. I thought they were the best people on Earth. Somehow I think they are the best people in heaven too.

Just Beachin'

2010-05-30T12:45:00.001-07:00

Ah Memorial Day weekend...the official opening of summer when everyone and their brother is out trying to have the time of their life. I like a long weekend as much as anyone, although for a stay-at-home Mom, weekends don't differ much from weekdays. The traffic going down to the CT shoreline beaches was long and winding when I went zooming past it, going in the opposite direction, earlier today. CT beaches are not very big (mind you I'm comparing them to Long Island beaches, such as Jones Beach, so maybe to say they are not that big is unfair). In any case, they will be packed this weekend will all those who MUST be at the beach the day it friggin opens.

We were chatting with my parents at the dinner table last night about the beach. I've concluded that there are several stages of "beach going" we all experience as we go through life.

The first stage is Beach as a Kid (BK for short). BK is the best stage. Your only jobs are to put on your bathing suit, and once at the beach, make sure your parents don't get an ounce of peace. Between running back and forth to the water, trips to the bathroom, asking for snacks, begging for ice cream and looking for beach toys, this is a full day's worth of work. And let's not forget asking your mother for the time every 50 seconds during the mandatory "30-minute after eating before you can return to to the water" waiting period. Whoever came up with this did herself, and every other parent, a great disservice.

Then there's the Beach as a Young Adult (BYA). BYA is lots of fun because basically, you grab a towel, a swim suit, and a cooler full of beer and get in the car and go. You plop down on beach, drink beer, and pass out in the sun, while getting a tan. During the BYA phase, you likely look very good in your bathing suit and strut around proudly during your trips to the ocean to cool off. Also, the trip to the beach is merely the start of the day at this point...there's more partying later on in the evening and into the night.

And then there's the Beach as Parents stage (BP). This stage is fairly tiresome and not for the faint of heart. The night before, you search frantically among the Christmas decorations, Halloween costumes, and Valentine's Day cards for the beach stuff. This includes, but is not limited to: beach chairs for everyone, huge umbrella, at least one towel per person, coolers, sunscreen, hats, bathing suits, flip flops, sand toys, Frisbees, floats, swim vests, etc. Then one has to pack all of this into two small bags because 2 adults can only carry so much.

In the morning one adult has to load all this crap into the car, while the other feverishly dresses the children, packs the lunch, fills the cooler, feeds them breakfast, lathers them with sunscreen, and gets them into the car. After sitting in traffic forever, listening to "ARE WE THERE YET?", and paying $10 for parking, the parents must unload the children, all the gear, and then schlep all the gear to find a spot. Since you are probably late, you get to squeeze between a family with screaming infant triplets and some BYA's with their music blaring. (Next, see BK paragraph above for all the things the kids do at the beach that you now get to endure.) And when the day's done, you get to schlep that same gear, plus your sunburned, sand-covered children, back to the car. When you get home Mom usually throws the kids in the tub while Dad rinses off all the sand and cleans out the car. Doing this once is enough to make you never want to see the ocean again.

I imagine there's a fourth stage, the Beach as a Retired person stage (BR).BR is probably almost as good as BYA, except you have coffee to drink and likely have a tent over your bathing suit. You can sit in peace, maybe take a dip in the water, and get the hell out of there as soon as the BP's come.

Here's to another summer...

Kids Today...

2010-04-20T17:47:00.001-07:00

Last week Malcolm and I were driving and a few 20-somethings were crossing the street. We resurrected a conversation we've been having for a few weeks: Tattoos seem to be mandatory for people of this age. We laughed as we thought of how we sounded "old"...talking about "kids these days and their crazy tats" (short for tattoos, because that's the hip lingo). When I think of tats I think of 2 things: pain and hepatitis, neither of which I want. I do not feel passionately enough about anything to have it permanently engraved in ink on my skin.

Things have changed a lot over the years for me. I am not sure how I went from 16 to 42, but it happened. I recall a time when 4o was ancient, something I am sure some of my students think when they look at me. I usually work with young children, but sometimes work with high school students. High school students have no idea how easy they've got it. (See, only old people say that.) My student today brought in his Geography project on world religions. He had to pick a religion and make a poster about it. When I went to high school, that would have been the extent of the directions. This kid brought me a 2-page document. The first page had a list of the things the poster should include. There were 10 categories and each was listed like this: 1) Origin of religion a) Why did it start? b) When did it start? List at least 5 major milestones in this religion's development. Include a visual.

On the reverse was what we teachers call a rubric, or a list of criteria on which your project will be graded. It lists how it will be graded (Creativity, Neatness, Level of detail, Clarity, etc.). It then lists what constitutes Excellent, Good, Pair, Poor.

So basically, you get an outline to follow, and if you follow the written instructions you are guaranteed at least a B. If you make the extra effort - and the rubric tells you what is considered the extra effort - you can easily get an A. We got our papers back with some random letter or number grade, with no clue as to why or how we got it.

So, imagine my annoyance when my student handed me 3 pages of random sentences about Christianity not in any order, or organized in any fashion. I asked him if this was all he'd done; of course, it was. I xeroxed his "notes" and had him write the 10 categories (and their accompanying questions to answer) each on a piece of paper. We then cut up his sentences and taped them under each category, to form a rudimentary outline. I helped him fill in some of the gaps, but he still has a long way to go to even meet the basic requirements.

I guess it irritates me that the students basically get handed an outline of what to do and if they simply do just that they can get a decent grade. Yet, many kids don't even bother to do this. They are being handed a gift of an assignment, and don't even realize how easy it is, especially with resources like the Internet. Now I will admit that maybe it seems easy to me, because I am 42, not 15; but, even at that, if you can't finish this kind of assignment with at least a B, I don't hold out much hope for you. Tests are the same. Kids bring in a "study guide" for a test, which is basically the test; all they need to do is complete the answers and they have the info they need to ace the test. But they don't bother to do it,and I'm not sure why. Most of them are smart enough; they just don't care, and their parents don't bother to impose any expectations on them.

I got good grades in high school, not because I cared a whole lot about school work, but because my parents basically said I had to do my best or no social life. Mo-ti-va-she-own! Not every student is an A student; some kids will try hard and earn lower grades, but that's OK if that's their best. I tell my daughter that I expect her to do her best, and I also help her with her schoolwork. I am not Parent of the Year, but I do think it's part of my job as a mother. A lot of kids I see don't have parental help at all.

And so, as I lament the current state of our youth, I begin to take my place as a middle-aged grump. Don't even get me started on that noise they call music...

Does Anyone Really Care What x Equals?

2010-04-07T10:47:00.000-07:00

Math and I have never been friends. Let me re-state that: Higher mathematics and I have never been friends. I can do - and find useful - basic math operation: addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. I also think it's a good idea to know your basic shapes and how to find area and perimeter, as these are useful when designing a garden or measuring a room. Speaking of measurement...another good skill...comes in handy many ways. I also think decimals and percents are useful, as these help you calculate sale items when at the mall. Beyond this...well, I'm not sure who came up with the rest of the stuff.

Actually I am pretty sure higher mathematics developed because people were bored. No TV to watch, no pubs to visit; they already contemplated their existence and life's meaning so why not play with numbers? Actually I have no idea when or who started higher mathematics, and quite frankly, I don't really care. (Obviously I am also poor at history.) I do, however, have a bone to pick with whoever started this nonsense.

Let's take algebra for instance. Yesterday one of my students, who I usually do not tutor in math, brought me his algebra (insert gasp) homework. It looked something like this:

y=2x-1/4

2y=3/4x-1

First of all, who the hell ever thought of inserting letters into math problems? They were fine with all digits, as far as I'm concerned. Then he had to plot these equations on a graph and solve for both letters. Then he had to list the points where the 2 points intersected. Huh?

Now I can do this:

2x=6

I may be even able to do the kinds of problems where you have to get all the x's on one side or something like that, but solve for 2 letters and graph the equations ? I had no clue what to do AT ALL. He mentioned something about "rise over run" and rise and run is exactly what I wanted to do. Apparently this means something different in algebra. Something to do with a slope.

I could not help him at all. I didn't even know where to start. I'm sure he thought I was dumb as a rock, but I really just hate math that I view as completely pointless. When, in life, have I ever had to calculate a slope? I am sure my engineer husband could quote me a thousand uses for algebra, but since I don't do any of those things it means nothing to me. In fact, I bet it means nothing to most people.

Here's an idea: Why not save the algebra, trigonometry and calculus for students who plan to go into careers where this knowledge is helpful? These classes could be taken as electives in high school or college. I think schools should spend more time teaching useful math skills such as:

The Stock Market: Friend or Foe?

What IS the Economy and How Does it Work?

How to Save for Retirement-It's Closer than You Think

What Credit Really Is and How Long It Will REALLY Take you to Pay Off that Fancy Cell Phone

How to Pay Bills-On Time

What is a Mutual Fund Anyway?

Honestly, I think courses in how to manage finances, how to negotiate a mortgage, or where to invest your money are far more useful to the average person than graphing equations. You should be able to read a financial document and understand it before you cosign it, rather than be able to calculate the cosine of some angle. (Go ahead...ask me how long it took me to come up with that one.)

2010-03-26T16:26:00.000-07:00

Well I just looked at my blog and realized that I have hit 50 posts! Fifty posts about silly little things. I guess it's the silver anniversary of The Whiner.

It's funny, I have always enjoyed writing. I don't think I am clever enough to do it for a living, although I wouldn't mind giving it a go. I mean, if people like Jenny McCarthy can get books published...well, I'd like to think I am a little smarter than she is (if not nearly as "hot").

I often think of people and their talents. Some people are amazingly creative, some are gifted in athletics, some are great with facts and figures, and others are musically talented. There are way too many different talents to list. I often moan and groan that teaching was a poor career choice. I suppose I am good with children to an extent, but I find as I grow older I have less and less patience. I am good with a couple at a time, but a whole room full...well, it's not as appealing as it once was. I often lament that I should have been a plumber or an electrician, even though I have no interest in these areas. However, these professionals are always needed, and they make good money. I know, since I have to pay them to do any work I need.

I also often think what I would have been really bad at. I know that sentence is not grammatically correct, but I can't figure out how to say it any other way. Here are a few examples:

I would have been a very bad saint. If a group of Romans came up to me in the early years of Christianity I don't think I would have stood up for the faith. "What's that you say? Denounce my belief in Jesus or you'll tie me to that pole and burn me alive?" I am ashamed to say it, but I think my answer would have been "Jesus who?"

I would have been a very poor pioneer, and I don't mean financially. If my husband came home one afternoon after hunting rabbits and asked me to move from my cozy log cabin in Wisconsin to the flat lands of Kansas territory, which was filled with angry Indians at the time, I think my answer would have been a resounding "NO". "I"m sorry, but I am SO NOT getting in that godforsaken wagon and traveling 200 miles to the middle of friggin' nowhere. This place is bad enough as it is."

I don't think I would have been a good plantation girl. As much as I love Gone with the Wind, and think Scarlett O'Hara is a scream, there is no way anyone would have stuffed me into those corsets and huge hoop skirts in that southern heat. Not to mention that I would have had a real problem with owning slaves. I don't care what anyone says about "Well everyone did it and it was just a part of the times." Everyone, even back then, knew that owning another human being was wrong. Fiddle dee dee...

Now here are some things I might have excelled at:

I would have been a good bootlegger or speakeasy girl during Prohibition. I don't know who's idea that ever was, but it was a dumb idea. I like my drinkee poos now and I would have liked them then; I don't think the law would have gotten in my way.

I would have been one of those Rosie the Riveter girls. Husband stuck in WWII? Me at home, in a frumpy Donna Reed frock? Snoozers! I would have stuck a cigarette in my mouth and been on that assembly line in no time.

I think I would have been a really good hippie. I was born in the summer of love, much too young to enjoy the revelry that was going on at the time. Having lived in San Francisco for 8 years, I know I would have loved that time. I am somewhat of a rebel and probably would have enjoyed the protests just for the sake of the argument.

I also wonder if I could have been a doctor. I was immature when I went to college and never took any of it very seriously. Now that I am older I wish I had realized that a college education was a gift (Thanks Mom and Dad) and I should have thought more seriously about a career choice. Oh well. If i had been a doctor it would have been the research type. I think I could make it through med school, but I would never make it through residency and staying up for 36 hours at a time. I like my sleep. Plus I don't really like touching icky people. But...i could do research...

Anyway, whatever our talents, it's important that we use them for good purposes. And so I shall take my talent for tasting fine wine and head downstairs for a good nap.

"Hello, Is There an Expert in the House?"

2010-03-05T11:02:00.000-08:00

Since I am a stay-at-home Mom I have a little routine I follow. After putting Ava on the bus I have my breakfast and coffee, while I catch up on email and Facebook, and do a few other computer chores. I do this for about an hour before I start my "housework." I use this term loosely as I am the world's worst housekeeper, although I almost always cook (I have my priorities).

In any event, I often turn on the Today show while I do my computer thing, since I like to see the weather report and occasionally get a good piece of information. I have noticed that the Today show, along with all the other morning shows, has their resident "experts" in various fields, such as finance, nutrition, and medicine. Every few days, these experts come on with some tidbits of advice. Part of the segment is a piece where people either call, email, or web cam in their questions. I find this amusing.

Last week the stick-like nutrition expert was on. She's always got lots of tips on eating whole grains, saving your one glass of wine a week for a party, and having just a bite of cake. Whatever. This woman, who appeared to be about 30, web cams in her questions which was: "Many of the recipes I have make such large portions. I am single and the leftovers often go to waste. What should I do? Stickly's "expert advice was to "make the whole recipe, and freeze the rest in single-serving portions." Now wait a minute. The caller couldn't figure that out for herself? She got to the age of 30 and never thought of freezing the leftovers? And then the expert advice is to use the freezer? I could have told anyone that!

Another web cam caller phoned into the financial expert. Her question was: "We need a bigger house, but we owe more on our house that it's worth. Is there some sort of program that would allow us to roll the amount we owe on our mortgage (that is above the home's value) into a new mortgage on a new house?" Gee there's a swell idea! You're already in over your head so why not get yourself in even deeper? The finance lady told her "There is no such program (I could tell she wanted to add "you dumb ass"). she continued, "Your best bet is to stick it out in your current house and save some cash to pay down your debt before you buy another house." Wow how smart! Again I could have told her that too. I need, or rather want, a bigger house, but I can't afford it so I won't buy one yet.

I'm not sure how people got so dumb. I am not sure where they learned their life skills. Most of the questions they ask can be answered with simple common sense, something many people seem to lack. They rely on so-called experts, who are likely drawing big salaries for dispensing information that is, again, just basic common sense.

Perhaps I should market myself as an expert in something...I think maybe Housework Avoidance, as this seems to be my area of strength. Call me anytime!

Please Stand for Our Opening Hymn (NOOOO!)

2010-02-22T16:24:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was Sunday and is my new routine, I went to St. Mary's for the 10:30 service. We have a small parish with only 2 masses: 8:00 and 10:30. (There is also a 5pm mass on Saturday.) Anyway, the 10:30 mass is by far the more popular because not many people like to be up early. There is an adequate parking lot and some street parking. Even though I usually screech in at the last minute and race past Father before he starts his procession down the aisle, I never have trouble parking. Yesterday I was early by at least 5 minutes. I pulled into the lot and every spot was filled. Every single one. I am not sure if there was a cash giveaway for attending mass yesterday but there was no place for me to park. So I had to change strategies: I decided to grocery shop before mass, instead of after as I had planned, and then attend the noon Express Mass I wrote about a few weeks ago.

Having finished my grocery shopping early I was 15 minutes early for Mass. I went into the church and stopped dead in my tracks when I heard an ominous sound: the sound of a church organ. If you read this blog, you'll recall that the Express Mass has no singing, no fancy prayers...it's just a straight up mass. So I began to panic. All kinds of thoughts raced through my head. "I KNEW it was too good to be true! The organist must have been on a religious mission to Somalia and is now back!" Then I heard something that was even more disturbing...the sound of a choir. And it was a very good choir at that. They were singing all kinds of long Hosannas in the Highest, various Psalms and hymns. I think I actually broke out in a cold sweat. "I know what's happened," I thought, "they've changed the Express Mass to the choir mass and I'll be here forever." And then suddenly the music stopped. I checked behind me a few times to see if the organist or choir were returning. I saw Father Speed come up to the alter and fling his sermon notes onto the chair like they were a comic book. And then he said "Please stand for our opening prayer."

Ah the relief. It was unchanged. There was still no singing, Father Speed gave his usual 7-minute sermon and the Express Mass was done is 37 minutes flat. I timed it. I had just enough time to run into Home Goods to see if they had any more of those candles that smelled like glazed doughnuts.

This disturbs me in some way. I feel like I should enjoy the church music and not dread each verse that drones out of the organ. (By the way, how did the organ become official musical instrument of the Catholic Church? Every church has one and why? Why not a piano or a saxophone? Where does one even learn to play the organ?) But the hymns they play are these long, dreary dirges. They are not filled with positive energy or happiness. Those Gospel choirs have the right idea. They fill a church with spiritual music and they dance around, happy as clams. Why can't our churches have that? Why do we have to sing these awful songs that no one sings anyway?

Well, in any event, I was relieved to find that my Express mass was still intact, although sad that there were no more Glazed Doughnut candles. I guess we can't have everything! Amen.

I'll have Coffee and a Piece of Li-berry Pie

2010-02-12T15:32:00.000-08:00

I've written here before about our local newspaper, a small town publication mostly dedicated to advertising various town happenings, events, and other items of "interest." It actually serves about 10 towns in the area. I often notice how poorly written it is, and, more annoying to me, how poorly edited. I don't think anyone employs proofreaders or copy editors anymore. (Disclaimer: any mistakes in this blog are not due to writer's lack of editing skills, but due to poor typing skills and Friday night cocktails).

This is part of larger trend I see, something often pointed out by my fellow bloggers. Many people have no idea how to write, spell, use correct words, or pronounce the words they do use correctly. Allow me to justify with a few examples:

Li-berry. This word is often used in the following context: "I got this book from the li-berry." Did you really now? I check books out of the li-BR-ary. Notice that consonant blend of BR in the middle. Li-berry sounds more like a fruit to me, as in strawberry or blueberry. "I'll have the li-berry pie alamode."

Inclimate. I have often seen this word used on school notices and other printed material, and as far as I can tell, it's not a word. It is used to mean "harsh weather" as in "School will be cancelled due to inclimate weather." I believe you mean INCLEMENT weather. Inclimate is more like "in-season."

Marshmellow. This does not refer to a white, gooey, confectionery treat; it refers to a swampy area of land where all inhabitants are very calm. "Man, did you see those birds, dude? They live in a marsh that's mellow.." (or a marshmellow). If you are thinking of the stuff you put in fudge than you mean marshmAllow. Teachers spell this wrong all the time, which drives me up a wall.

Except vs Accept. "The children are having difficulty excepting a new class member." Uh that means they are having trouble excluding him. You mean "accept." These are used in error all the time.

Comprised of. This is actually something that has come to be excepted (oh wait I mean accepted) as common usage, but it's really incorrect. The word comprise means to include or contain as in, "Our country comprises 50 states." It should NOT be used, as it commonly is, to state "The Board is comprised of 30 people." You mean "The Board is composed of 30 people." Hmmmphhhh.

And now back to the local paper. This week, some fool listed his or her house for sale with the following description: "Three-bedroom ranch, 1 bath, 1/4 acre lot, good starter home. Handy cap access." Does that mean it's really easy for hats to get in and out of this house?"

Well, with that, I think I'll get my li-berry book, have some cocoa with marshmellows and prepare for tomorrow's inclimate weather.

"Please Speak into the Saint's Mouth..."

2010-01-24T14:39:00.000-08:00

Well so much for my attempts at blogging everyday. I guess I can do it only when inspired.

Today's topic is religion...now, don't stop reading, it's not judgemental, just merely an observation. We Catholics have certain expectations at Mass. We also have certain wishes, like "please let this be over soon." I hated church as a kid; I was bored out of my mind and really had no idea what the heck was going on. As a teenager, church was just another annoying thing for me to do on a Sunday, when hanging out with my friends seemed much more important. Then, as an adult, I stopped going altogether; I never stopped praying or believing in God, I just was usually too hungover to think of getting up on Sunday for Mass.

So here I am, 42 years old, and going to Mass again. I've tried taking my young daughter a few times, but much like me at her age, she's bored and doesn't have a clue what any of it means. We spend half the Mass in the church bathroom and the rest of it trying to find amusements to keep her occupied. It's anything but spiritual, prayerful, or peaceful. Since my husband is not Catholic, i just go by myself. It's an hour of quiet reflection for me and I like it. It's also incredible because I have found an Express Mass.

That's right, an Express Mass. We live in a small town with one Catholic parish, to which we belong. We have a wonderful priest, but it's just him and so he says Mass on Sunday at 8am and 10:30 am. Sometimes I'm not up for going out that early so I found a Mass at noon in a town about 20 minutes away. There is no singing and no fluff; just a straight up Mass. I love it. I got there today at 12:06 and they were reading the GOSPEL. Not the first or second reading, but already the Gospel. The priest who says this Mass gives a short sermon, and it's usually a historical piece of interest. The entire Mass has never been longer than 45 minutes. The priests doesn't even walk down the aisle at the end of Mass; he ducks out the back door! It is the McDonald's of Church.

Now it also doesn't hurt that this church is across the street from two other houses of worship I frequent: Bed, Bath and Beyond, and Marshalls with a Home Goods inside. So I go to a short Mass and shop in one stretch. Heaven!

I'm not sure why I still want Church to be over with quickly. As I started to say, I think it's a Catholic thing. I've been to protestant churches and they are looooooooooooooooooong services. We went to an Episcopal church a few times, which is very similar to Catholic church. This is not a surprise since I think King Henry VIII had to separate the Church of England from the Roman Catholic Church so he could divorce Catherine of Aragon, his first wife. This was an HOUR AND A HALF service, so I had to ditch that church and fast. We tried going to a Methodist service (my husband was raised Methodist), but they did everything backwards and were much too stoic for my taste.

So I guess I'm stuck practicing what Ray Romano refers to as "part-time Catholicism." I am better about getting to Mass and even help teach CCD, but I guess I'll never get over smiling when I hear the words, "The Mass is ended; go in peace to love and serve the Lord. And maybe pick up a new springform pan and Bed Bath and Beyond." Thanks be to God.

First Grade My A**

2010-01-13T16:38:00.000-08:00

So anyway, now that I have completed the list of Ava's doctors and their various locations and appointment frequencies, I can bitch about what's really bothering me: the ridiculous standards for students in schools. Now I live in CT so I can speak only about CT. I don't know what things are like elsewhere. I can also speak only about K and grade one, since those are the only 2 grades my daughter has experienced so far.

Let's start with K. Kindergarten is no longer a place for kids to learn to socialize with other kids, to learn to follow a set of group rules, or to learn to solve problems, like whose turn it is to use the play kitchen. This is a shame, since these are lifelong skills and very important ones, if you ask me. All the toys are gone. The play kitchen and Lego table are covered with reading assessments, math assessments, and stacks of word cards. Ava had to learn to read a simple book and 40 sight words (words that can't be sounded out) by the end of K. Now considering that some of these kids are FOUR when they enter K, this seems a tad much. Some of them can barely sit for a story or to have trouble zipping up their pants, and they are supposed to learn to read? And they have to learn basic addition, subtraction and "geometry".

Well enough about K...onto my real rant. So here we are in grade one, which I taught for several years before No Child Left Behind came into play. At the end of grade one a child is expected to know at least 125 sight words; be able to SPELL these sight words, among other words; be able to read what used to be a second grade level book; and to do 50 addition and subtraction problems in 5 minutes.

For some reason, maybe because we've read to Ava lot over the years, or maybe because she's naturally better at language tasks than at math tasks (like this writer) Ava is holding her own in reading. She can read pretty well because she is good at her sight words. However, she has trouble "re-telling" a story. What does that mean you ask? Well she has to tell what happened at the beginning, in the middle and at the end. This is naturally a difficult task for young children because they haven't really yet learned he concept of time. So why do they focus so much on this task? Because the CT Mastery Test (CMT) focuses on re-telling as a comprehension skill. Therefore in order to pass the "comprehension" part of a reading assessment a child has to be able to re-tell a story. It doesn't matter if they can read the book perfectly and answer other comprehension questions (such as a character's name, or the setting of the book), it matters only that they can retell it. This is just plain wrong. There are so many other ways to assess whether or not a child understand what he or she reads. But, because the CMT has become the be-all and end-all of how we grade our children, that's the skill that has become the focus.

As you can see this bothers me a great deal. Reading is supposed to be a pleasurable task. Isn't it more important for kids to enjoy reading and to learn to read, than it is for them to worry about passing a test? I loved to read as a kid, and i love to read to Ava. We laugh over books and enjoy them very much. Yet every night I am supposed to have her retell me a story so she can practice for school. Yeah that's fun at bedtime. And you think this pisses me off? Wait until the blog about math facts...

Aren't 10 Specialists Enough?

2010-01-11T16:38:00.000-08:00

Well today has been fun....we narrowly avoided a trip to the ER last night with Ava. Her oxygen levels were low for a while and we almost went to the ER after a conversation with the doctor. But she rallied a little, and her O2 went up to an acceptable level. I was quite happy because 1) I hate going to the ER and 2) the doc warned me there was a nasty stomach bug going around the ER and all the kids were barfing. No thanks.

So off we went to the pediatrician, who is a wonderful man. he reminds me of my own pediatrician. Kind, gentle and very good with Ava. Ava loves going to see him. Go figure. He knows Ava and her illnesses well and always has good advice. He gave her an antibiotic and we were on our way. So I had a full day of breathing treatments, tube feeds and the like. Plus I had to gt some schoolwork done with her, or God forbid she'll be behind when she returns.

So, before I get to grumbling about CT standards for first graders, allow me to back up a little. You all know that Ava has a very rare craniofacial syndrome that has required her to have numerous surgeries, procedures and therapies. Her early days were very dark and her life hung in the balance for a while. While Pfeiffer syndrome is classified as a craniofacial disorder it affects pretty much every part of her. She has a trachestomy to breathe (which we hope to have removed someday), a feeding tube, since she didn't learn to eat until she was 3, a shunt in her brain to divert excess cerebral spinal fluid to her abdominal cavity, and hearing aids to compensate for her conductive hearing loss. Someday I'll go and count the number of surgeries shes had; I've lot track.

In addition to her regular pediatrician she has the following doctors in the following states (we live in CT) and we visit them at the following intervals:

Craniofacial Plastic surgeon: NY, 2x a year
Neurosurgeon: NY, At least once a year, and when she needs emergency surgery to fix her shunt
Ophthalmologist: NY, 3x a year
ENT: NY, 3 x a year
Airway Team: Cincinnati: once a year, at least
Audiologist: CT, once a year and when her hearing aids need fixin'
Orthodontist: NY, 2x a year
Dentisit: CT, 2x a year
Gastroenterologist: CT, 3x a year
Cardiologist, CT, once every other year

Just for fun we also started seeing a pulminologist and will be adding a neurologist and orthopedist to the rotation since I was starting to have about 10 minutes of free time a day. Stay tuned; perhaps you can see where I'm going with this.

A Change

2010-01-10T16:52:00.000-08:00

I have a new laptop. Why do I need a laptop, one might ask? I'm a stay-at-home Mom who spends way too much time on her desktop computer as it is. However, I also spend a lot of time hanging out with my daughter in various places; home when she's sick, hospitals when she has surgery, and just relaxing in general. Now Ava will watch the same episodes of her various shows a billion times over and over, so to keep myself from going insane, I can use my laptop while she watches her shows. It's a good arrangement. Plus I can use it when I'm away from home.

Plus I'm thinking of trying to write a small blog each day. Don't get too excited...it's going to be more of a journal of day to day stuff, so I can remember what happened before they threw me in the straightjacket. Don't worry; it will be full of whining, my favorite pasttime.

Ava is sick today. We were supposed to visit my parents today, but she came down with a cough and fever in the middle of the night. Having a child who is hooked to a pulseoximeter at night is an extra treat when she's sick. The machine alarms all the time, sending me into a panic and checking her chest to make sure she's breathing. We get barely any sleep when Ava's sick, but I guess this is true for most parents of sick kids. But as usual, we get the extra bonuses of the alarms, the breathing treatments, the meds...sorry to sound bitter. I am not complaining about this, it's just the way things are. But I have been in a mood lately about the state of CT and their ridiculous academic standards for kids. You are probably thinking, what the hell do academic standards have to do with a kid with a cold? This is too long to explain on a Sunday night. Let's just say that there a few people I'd like to invite to spend 24 hours in this house...and then let them see why I am not concerned about the speed at which Ava can do math.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6...

2009-12-31T14:13:00.000-08:00

I cannot believe we have come to the end of another year. I can't complain too much about 2009....well, I could if I thought about it, but on the whole, it wasn't bad. My daughter turned 6, Malcolm and I celebrated 10 years of marriage, my brother got engaged, and I'm sure I had a lot of fun. There were a few Ava surgeries and emergencies thrown in, but that's par for the course. We still have jobs, a roof over our heads, warm clothes, and plenty to eat.

It's New Year's Eve and Malcolm is cooking up some filet mignon for dinner. Ava is watching a show, waiting for dinner and maybe a little"family party." New Year's Eve is a funny holiday. When we were kids we were allowed to stay up late, a very big deal. I recall a time when we'd go over to my Aunt Lou and Uncle Ralph's apartment in Brooklyn to ring in the New Year. I can't remember how old I was, but I remember gathering with family in their tiny livingroom. I think their neighbors used to come in too, although I wouldn't remember their names, or them, if I tried.

I also remember - and I don't recall if this was before or after the "Aunt Lou years"- that we would stay up late with my parents and play board games. One of our favorites was Sorry, a game immortalized in the Eunice and Mama sketch of the Carol Burnett Show. I know none of us kids liked losing, and I know would tease my brothers if they did. This was one advantage of being the oldest. I remember we'd count down to the New Year with Dick Clark on the TV and my parents would have champagne and we could have a taste. Staying up so late was a fine thing indeed and remember New Year's Eve as one of the few times we celebrated with just our family of five.

Then there was New Year's Day. We always had a big dinner at my maternal grandparent's house. (Italians will take any excuse to have a big family dinner, and this seemed a great way to end the holiday season.) My Grandma would always make a dish we called "Bracciolles in the Brown Gravy." I do not believe this is its formal name, but that's what we called it. I think it was a German recipe from "Mrs. Menkel" the mother of Betty Menkel, who was the wife of Mike Sasso, a good friend of my grandparents.

(Side note: We always referred to Betty Menkel as Betty Menkel, even after she became Betty Sasso. This may have been because there were other Betty's in our family, but she also looked more like a Menkel than a Sasso. She had light hair, light skin, and she wore red lipstick; she was very pretty and well dressed. In any event, she and Mike Sasso spent Christmas with our family for many years. We were just talking about her the other day and sure enough we called her Betty Menkel. Some traditions never die.)

Anyway, this dish was basically beef rolls stuffed with garlic and parsley and cooked in a brown sauce as opposed to the "red gravy" we ate with our pasta every week. It was very good, but I do not know if the recipe died with my grandmother and Mrs. Menkel. I must ask my mother.
By the end we were all stuffed, as always, and thoughts of going back to school loomed in my head, as I am sure thoughts of returning to work loomed in everyone else's heads.

Time changes things and the New Year's dinner went by the way side many years ago. As we grandkids got older and started going out on our own for New Year's, we were too hungover to even think about going anywhere the next day.

And now, as 2010 approaches, I am happy to stay at home this evening. We were invited to a party, but we don't have a nurse for Ava. Our friends were kind enough to invite her, but it snowed today and we are just not up for clearing out the driveway and going out. I like being home. It's warm and there's a good meal, and maybe we'll even play some board games. I wonder if I'll see midnight...most years I don't. But 2010 will be here just the same tomorrow, and I hope that it brings everyone much joy, love and happiness. Happy New Year!

Why?

2009-12-09T16:09:00.000-08:00

I often find myself thinking "Why?" You might think I am referring to my daughter and why she was born with so many challenges. Well, I do think that, sometimes, but not nearly as often as you might think. Ava is just Ava, and as much as I hate the constant worrying, the trips to the ER, the battles, and the surgeries, this is not my greatest wonder.

More often I find myself thinking...Why:

1. ...has reality TV become successful? How can anyone sit and watch much of the trash that passes for entertainment these days? And just when I think it can't get any worse, it does. We now have shows called I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant? (HOW DUMB ARE YOU?), Toddlers and Tiaras (about little girls who are made up and paraded around like tramps at kiddie beauty pageants), and 19 Kids and Counting (self-explanatory). I know of these shows only because the ads for them are blasted during commercials at decibels loud enough to wake the dead. There is also a very funny show called The Soup, which complies all this trash into little blurbs, then mocks them for how ridiculous they are. I love The Soup.

2. ....do people like Jon and Kate Gosselin - obviously self-absorbed morons - gets tons of money for being idiots, while the rest of us have to work for a living?

3. ...does every child in America think they are entitled to a designer bedroom? Ava likes this terrible show called Trading Spaces; Boys vs Girls. It's about two kids who get to have their "dream bedroom" designed and paid for by this stupid show. If it was going to needy kids then maybe I could see the point. But most of the kids who are "chosen" are anything but needy and their parents could afford to re-do their bedrooms if such a thing was warranted. This show celebrates everything I hate: bratty kids, excess, greed, and getting something simply because you want it and whine loudly enough for it. All the kids on the show complain that their "bedroom is sooooo boring and uncool." Yeah well, so what? Neither of my parents had their own bedroom, and my brothers didn't either. Now, I did, but I was the only girl. And I am sure I whined about my room, but I never expected anyone to actually do anything about it....much less call in a design team from a TV show. Ugh.

4.....do people like Tiger Woods, David Letterman, etc. etc. cheat on their wives? Hello???? You are a millionaire, successful beyond anyone's wildest dreams, have any material good you could want, your wife is beautiful, your kids are healthy...and...IT'S STILL NOT ENOUGH????? Don't even get me started.

Well, I wonder about a lot more things, but I am keeping this short.

Happy Thanksgivin'

2009-11-24T18:13:00.000-08:00

Well let's just say I've been away from my blog for a while! I hope all 3 of you didn't miss me.

I cannot believe we once again find ourselves at Thanksgiving. This happens to be one of my favorite holidays. I LOVE the food, the thoughts of gratitude, and the fun of being with family.

Thanksgiving has changed a lot over the years. As kids, we would all get up early, pile into Uncle Arthur's van, and drive to Manhattan for the Macy's parade. Despite my complaining, especially as I got older, this was great fun. I swear it was 20 degrees every year, not the balmy Novembers we have now. After the parade, we would go out for a HUGE breakfast and then have dinner later. Now that was some eatin'!

As I became an older teen and into my early 20's, the Wed. night before Thanksgiving was a big party night. As such, I missed the parade, likely because I arrived home about 2 hours before it started, and spent many a turkey dinner with a huge hangover.

When I lived out on the west coast I did not come home for Thanksgiving because I usually came home for Christmas. So I was one of those people who ended up as a random guest at someone else's home, since I was somewhat of an orphan (insert sobbing sounds and my parents' voice saying "Well no one told you to move across the country...").

Some Thanksgivings I barely remember. Here are a few strange ones. These all took place between 1992 and 2000, but I don't remember which year was which:

1. I cooked an entire Thanksgiving meal by myself and had two strangers in my house. They were friends of my then-boyfriend, but I cannot recall anything about these people, or why they came to our apartment for Thanksgiving dinner.

2. Had dinner with a bunch of older hippies, who were the family of another guy I was dating at the time. I think we all went to the movies that night and saw a Woody Allen movie, but I have no idea what it was.

3. Had a great meal with a bunch of work friends, one of whom went onto graduate first in his class at UC Berkeley Law School and started his law career as a clerk for Ruth Bader Ginsberg. Hmmm, wonder f he's making TONS of money now....maybe I better find him on Facebook.

4. Another meal with more hippies who were close friends. One of us (not me!) ended up playing the piano and we all sat around singing these crazy songs after dinner.

5. This one is a little more clear in my mind, likely because it's the most recent. Malcolm and I drove up to Oregon to see our friends Mike and Carolyn. We had the meal catered, and after stuffing ourselves sat around in big comfy chairs watching silly movies, one of which was called "Fandango." It stars a very young Kevin Costner, and after about 6 bottles of wine it's very funny.

Thanksgiving is a little more structured these days. We either celebrate at my Aunt Paula's or at my in-laws. Being grateful is more of a theme than it ever was when I was single and child-free. I love my Thanksgivings with family, but I am glad I had those crazy CA Thanksgivings as well. It's good to have a mix of experiences in life. So Happy Thanksgiving...may you not have a hangover or be dragged to a horrible Black Friday sale!

Pay it Forward

2009-10-01T19:25:00.000-07:00

I am wired tonight. I haven't been wired in 10 years, but I am wide-awake tonight. I just had a conversation with a stranger on the phone. Now before you go getting all judgemental, it wasn't someone I met in an illicit chat room on-line. (I talked to that person last night.) A mother called me from Minnesota; she is the Mom of a 3-month old baby girl with Pfeiffer syndrome. And she has a cloverleaf skull.

Pfeiffer syndrome is a very rare condition. It affects about one in 250,000 babies. And a cloverleaf skull - in which the skull is formed in 3 bumps instead of round due to premature fusing of the skull sutures - is the rarest type: odds are close to one in a million that you will have a baby with a cloverleaf skull. To say there are not many of us out there is an understatement.

This Mom had been sent some pictures of Ava as a baby by a friend on our on-line support group. She then contacted me, wanting to know all the things I wanted to know about Ava when she was a baby. Would she be Ok? Would she be brain damaged? Would she survive the many surgeries she needed to endure? Would she be mentally disabled? Would we ever feel normal again?

It was funny to be on the other end of this conversation. It took me back to a time, almost 7 years ago, when my little girl fought for her life in the NICU at CT Children's Medical Center. In truth, I don't like to think about those days. They were scary and dark. Even 7 years ago, there wasn't alot of info.on cloverleaf skulls, and what was out there was just frightening. I recall one day in the NICU, Malcolm came in holding an e mail from a woman whose daughter had a cloverleaf skull, or at least had been born with one. She had had many surgeries, but was a happy little 7-year old, doing most of the things she should be doing. Her mother wrote me often during the early days...encouraging me and giving me true and honest information. I still have her emails printed and tucked away. They are very special to me and always will be. This woman, whether she knew it or not, was my lifeline. She was my hope. I still keep in touch with her and her daughter is almost 14 now.

This Mom asked me a lot of questions and we "talked shop": surgeries, craniofacial docs, brains, doc appts., home nursing, trachs, G-tubes, shunts, child development...you name it. We didn't know each other, but we knew each other very well. She was in a place where I was...she felt the things I felt and saw the things I saw. She was so happy when she saw Ava's pictures because she said she could see a future for her daughter.

Imagine that. A few pictures, a 90-minute conversation and we were friends. She said so many of the things I used to think. She said exactly what I used to think. I didn't feel the need to let her in on my neurotic way of worrying about everything and anything on earth that could be worried about when it came to Ava; she will learn soon enough.

However, I did assure her that it would get easier and better and that she would come to accept a new sense of normal. i don't think about what I do each day for Ava...I just do it. It wasn't always that way, but after nearly 7 years it is. The constant worry and the stress never go away, but I've learned to battle them (with the help of wine and Xanax). This woman said it was refreshing to talk with someone who understood her, and I couldn't have been happier to be that person.

HOW old am I????

2009-09-24T18:22:00.000-07:00

A little piece of reality has crept up upon me: I am getting older. I can't stop it and I can't control it, it's just a fact. I remember when I was a teen thinking that a 40-something woman must be ancient. My God, she had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel! (Props to my friend Donna who is the first person I ever heard add the banana peel part.) My parents were in their 40's for Pete's sake and they knew nothing.

Well (insert screeching brakes sound) here I am now. It's funny, when I look in the mirror I swear a cute little twenty-something with big hair and maybe too much eyeliner winks back. When I see a photo of myself, however, it's a different story. Looking at the photos, I have aged. Not badly, but I have aged. This is never more apparent than when hanging with a younger crowd.

We spent our afternoon with some friends today who are a lot younger than us. We are at the same point in life; however, they married and had a family a lot earlier than we did. The husband and wife are ages 30 and 29, respectively, and their kids are 8 and 5. An incredibly nice family. We hung out at their house, watched sports, talked, the kids played. The age difference is not apparent (well, unless you LOOK at us). They are excited because their kids will be in college when they are in their 40s and they will be OUR AGE and free to do as they please. However, they make the point that they did not have the freedom of their younger years to make mistakes and enjoy life; they had kids young and married young. We had a LOT of fun in our twenties, married in our 30s and had kids when we were almost 40.

I don't know if there is an ideal time to do things in life. Different things work for different people. I would have been a crappy mother at age 25...was way too self-absorbed and immature. I am glad I had my 20's to explore, make a LOT of mistakes, make a lot of good decisions, and learn about the kind of person I was and wanted to be. I guess I feel like I am a better mother because I had the benefit of getting a lot "out of my system"as they call it. i don't feel like I am missing out on anything life has to offer; to use a well-worn and tired expression, "been there, done that."

I do think the one funny thing is...I really haven't changed all that much. The one thing that has changed, however, is that the party needs to be much earlier. For example, I still love to go out, drink a bunch, eat a bunch, but....I cannot rally and go out after that. It's one round of partying, max. And if the party starts at 3pm and ends at 9pm, all the better. Then I must go to bed. if I don't get enough sleep, i can do nothing the next day. This is a sharp contrast to the girl who could come in from partying at 3, go to work by 9, then do the whole thing again the next night. if I tried that now, I would die.

I stay out late sometimes - and I hate it. The next day I am USELESS...if I don't have 1 or 2 naps, the whole day is shot; and mind you, the whole day is shot anyway, because I have to sleep so much I can't do anything anyway.

Time is a funny thing...as we age, we become more confident, more content, and more in control of what we do with our free time. Trouble is, we're too tired to enjoy it...

"I Wear the Chain I Forged in Life"

2009-09-12T18:39:00.000-07:00

My father, a fellow blogger, just wrote an excellent blog about pet peeves of his. I could write pages - volumes - about things which irritate me. The apple does not fall far from the tree. I responded to his blog with a quote from A Christmas Carol, one of my favorite books of all time: "How can I be merry when I live in a world of fools such as this?" My father retorted with another line from the classic book.

I am not sure why this book fascinates me so much. It is definitely one of my favorites, if not the best book I ever read. I read it every year at Christmas time. And I watch the 1951 version of the movie every year. I think the idea of the 3 ghosts is so clever. And I just love to read the words as they appear. They are poetic and intelligent. One must have a solid knowledge of the English language to understand the text. I know I sound like a snob, but I am not. I have read other books by Charles Dickens, even if it was under duress for school. There's something about HAVING to read a book that makes it less enjoyable. I enjoy his work, but not nearly as much as I enjoy A Christmas Carol.

I love the words he uses. I love his descriptions, and I love the fact that Scrooge is a grumpy old sot who doesn't give a hoot or holler about what anyone thinks....until he gets those visits from the Three Ghosts. I enjoy the glimpse into the life of Victorian England. (I wouldn't have lasted 10 minutes.) It seems the poor of that time, e.g. Bob Cratchit, didn't have ovens so they had to bring their roasts to the butcher or another marketplace to be cooked. We know they had a fire upon which to cook, as Mrs. Cratchit was described as being nervous about her plum pudding (she was unsure about the quantity of flour) as it steamed in the kettle. By the way I've had plum pudding and it's awful. Desserts in Victorian England were crap. (Not a quote from Dickens, by the way).

I am also intrigued with the scenes where the "laundress" and the undertaker fight over Scrooge's belongings, the ones the laundress and the housekeeper have stolen from Scrooge in death. The took the "fine shirt" off his cold, dead body ("As if calico ain't good enough for buryin") and sold it. They took down the bedcurtains "rings and all, with him lyin' there" and sold those as well. I was scared to death (no pun intended) of this part as a child, but yet found it morbidly fascinating.

I know Christmas is a ways off. But if you're looking for something to read, try A Christmas Carol. Read all the lines over and over until you get the true meaning. Realize the beauty of language and how it can convey so much. And then go have a dessert other than plum pudding.

Watch Out CCD!

2009-09-07T15:55:00.000-07:00

Another summer is behind us. Well, it's not really, since we'll likely get a 98-degree heat wave in Sept and Oct, and fall doesn't actually start until Sept. 21. ( think). However, the whole ritual of Labor Day signals that summer is about to come to a close and autumn will soon follow. Fall is my favorite season. I love the cool, crisp air; the ability to be outside without melting in the heat; and the days coming to a close a little earlier. I like the school schedule now. I hated it as a student and as a teacher, but as a stay-at-home Mom it rocks! Most people dread winter, but as I've said before I don't mind it at all. I definitely could do without the snow and ice, but the cold and dark don't bother me one bit.

This year, along with starting first grade, Ava will embark on a new chapter - her religious education. She is scheduled to begin CCD classes at the end of September. In preparation, I have been teaching her to pray each night, and I took her to church yesterday. I've been wanting to go more often myself, so this is a good excuse to put Mass back into our weekly schedule. I have tried as best as I can to explain God to her; I haven't even attempted any of the more complex ideas, such as the Trinity, the Resurrection, or Communion.

I don't recall how I learned any of these things. They were taught to us in Catholic school, but I remember not really understanding any of it. We were just told to believe it, and that was that. Because of all Ava's been through surgically, I have tried to break down complex ideas into terms she can understand. But I am not sure how to break down religion; I am going to wait and see what the CCD teacher does. I am apparently the Assistant Teacher, since I have to stay in the room because of Ava's trach. So I might as well make myself useful.

Of course, our church visit was a typical Laura Beeler event. Ava has been to church before, but she is getting more curious. Of course, I was running late, and here in CT the 10:30 mass starts at 10:30 and not a minute after. I waited in the back of the church until everyone sat down for the readings, and then Ava and I, along with another tardy mother and kids, scrambled to an empty pew. It's a full house at our church, which is nice. There are only 2 Sun. am masses, so it gets full. We no sooner sit down when Ava gives me the potty sign. I knew it was coming..she has her tube feed an hour earlier so I knew she had to go. She wiggled around until everyone stood for the Alleluia, and then we hurried out the back door into the hallway to use the bathroom. I timed our re-entry perfectly, while everyone was still standing for the Gospel, but I forgot where we were sitting so as everyone is sitting waiting for the homily, Ava and I are wandering about looking for our seats. "HI everyone, please stare at us!" I was cursing under my breath, and then had to say a prayer of confession for thinking swear words in Church. I finally found our seats and sat down, mortified.

Ava was quite well behaved. I brought a book for her, but she was quite content to look around and listen to the music. The likes the kneeler. She wanted to stand and jump on it, so I had to put the ki-bosh on that. She tried kneeling but then decided she's rather sit. During the Our Father Ava signed potty again. (At least she's polite enough to sign instead of loudly stating what she needs, which is her usual MO.) Again she grabbed at her crotch while I waited until Communion and made a second mad dash for the bathroom. We entered as the Communion line was dwindling and I was able to get Communion and slither back to our seats. She liked the rest of the Mass, particularly passing the basket of money.

I didn't even know my church had a bathroom until i was about 14. I was standing in the Church hallway waiting for something, and a door swung open. I peered in, thinking it was an entrance to a secret crypt, but was I surprised to discover a bathroom in there! A BATHROOM? In CHURCH? How had this escaped me all these years? I am sure my parents never told us about it as they did not want to spend the entire Mass running to the bathroom with us. We either went before we left the house or suffered through the Mass, our own private little Passion.

I told Ava we'd be going to Church more often and that we'd be going to a class to learn more about God. She looked interested, but asked few questions. All I know is it will be interesting to see what Ava does with a bunch of nuns...God help me.

Welcome to the World of the Dull

2009-08-01T16:38:00.000-07:00

Well here we are again. Saturday night and I am ready for bed. (Did I mention it's 7:30 pm?) Sometimes I feel like such a slacker. It was a beautiful day, but instead of going to the beach we decided to stay at home and hang out in the backyard. Now, I do have to say, I worked at the office until 11:30, went grocery shopping, and did a few errands, so by the timeI got home it was 1:30. Malcolm had already taken Ava to the park and for a bike ride, so the idea of staying home was fine with her. We filled her wading pool, and took out her Bouncy House, so she had plenty of amusements. Malcolm and I sat (well, for minutes in between answering requests) and chatted and enjoyed the sun and outdoors.

We are meeting some friends for dinner tomorrow evening (with Ava) and so I just wanted to hang out today. The beach involves a one-hour drive (more, if traffic is bad), paying for parking, shlepping countless items onto the beach, setting up beach spot, and then trying to keep as much sand as possible away from Ava. (Did I mention that kids with trachs really should not be near sand? She can wear a trach cap, but we still have to be hyper vigilant.) We also have to watch her carefully in the ocean, as does any parent.

I watch my friends go to the beach. They have to shlepp a ton of stuff too, but they seem to have a higher tolernace for the sand and heat than I do. And, if I was at a rental house,or hotel on the beach, I'd likely have more patience too. it just seems like so much work for so little payoff. But I do love the beach. I love swimming in the ocean and bouncing in the waves. I always did, even as a kid. I have a healthy respect for the ocean, as its waves tossed me around and washed me upon shore like an old soda can many times. I will always love the smell of the sea, the riding on the waves, and the thrill of watching a wave build and seeing if it was going to kick my butt. I love the beach.

But, as I've said many times, things are different when you are the parents of small children. My friend Debbie recently wrote a blog about vacationing with small children, and it was so true. Vacations are rarely restfull or relaxing for adults; they are really for kids, BUT they are so worth it when you see your children smile with joy. And a beach vacation is something special. Last year, we went to Myrtle Beach in SC with a bunch of craniofacial families. It was Ava's first time in the ocean and she really enjoyed it.It was kind of funny...all these kids with trachs were under umbrellas, with not one grain of sand on them, while every other kid was covered in the stuff.

We always used to get sand everywhere, and my mother diligently scrubbed us all when we got home. We knew before we went anywhere, we had to have a bath. I also recall my mother's cousins Joan and John had a summer beach house in Long Island; we'd go there at least once a summer to spend a day or two at the beach. It was very rocky...there were pebbles everywhere. But we loved it, especially because there was a playground (the old-fashioned kind where the metal slide hit 108 degrees by noon) and a man who sold Italian ice from a push-wagon. I am thinking of getting a push wagon and selling hot dogs, beer, and Italian ice from my propery next to the golf course. My husband insists I'd need a liquor license and a few other assorted permits, but he is a spoiled sport, and I bet none of the golfers would rat me out. While I know this is crazy, I would love to do it.

But I digress, as usual...I am not sure what my point was when I started...oh yes! It was that one can be content in one's life, even if one is just sitting about in one's livingroom. Whether at the beach or at home, today was one nice day!

Weekend Notes

2009-07-19T15:12:00.000-07:00

Well it's been a busy weekend here in Beeler-ville. Friday night started out with my monthly game of Bunco. Bunco a really easy, pointless dice game that you play with a group of 12. It's usually played by housewives who will take any excuse to get out of the house and have a cocktail. ("What are we doing? Cleaning out your garage? But you're providing wine and snacks? Count me in!") Anyway the game went on for a couple of hours and then a few of us hung around in my friend's hot tub. It was fun but by the time 11:00 came around I had to go home. I've learned something: I don't like being out late at night. The spirit is willing, but the body can't take it. I am tired. Always. By 10pm my favorite place is in my bed, under the covers, watching TV.

I didn't always used to be this way. I remember my parents moaning and groaning when I went out at 10pm. I thought they were so uncool. Now I get it. They were sleepy and didn't want to stay up to wait for me to drag my skinny little teenage butt into the house. I recall my poor father driving my boyfriend home on Saturday nights because my boyfriend was too young to have a car. I am sure the last thing my Dad wanted to do was schlep some loser across Staten Island at 11 pm, but he did it. And my Mom waited for us to return.

Anyway, back to the weekend. Saturday morning I worked, while Dad took Ava to a birthday party at a gymnastics place. Ava loved it. of course she did...the kids jumped on a huge trampoline and ran around like maniacs. After I got home we took Ava mini golfing at our local place. Ava said last weekend "I want to go mini-golfing as a family." Ava has a "thing" about her family, meaning me, my husband and her. She likes it when it's just the 3 of us. She also loves big family parties, but she gets very excited when the 3 of us go somewhere "as a family." She will say "Isn't it nice to do something as a family?" It's very sweet and cute, and I am glad she enjoys this time, as someday she will want me to hide behind a potted plant so no one knows we're related. The rest of Saturday was spent in our yard, with Ava on her swings and us making a barbecue.

Today Malcolm mowed the "lawn", which actually contains some grass now as opposed to just moss and weeds. Ava played in her wading pool, her bouncy house, and swings, while I chased after her and and helped her change activities every 15 minutes. She does something for a while, then moves onto the next thing. She did enjoy the wading pool and brought her doll along to "give her a swimming lesson." Tonight we had another barbecue and Malcolm is already asleep on the couch.

Life is funny sometimes. We plan and we plan, and things don't always work out how we imagined. If I planned these two days, they would have never worked...we just went with the flow and did just enough to keep us occupied, but not too much as to make us exhausted (although the snoring from the living room leads me to believe that Malcolm may disagree). It was a nice weekend and I enjoyed myself. And the best part is i can go to bed early tonight.

Random Thoughts

2009-07-04T15:36:00.000-07:00

Well July 4th is here. For some strange reason, there aren't many fireworks on July 4 itself here in CT. Most of them are the weekend before, the day before, the week after. Who knows why. CT has some strange laws. For example, fireworks are legal, but you can't buy alcohol on Sunday. This must date back to some Puritan code that dictated that alcohol was the Devil's Drink. I guess God was OK with explosives.

I've heard only one firecracker today, a sharp contrast to yesteryear, when the idiot who lived across from me as a child would spend the whole day and night setting them off. I learned a good many swear words from my father as he cursed this kid, who was making just a heap of noise all day. I remember as a young adult going with a boyfriend to his friend's house for July 4. This friend had a last name that just so happened to be the same as several famous Mafia members, and the boatload of illegal fireworks he assembled on July 4 was confirmation of his obvious "connections." He would start by setting off the pretty ones and then end the night basically setting the whole street on fire. I remember one year, the noise was so loud, it somehow tripped some electronic device in my boyfriend's car, and the car would not start. I have no clue how we got home, but we obviously made it.

Today was an interesting July 4. The weather was OK, which means it didn't rain continuously, as it has for the past 40 days and 40 nights. My daughter won a Perfect Attendance award at her karate class this past week, so we decided to let her pick a place she'd like to go. She chose the park with 3 playscapes and a sprinkler park. She put on her little bathing suit and played happily in the sprinkler for about 15 minutes. Then she got cold and played on the playground. We ate the picnic lunch we brought. All of a sudden she decided she wanted to go home and was being quite a brat about it. (We had been there a total of 45 minutes.) We told her that it was too nice to go home and watch TV, and she proceeded to throw a huge screaming fit. After several minutes of this we told her firmly that if we left, we were not going home, but were going to do a "Mommy and Daddy" thing instead. "I DON"T WANT TO DO A MOMMY AND DADDY THING I WANT TO GO HOME!" After threatening to take away all TV privileges for the day, she quieted down and we stopped at a local winery, since any "Mommy and Daddy thing" required a drink by that time. She behaved perfectly there, of course. The person pouring the wine even commented on how well behaved she was, and I swear that my daughter gave me the finger. Only my child would be happier at a winery than at a playground.

Next we did go home and she watched one hour of TV and then we shut it off and played in the backyard. She swung on her swing, jumped in her bouncy house and ate shrimp cocktail (she's 6, but acts like she's 40). My husband and I had a few beers and barbecued, and all was OK.

Sometimes I feel sorry for myself. My little girl has a lot of medical needs, and this sometimes interferes with her ability to either do things other kids can do easily, or just makes it harder for her; thus, it makes things harder for her parents. I know all kids have meltdowns and are uncooperative; but other parents can sit back and not worry if their child's airway will get plugged. Other parents don't need to worry if their child is screaming because they're being a normal kid, or is the shunt that diverts excess cerebral spinal fluid from her brain clogged? Most parents just feed their kid; they don't need to count calories to make sure they're eating enough to make up for a tube feeding.

And then I come out of my little pity party and watch my daughter swinging and laughing on her little swing, something she couldn't - and wouldn't- do 2 years ago. She says "Thank you, Daddy, for making my playground nice." (Daddy put down nice, soft rubber mulch under her playground last weekend.) I think of our little family of 3 and how much we all love each other. And then things are OK again. Things will never be perfect, I know that. I am just grateful life has given me the chance to realize that perfection is not necessary; what we have is wonderful. Happy July 4th everyone.

"Ask Not for Whom the Bell Tolls...

2009-05-28T13:25:00.000-07:00

....it tolls for thee, butthead." Once upon a time before Roseanne Barr - or whatever she calls herself now - went nuts, she had a very funny sitcom on TV. It was a realistic program about a middle class family where the parents were always working to make ends meet, the kids were a pain in the neck, and the people wore jeans and sweatshirts. This blog is not about Roseanne; however that quote is from the show, something Roseanne said to her TV husband, Dan.

I believe the original line is from a poem (minus the "butthead" part) and refers to a person's inevitable demise. In this case, the demise is of a reality show and a family, not just a single person.

Yes, I am back on my Jon and Kate Plus 8 rant. I know I have wasted 2 blogs on these idiots, not to mention time and energy. They have just really hit a nerve with me. Apparently, on the season premiere of their reality show this past week, they were interviewed separately (usually it's together) and Kate spoke of the fact that they may be heading for separation. She is crying, saying "it's not what she wanted or envisioned for her family." Hmmmm...am I supposed to feel bad for her?

This woman and her husband decided to bring 8 kids into this world. I have no judgement on this (well I do, but it's not my business). They then decided to allow TV cameras 24-hour access to their home, their marriage, and their kids. As if the stress of raising 8 kids isn't enough, these fools decided to add more stress to their lives by having it filmed and blasted all over TV. I have one question for Jon and Kate: How stupid are you? Did you think this was a good idea? Oh wait, let me guess; the promise of making lots of money, becoming famous, getting all kinds of free perks (including vacations and plastic surgery for Mom) overshadowed the thought of what was best for your family.

I am not a perfect parent, nor am I am perfect person. But, honestly now, you couldn't see this coming? Jon "quit" his job 2 years ago to stay home with the 8 kids, who, by the way, are always screaming. Maybe it's the constant TV lighting in their faces. Kate, meanwhile, decided to write books and has been "gone a lot", traveling to promote whatever she's fooled people into thinking is worthwhile reading. Hmmm, dumb Dad alone with 8 kids, self-absorbed Mom gone, TV cameras all over...why I believe that's we call a recipe for disaster! Add to this the fact that Jon is about as smart and personable as a fence post, and Kate is an over controlling squawker. Sounds like heaven to me!

I have no sympathy for Jon and Kate. They made poor choices - choices a 6th grader probably would have predicated were bad - and they are now paying the price. I do feel bad for their children, who will pay the ultimate price: the loss of their family as they now know it. Maybe in the long run it's for the best. Maybe whatever damage has been done can be repaired and these poor kids can live a normal life, a life out of the spotlight.

Hot Fun in the Summa-time

2009-05-21T17:27:00.000-07:00

Well I have spent enough time and energy ranting about Jon and Kate, and as the kids say, "I am soooo done with them."

Both my legs are covered in mosquito bites, which means summer is officially here. Summer brings a multitude of things, including shorts, sleeveless shirts, and (insert shudder) the bathing suit. I enjoyed summer more as a young adult; after all, it meant no school, parties at the beach, suntans, and just plain old fun. Plus I was a size 6 and looked pretty good in a bikini.

Fast forward about 25 years: I am a stay-at-home Mom with no days off, we don't get to the beach very often, I have to wear sunscreen for fear of skin cancer, and I wouldn't wear a bikini if you paid me. Like most things in life, summer for me has changed drastically. First of all, we live in a rural area; we own 2.7 acres of land, most of which is woods. There is also a "wetlands" on our property, aka, a swamp. We live next door to a golf course with a lot of ponds, which means we have lots of mosquitoes. I am a mosquito magnet. Scientists have never been able to explain why mosquitoes are attracted to some people more than others, but they are. (Don't question my mosquito credentials...I have them.) So, if I want to be outside I need to covered in OFF insect repellent. Even this does not completely protect me and I get huge bites, which drive me crazy. As a result I spend the entire summer smelling of DEET and calamine lotion. Not like the old days when I smelled like Estee Lauder perfume and fruity hair conditioner. Being covered in bug bites is not comfortable. Neither is the rash i get from touching plants. That's right, plants. Any plant. I have no idea why, but I get a rash from plants. So if I do any gardening I need to wear gloves. Sometimes thick socks too to protect my legs. This is so attractive.

Another thing I find uncomfortable is being hot. I HATE being hot. Nothing can be gained from it. All it does is make me perspire, which makes my sunscreen, DEET and calamine lotion all run, thus requiring them all to be reapplied. The only way I like to be outside if I am next to a pool and can roll in like a lazy seal if I get too hot. I love being outside if the temperature is moderate, as in below 83 degrees. Any hotter than that and you will find me inside in the air conditioning.

All this leads to feelings of guilt. (I am Catholic so all things eventually lead to feelings of guilt.) I feel guilty because I should be outside in the beautiful sunshine. And often I am, I am just not enjoying it because I am hot and itchy. Plus nice weather always makes me feel like I should be doing something. Anything. Flying a kite, running through the ocean, playing at the park, or riding a bike. Laying down on the couch and napping in the sun like my cat is just not as satisfying in the summer. There's no blanket to snuggle under, and, again, I feel guilty for wasting a nice day just lying around.

I also don't like sleeping in the summer. Again this is a heat issue. I like my flannel pajamas and my cozy comforters. Since we installed central AC (by the way, a very worthwhile investment), this is not as much of a problem as it used to be.

Don't get me wrong; I enjoy cooking outdoors, summer parties, having my daughter home from school, and just the carefree attitude of summer. I just have come to realize that, strange as it sounds, I am a winter person. Actually, I love fall and spring, what little we have of them now. It's 98 degrees until the end of September these days, and then it seems fall is about 2 weeks long. Same with spring; it can be snowing here in New England as late as April, we have a few moderate days, and then the heat begins.

I realize it's a waste of time to complain about the weather. The one place on Earth that has perfect weather is San Francisco, where I spent 8 years. I will leave it at that, since if even discuss moving there again both my parents will instantly die of a stroke. (Don't worry, Mom and Dad, I'm not going anywhere.)

Ava, Laura and Malcolm - And Then Some

2009-05-07T18:50:00.000-07:00

Well knock me over with a feather... A few weeks ago I posted a blog ranting about a TV show that follows the lives of a couple and their 8 children: a set of twins, and a set of sextuplets. (See blog dated and titled April 19, Stupid Is As Stupid Does.) Little did I know how an appropriate title that would be.

I will not go back into the details of this rant. Read it if you really want to know. Let's just say that the male involved in this reality mess has been caught "hanging out with a 23-year-old teacher". According to both the husband and the teacher, "they are just friends." Oh wait! There goes the turnip truck off of which we just all fell. (That sounds awkward, but my education will not allow me to end a sentence with a preposition.)

Let's examine this situation, shall we? A 32-year old man - the father of 8 children, star of a reality show thru which his whole life is exploited on TV - is photographed in a bar in the company of some college girls and this 23-year old woman. This man is dumb as a post, overtired, henpecked, and immature, and yet we are to believe had the discretion to tell these women, who are fawning all over him, "Sorry ladies, I'm taken." We are also to believe that this man who is continuously criticized (and not without reason) by his overly controlling, OCD, witch-of-a-wife on national TV is not going to be tempted at the thought of a young woman wanting him. Call me cynical, but I think he cheated.

I also happen to think it's a riot. I guess I shouldn't be happy at someone else's misery. However, as I stated in my first rant on this subject, these people have no one to blame but themselves for their situation. No one held a gun to their heads and forced them to have the in-vitro procedures that resulted in the 8 kids...and certainly no one forced them to then capitalize on this this by then blasting their private lives all over TV.

The wife is now on tour promoting her second book. That's right...she wrote one book, PEOPLE READ IT, and now she's written another. How a woman who has 8 kids finds time to write 2 books I'll never know. I have one child and I barely have time to write a grocery list (and this blog for my 3 fans). I also read today that this woman gets paid $50,000 to $75,000 per episode of her reality show. WHAT???? I assume her husband Romeo gets paid his own salary, which he's obviously squandering on booze and women (although not a bad way to squander money necessarily). So these 2 fools are making millions of dollars while the rest of us - who don't have TV cameras in our house 24/7 - are just working for a living. Unreal.

Perhaps I should write a pilot for my own reality show about a mother who has a child with rare craniofacial syndrome. Cameras could follow us everywhere: through dozens of surgeries, doctors appointments, countless hours of worry, oodles of sleepless nights, hours of research, etc.
I am sure it's not as glamorous as a couple with 8 kids, but who cares? As long as we make money, that's what counts. And all I have to do is what I - and millions of other women - do everyday. We just have to do it while all of America watches, judges, and then laughs when the perfect family turns out to be not so perfect after all.

A Tale of Too Much Traffic

2009-04-28T18:03:00.000-07:00

I have lived in several places during my nearly 42 years on this Earth. I was born in Brooklyn, NY and lived there until I was about 4 years old. I was raised on Staten Island, and when I was 24, I moved to San Francisco. (Insert longing sigh, as I miss this place more than words can say!) After 3 years in the city of San Francisco itself, I moved to the "East Bay" to a beautiful part of Oakland (yes, there are nice parts). Since my entire family is selfish and refused to re-locate to the west coast I moved to CT in 2000 to be closer to them. I now live in Portland, CT, a small, rural town with about 10,000 people. This is a huge change from living in a city. Both New York City and the San Francisco Bay Area are famous for their traffic jams, mostly on highways that connect the major city with suburbs. Traffic in Portland, CT is a far cry from the traffic to which I became accustomed.

We spend a lot of time on the road visiting relatives. We also see a medical team at NYU Medical Center for my daughter's rare craniofacial disorder, which means more time on the road. There are probably close to a dozen ways to get from CT to NY, and we've probably tried them all. We've learned to check for things like baseball games, football games, bike tours, airplane shows, beach traffic, highway circus acts, and any event that could feasibly cause traffic on our route. We seem to have this down to a science; however, there are always places that have traffic jams for no cause whatsoever at any time of day or night. I have listed my top 5 Traffic Nightmare Zones for your travel planning convenience:

1. The George Washington Bridge, more commonly known by New Yorkers as the "Gee-Dub". I believe that the NY or NJ DOT's actually pay people to cross this bridge and cause traffic jams, as it is never empty. I have crossed it in day and night, in good weather and in bad, in sickness and in health (oh wait, wrong group of phrases)...and there is ALWAYS traffic. I don't know what causes it, nor do I care. I will never set foot (actually wheels) on this bridge again.

2. The BQE, aka the Gowwanis, or to out-of-towners, Highway 278. Yesterday I left Brooklyn at about 1:30 pm and was caught in a traffic jam on the BQE. Who the hell is on the road at 1:30 in the afternoon? Evidently, plenty of people, since it took me 30 minutes to go about 3 miles. Ugh.

3. The Cross Bronx Expressway. I have been stuck on this stupid road more times than I care to count. I have looked over and actually seen rigor mortis begin to set into the drivers around me, we sat there for so long. This is right up there with the Gee-Dub and another road I will never go near again.

4. The Garden State Parkway. DO NOT go near this highway any time during the summer. It leads right to the Jersey Shore, where every lunatic in NY or NJ is heading on a sunny day. If that isn't bad enough, it's a toll road. This means you must stop every few miles and throw a dime into a toll basket...maybe it's up to a quarter now, who knows. The point is, this system is outdated and inefficient. Even if you have an EZ-Pass, it's still a hassle to stop every three miles, or whatever it is. Avoid it like the swine flu. (And to those of you who live in the Tri-state area, GET AN EZ-PASS for God's sake.)

5. The approach to the Goethals Bridge, and the Staten Island Expressway, right after the Goethals Bridge. I don't know what's up with this. Perhaps it's the 45 lanes of toll booths as you exit the NJ Turnpike to get onto the Goethals, with no clear lane markers, a mix of EZ-Pass lanes and cash lanes, and rude drivers. There could be a nuclear holocaust and there would still be traffic at this toll plaza. Once you get thru that and over the Goethals, it's another parking lot on the Staten Island Expressway. Again, I have never seen area this without traffic.

Oh yes there are others: the Belt Parkway, the FDR Drive/Battery Tunnel on weekdays, ANY road to Long Island, and countless other traffic mazes that would test the patience of Job. I do not have the patience of Job; in fact, I have no patience where traffic is concerned. My tolerance has diminished even further since I rarely deal with traffic where I live. I laugh when people say there's traffic on Highway 91 in CT (Oh you mean that string of 10 cars? HAHAHAHAHA!). I can't wait until someone invents those little personal flying saucers like they had on the Jetsons. Until then, I will continue my quest for the perfect traffic-free route. I know, I know, when pigs fly.

Stupid Is as Stupid Does

2009-04-19T15:58:00.001-07:00

My father just posted a rant to one of his blogs. My father is a very good ranter. (Is that a real noun?) He gets to the heart of the issue, with just enough complaining, a dash or two of sarcasm, and a final grumble to wrap it all up. Having been under his tutelage for nearly 42 years, I think I am a fair ranter myself. Dad's last blog was about the absurdity of things such as able-bodied people receiving welfare for no work, government bailouts, and the like. This is somewhat of a follow-up. My complaint: People who are rewarded for simply being victims of their own stupidity.

My daughter, who is 6, likes to watch this terrible show about a family who has 8 children. I am unsure why she likes this program; I think perhaps she finds some humor in the chaos. Every few days she asks me to watch it with her, and it is truly painful. The story behind this TV show is that the couple couldn't have children naturally, so they had in-vitro fertilization and had 2 healthy twin girls. Excellent. Most people would be happy with that. However, the mother is a perfectionist shrew and just "wanted to have one more." Well, they did in-vitro again and ended up with sextuplets (three boys and three girls). Mother Nature has a sense of humor and will f^#$@ you every time.

Somehow, in our society, these people have become celebrities. For doing what, I'm not sure. Oh wait...it's for doing what something risky and unnecessary! They weren't happy with the healthy children they had; they just had to have that third one to complete the "perfect" family and now they are screwed because they have 8 kids. I am not sure which is the dumber of the two, the husband or the wife. The husband is this laid-back dude, who seems to be in a constant state of shock that he has ended up where he is. He is also useless with anything. And the wife is always nagging a him to do this and that, and just can't rest if everything is not perfect. I have news for her: nothing will ever be perfect when you have 8 kids. In any event, this bubble head woman has written some book that is flying off the shelves. And they have a TV show that "follows their lives." They go on all these vacations (likely paid for by the network) and have a TV camera documenting every facet of their lives. In the clip I just caught, the wife and all the girls were having pedicures (why do 5- and 3-year-old girls need pedicures?) and the father was doing some masculine activity with the 3 boys.

So, basically, these people made a decision to have have more children and ended up with 8. They are always moaning and groaning about how hard their lives are; well, they made their own beds (all 10 of them), as far as I'm concerned. And what do they get? Fame, fortune, and constant adulation about how wonderful they are. They are some sort of heroes because they are raising 8 children. Well, my grandfather was one of 11, and I know for sure that no one ever gave my great-grandmother her own show or any perks because of choices she made. I also know that many families had large numbers of children because birth control was not nearly as readily available. That is just the way things were; no one hovered over them, praising their every move and marveling at how they can raise so many kids.

I commend them for their commitment to raise all the children and to not abort any of them. What I do not commend them for is exposing not only every second of their own lives, but every second of their children's lives, to public scrutiny. They are adults and can make choices; their children are simply the victims of their parents' desire for money and 15 seconds of fame.

There is also another show (which thankfully my daughter has not found) about a family who has 18 kids and just keeps having more. We are all entitled to our own choices, but really now, are 18 children really necessary? And once again, people go running to the TV to watch these fools juggle their everyday lives. More money for them, more crap on TV for us. I guess I just don't get it. Life is hard enough....why would you want a TV camera in your house day and night, and more importantly, why would anyone watch what goes on in these people's homes?

Well that's my whiny opinion. I know I am in the minority on this. So I guess I'll sit back, relax, and watch the latest episode of "The Real Midgets of Middlesex County."

Cynics Beware

2009-04-16T16:27:00.001-07:00

Greetings again from my little computer desk in Portland, CT. Yesterday my husband sent me a link to YouTube on the Internet. I figured it was just something silly and I would watch it later. When he came home, he asked me immediately if I had seen it. He brought me into the computer room and we watched it together. It was a video of a woman from Scotland named Susan Boyle who was a contestant on Britain's Got Talent, the brainchild of Simon Cowell, of American Idol and America's Got Talent fame.

Before I continue, let me make it clear that I have never watched American Idol, America's Got Talent, Dancing with the Stars, or any other stupid "reality contest" on TV. I hate most of what is on American TV right now (yet another blog). However, this was different. A woman came on stage. She was frumpy; no other way to describe her. She was from a small village. She told the audience that she had lived with her mother until she died; she had never been married. She now lived with her cat. She said her dream was to be a professional singer. She was wearing what was likely her best dress and shoes. The judges snickered as did the audience. She announced she would sing "I Dreamed a Dream", a song from the operetta Les Miserables. The audience again snickered, as anyone familiar with this song knows it is an unbelievably difficult song to sing.

The music started and she began to sing. There was complete silence as this woman's voice filled the studio. And she was amazing. I mean, she was beyond talented. She hit every note perfectly and belted out this song as if she'd sung it on Broadway for years. The audience went nuts; with each passing lyric the applause grew, and the people jumped to their feet clapping and cheering. The judges were speechless. Even Simon's jaw dropped; soon after, he was grinning from ear to ear, (likely thinking of all the percentages he'd get from her recording contract).

The judges, of course, gave her high marks, and she will likely win the contest and become quite famous. She already has 12 million hits on her YouTube page.

Anyone who knows me well knows I am extremely cynical. I usually dislike stories of filled with shmaltz and sappy stuff. As Bette Davis said in All About Eve "I detest cheap sentiment." But this was different. Here was a woman, slightly brain-damaged at birth, who had lived mostly as a shut-in, singing a song that she seemed born to sing. It is not a cheerful song. In Les Miserables, it it sung by the character of Fantine. The song is about how when she was young, she was full of life and hope; then some guy came along, knocked her up, and left. She was then forced to give the child to an innkeeper and his wife, who used the child as a slave. Fantine was forced into prostitution to send money to what she thought was a sick child, and then she dies tragically (while singing a song, mind you), still hoping the bum would come back. Some of the lyrics are "...And still I dream he'll come to me, that we will live the years together...but there are dreams that cannot be, and there are storms we cannot weather. I always dreamed my life would be so different from this hell I'm living...so different now than what it seemed...now life has killed the dream I dreamed. " Not exactly uplifting.

But what was uplifting was that this woman who - , as one reporter said, "looked so different than anything we imagine a star to look like" - had this amazing voice that brought the house down. And that is a gift. It is something that cannot be taught; you either can do it or you can't. I dug out my CD of the Les Miserables music and listened to the woman who sang "I Dreamed A Dream" in the original production in London. The woman from Scotland was just as good; not as polished, since she was not a professional, but just as gifted.

Since I cannot sing at all, I find this talent to be incredible. And I don't mean the talent of crappy pop singers. I mean people who can truly sing. The only thing I find more incredible (in the world of music anyway) is that people took Victor Hugo's book and made it into a musical with incredibly powerful music. I read the book Les Miserables...it was at least a million pages and seemed it. But I saw the play twice and loved it, which is interesting since all the main characters except two are dead at the end. I am not sure what that says about me. All I know is I have have watched Susan Boyle sing 3 times already...and I have a feeling I may listen to her at least 3 more times before I go to sleep tonight.

You Can't Dress Them Up, But You Can still Take Them Out

2009-04-10T14:31:00.000-07:00

Hello faithful readers, (Are there really three of you now? Yipee!)

I have been in a sentimental mood lately, writing about my childhood and grandparents. However, I must take a moment to write about something that has been irking me for some time now.

Here is a question to America: "When did it become acceptable to go out in your pajamas?" Before you think I am being sanctimonious and judgemental, hear me out. I am the first one to admit that I love flannel pajama pants; I would rank them as one of the greatest inventions of the 21st century. However, since they are sleepwear, or lounge-around-the-house wear, I always assumed they should be worn in the house only. Apparently, I am mistaken.

More and more, it is becoming commonplace for people to wear these pajama pants in public. I am sorry, but this is just gross. First of all, the fact that they are usually printed with pink flamingos, pictures of SpongeBob Square Pants, or beer bottles should clue you into the fact that they are not high fashion items. I am not sure how people decide which top to pair with these pants, but it is usually something hideous. People wear them everywhere: the grocery store, hotel lobbies, and last night, someone was wearing them in Friendly's. I do realize that Friendly's is not exactly an establishment of fine dining, but at least put a pair of jeans on, for God's sake. Last night at Friendly's, people came in to eat in pajama pants, dirty sweat pants, and slippers. Yes, one girl was wearing her slippers. I know they were slippers and not shoes because I've seen them in the LL Bean catalog a million times. I don't care if they are $50 slippers, they are still slippers. I was also treated to the sight of someone in workout shorts and flip flops, and a girl in pants so tight I could hear the pants screaming in pain every time she moved.

When I watch reruns of I Love Lucy, or an old movie, I am always fascinated by the clothes. While I know Lucy wasn't real life, she was always dressed in the most beautiful clothes. Even her casual clothes were gorgeous. She wore a hat and gloves when she went out, and always high heels. Ricky always wore a suit, or a coat and tie just to the movies. My own grandmothers almost always wore dresses and nice shoes, and my Great Aunt Lou, at ninety-something, always wears a dress and heels to this day. When my Grandma Salamo would take me "downtown" to Brooklyn, or to Manhattan, we always got "dressed up." I would wear a little skirt or dress and Grandma always looked nice in whatever she wore. In his later years, my mother's father took to wearing some old clothes until they fell apart, including a memorable black sweater my mother actually threw on the floor and stomped on, she hated it so much. (Stay tuned for more details on that event.)

Now I realize I am the last person who should be judging style or fashion. (My sister-in-law is much more qualified to do this.) I am a stay-at-home Mom who chases a 6-year old around much of the day and so I am usually wearing jeans, a sweater, and some clogs. Not very fashionable, but practical. I don't own a lot of fancy clothes because I don't go a lot of fancy places. I have some nice outfits, and I do try to dress up a little for a holiday or when I go out. However, I always look presentable and would never wear my pajamas outside unless the house was on fire.

Thank you for letting me vent on this important issue. And now I shall put on my flannel pajama pants and stay inside the house, thank you very much.

But Never on a Sunday

2009-04-02T18:10:00.001-07:00

My father, one of my only readers (thanks Dad!), has been writing about his parents. I thought I might like to share some of my memories of my grandparents. Since Dad wrote about his parents first, I will start with them.

Before I continue, I must make it clear that we spent a lot of time with our grandparents as children. Every Sunday, we visited either my mother's parents or my father's parents. We took turns; they each got us every other weekend. We did see a lot more of my mother's parents, since we visited them during the week also; but that is another post.

No matter which set of grandparents we visited, Sundays always started with church. We rarely went as a family; one parent would go to an earlier mass and the other a later mass. They each took one of us older kids and the baby, Matthew, stayed home with the other parent. I have to admit I liked going with my father because we'd sneak out after communion. Then there was a flurry of activity at home before we all got into the car around 1 :00 or 2:00. When Matt was a baby, the car was stuffed with his play pen, plus a bunch of other stuff. My mother always carried this large green bag, which we called...."the green bag." I believe its predecessor was "the blue bag." (Not the most creative bunch.) The green bag held diapers, wipes, pajamas for all of us, 6 changes of clothes and God knows what else. (Side note: I think my mother only stopped carrying a change of clothes for Matthew when he got married.)

Fran and Tony, or Grandma and Grandpa Pantaleno, lived in East New York. When we visited Fran and Tony, a crucial decision had to be made once we crossed the Verrazano Bridge from Staten Island into Brooklyn: Do we take the Belt parkway or "the streets"? The Belt, as my parents called it, was often jammed with traffic, causing my father to swear like mad. The "streets" were often better, but not nearly as fast. If we took The Belt, we always passed this little tree right around the Rockaway Beach area. This tree was smaller than average and stood by itself. For some reason we waved to the tree. Yes, waved to a tree. My guess it was some desperate attempt by my mother to keep us all from squawking in the car.

My Uncle Anthony and Aunt Cathy, my father's younger siblings, lived with Fran and Tony. I think they may have lived in 2 different places while I was growing up, but I can't be sure. For some reason I think they moved next door to the house I remember them living in originally, but I could be wrong. I do recall that one of their kitchens had knotty pine cabinets, the same ones that are in my little country house in CT now.

Tony was a quiet, kind, and sweet Grandpa. He loved to drink his beer (out of a can or a little bottle) and smoke his cigarettes. Fran would make him sit on the steps that led to the roof outside the apartment for his smoke. Sometimes I'd sit with him. He always spoke very kindly to me. He worked in a shoe store and thus we always got shoes at either a discount or maybe for free. He'd bring boxes of new leather shoes for my mother to inspect and have us try on; the extras he'd bring back to the store. I think these were mostly our school shoes - "flat, black oxfords" - something I will never put on my feet again. He liked to laugh and tell silly jokes. I wish I had a chance to know him better; he died when I was 14. He had lung cancer, and must have suffered a lot. I remember one time we visited and he was in the bedroom. It was close to the time he died. My mother went into the room and closed the door. It was an accordion door, made of some sort of stiff cloth. I wanted in the worst way to see him, but my parents wouldn't let me. He must have looked pretty bad, and maybe my parents did not want me to remember him that way. I remember him smiling, sitting in his undershirt, watching the ball game.

Fran was also a kind, loving grandmother. She always had little treats for us. She did have some quirks, though. First, whenever we visited, we would round up any brown paper grocery sacks we had in the house and bring them to her; she used them as garbage bags. This was fine except she kept her garbage in the refrigerator. She did this so "it wouldn't smell." Odd.

She also would pull snacks out of some strange spots. High cabinets, behind the TV console. I think this is an old habit from when my father lived with her and he ate her stash of goodies.

Her cooking was different from my other Grandma's, but just as delicious. For starters, she'd pull out Wise potato chips (YUM!), cheese, crackers, pepperoni. Then we'd have our macaroni. This was served with meatballs, sausage, bracciole, and sometimes shredded pork in the tomato sauce, which we called gravy. Fran's meatballs had fennel in them, which was a big difference between her meatballs and my other Grandma's. They were very moist and delicious. After that she'd serve a salad, dressed with red vinegar, olive oil and salt. Oh and then we had another meal....maybe a roast with vegetables or a chicken. Why stop at just the pasta? Then came fruit, maybe nuts, and dessert.

We usually brought the cake. As we left our house my mother always asked "Are we bringing cake?" Then she'd run into Mrs. Maxwell's bakery, a big place near Fran and Tony's. She often got a German chocolate or some other delicious goodie. Sometimes my Uncle Anthony would bring his girlfriend, who is now my Aunt Michelle, over around dessert time. Aunt Cathy was there, and I loved her dearly (still do).

One strange memory I have is that my Uncle Anthony was studying to be a child psychologist (no that's not the strange part). I guess he must have needed a subject for his research and "Viola!"...I must have been the perfect age, maybe 8 or 9. We'd go into the basement and he'd show me all those inkblots and then have me read passages and answer questions. I didn't care, it was something to do. I wonder of the results are still around; they probably showed that I'd grow up to be a neurotic, sarcastic, lunatic.

In any event, I wish I had known my father's parents a little better. They were wonderful people who always made me feel special. I am glad we spent all those Sundays with them; they were some of the best times I can remember.

Like Father, Like Mother, Like Daughter

2009-03-24T17:52:00.000-07:00

My father writes a couple of blogs: One is about his childhood in Brooklyn, and the other is about various subjects. Many of his posts are about things that annoy him, much as most of my posts are about things that annoy me. You may see a pattern here.

I often look at my parents and try to figure out how I am like each one. With my father it's pretty easy: We both hate the same types of annoying things. For example, when the person in front of you at the grocery store insists that cat food is $10 for a dollar, when she is really reading the wrong sign; a person driving in the left lane at 40 mph; people who think rules don't apply to them; traffic jams; seat belts; line-cutters; loud-talkers; braggers; and A-holes. We also have similar talents: both of us like reading and writing, but hate math. We are also pretty good at art. My temperament and basic personality are very much like my father's.

My mother is more complicated. I look like her, which is a compliment. I remember when I was a kid, all the girls would say that I had a pretty Mom. I was always proud of that (still am). I have many of her mannerisms...we drink our coffee the same way, as well as our wine. We like similar clothing. We like many of the same TV shows.

However, my mother has the cleanest house in the United States. I wish I had inherited some of this cleanliness gene (and so does my husband), since I do NOT have the cleanest house in the United States. Mind you, I am tidy...I hate clutter, chachkis, dust collectors, and anything that makes things look crowded. But basically, I also hate cleaning, laundry, and any form of housework except cooking. This is a problem.

My mother also has more energy than anyone I know. She always says she can't sit still. I have the opposite problem...I love sitting still. In fact, I can sit still for a very long time and watch the TV (wine and snacks help this tremendously). A little nap while sitting still is wonderful. Mom gets up at the crack of dawn and goes to bed early. I get up as late as is possible with a 6-year old and also go to bed early if I can (except if there's a good party). Add this to the hatred of housework, and that makes for one lousy housewife. My mother is a great homemaker (not to mention good at math). Oh well.

I think I'm a pretty good parent, and this I got from both of my parents. I always felt loved growing up and always loved family time, even when I complained about it endlessly as a teenager. I also loved being with my siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, all people who have had a tremendous impact on my life.

It's always been debated whether nature or nurture makes us who we are; it seems to me, it's a little of both. I guess we are who we are...and despite a few tweaks I'd make here and there, I guess I am happy with who I am.

Noooooooooooo

2009-03-17T17:41:00.000-07:00

STAMFORD, Conn. — The family of a woman mauled by a chimpanzee filed a lawsuit seeking $50 million in damages against the primate's owner, saying she was negligent and reckless for lacking the ability to control "a wild animal with violent propensities."
Attorneys for Charla Nash, who remains in critical condition, filed the lawsuit against Sandra Herold late Monday in Superior Court in Stamford.
The suit also alleges that Herold had given the chimp medication that further upset the animal. Herold has made conflicting public statements about whether she gave Xanax, an anti-anxiety drug, to Travis on the day of the attack. The drug had not been prescribed for the animal, police said.
Herold knew the 200-pound chimp, Travis, was agitated when she asked Nash to come to her house on Feb. 16, the lawsuit said. The suit accuses Herold of negligence and recklessness for owning "a wild animal with violent propensities, even though she lacked sufficient skill, strength and/or experience to subdue the chimpanzee when necessary."

Now here's a surprise...a woman mauled by some lunatic's pet chimp is suing for 50 million bucks. We all knew it was coming, it was just a matter of time. However, in this case, I actually agree with this lawsuit. Many lawsuits filed these days are just plain stupid. People suing fast food chains because they're fat, prisoners suing for better shoes, people claiming they didn't know smoking was bad for them. All nonsense.

However, this woman who was attacked has lost various portions of her face, and her hands, because some fool decided to keep a chimp as a pet. Let's take a look at this situation, shall we?

1. Before we go any further, anyone who lives with a chimp is (all together now)...CRA-zy!

2. The chimp's owner lost her husband and her daughter within a few years and was obviously distraught. Perhaps a friend or relative could have suggested counseling or medication as an alternative to starting a zoo.

3. Perhaps a cat or dog...or another domesticated animal...would have made a better pet.

4. This woman ate and slept (EuWWWWW) with the chimp. Nuff said.

5. Wild animals do not belong in people's homes. This goes for anyone who owns a chimp, snake any bigger than a yardstick, ferrets, marmosets, kangaroos, or any other stupid thing people think of adopting.

6. Giving Xanax to a chimp is almost always a bad idea...unless he is seeing a psychiatrist.

7. A chimp is a wild animal, not a human being. This poor animal was killed because it did what an animal would do, not what a human would do. I am sure the chimp was really grateful for being taken out of its natural habitat, only to be killed for following its animal instincts.

The point is that people should not take a wild animal into their homes and expect it to act human. Looking around, I wonder more and more what separates us from the animals. Sometimes I think most animals are smarter than the idiots I encounter on a daily basis. The other sad fact is that no one thought to tell the chimp's owner that her behavior was abnormal; perhaps the victim could have spared the pain and suffering she now endures. Maybe for Christmas I'll get my daughter a polar bear; we have plenty of ice here and if it gets out of control, I'll just give it some of my Xanax.

Vacation Traditions

2009-01-28T16:58:00.001-08:00

In my last post, I wrote about some of the vacation destinations we visited when I was a child. Some of the places we visited yearly while on our vacation are worth a mention as well. I have no idea how big the Poconos is, but we always seemed to be close to a few of the same places.

No matter where we went, the first thing we did was hit the grocery store. Only an Italian family would be sure to buy food, since you never know when someone might need a little something to nosh. This was no ordinary trip to the grocery store. First of all, we all went together. All 5 of us. Most trips to the grocery store were done by my mother, alone, in the evening, so she didn't have to take us kids. When I was a little older she would take me, and we had the best mother-daughter time. But I digress...that must be a separate post. We would hit the supermarket for things such as breakfast cereal, snacks, soda, and other things we might die without. One especially wonderful thing was that my mother would let us get those multi-packs of the mini-cereal boxes. Oh yeah, I am talking Frosted Flakes, Fruit Loops, Lucky Charms, Sugar Pops...pure sugar heaven. We were allowed this luxury only on vacation. Sure there were those mini-boxes of Total and Product 19 they shoved into the pack, but if you were wily, you could get a sugar cereal and leave your younger brothers in the dust.

The next thing we did was go to a small store called Jamesway. I'm guessing at the name. It was like a tiny Wal-Mart, before that huge retailer put all the small guys out of business. We'd get some sand toys, beach chairs, and maybe a badminton set. Depended on what we could find from the prior year's trip.

We spent most of our days at either lakes or pools, whichever was closest. We also went to touristy places such as the Stroudsberg Railroad and Dutch Wonderland, a small amusement park. I think we went to a petting zoo once, and my father had a fit because they put bumper stickers on all the cars in the parking lot. He was NOT pleased. My brain has not retained many other tourist sights, but I do remember going out to eat. You must understand that we did not eat out a lot when I was a kid. The Ponderosa was a big trip for us. However, on vacation, we ate out EVERY night.

Here are a few restaurants we never missed:

The Pioneer Diner. This place was shaped like something...perhaps a railroad car, or now that I think about it, maybe a covered wagon? In any event, this eatery was a highlight. The food was horrible; my mother nearly died when one of us was served chicken parmigiana with KETCHUP and mozzarella on top. But, they had lots of kid-friendly, fried, cheap fare, and so we went.

The Little Brown Jug. We happened upon this place by accident, if memory serves me. We originally entered a fancier place, and my father harrumphed about the prices and marched us all out of there. We went across the street to the Little Brown Jug, a casual Italian eatery. They had red-and-white checkerboard tablecloths, and the price must have been right because we went back every year. I think the food was pretty good. I also think that it was near the souvenir shop we visited each year. It was a pretty big shop, with all the requisite tacky items, such as decorative spoons, little leather purses and bracelets, small toys, and tee-shirts that said "Someone went to the Poconos and all they got me was this lousy tee-shirt." Har har har. I seem to remember that the store had a Native American theme; perhaps "Poconos" is Native American for "crappy souvenirs". However, no matter how crappy they were, we moaned and groaned if we couldn't get anything. We always did get something, though, even if it was small.

Bradleys. This was a family-style place and I recall that it was delicious. They had turkey and roast chicken, and maybe even prime rib. They brought vegetables and other sides, such as stuffing, out on platters and you passed it around the table. And they brought plenty of it. This was a big night, since I think it was a little pricier than the other places.

Now I mention Bradley's last since it is associated with a famous incident that to this day is part of Salamo-Pantaleno folklore. One summer, when I was about 15, Con Edison's union workers went on strike. Management, of which my Dad was a part, worked non-stop, reading meters, fixing lines, and doing any job usually done by the union workers. This left him unable to take our family vacation to Timber Trails. I am still not sure how or why my mother agreed to this, but she took us kids there for the week, along with her parents (Belle and Ray Salamo), and my Aunt Paula, Uncle Arthur and cousin Christian, who was about 18 months at the time. My grandfather's personality merits a post of its own, but suffice it to say he could be grumpy and disagreeable, and once he liked something, he stuck with it. And he loved Bradley's, likely because he could eat all he wanted and felt he got his money's worth. On the Thursday morning of our week together (our 6th day of vacation), we were sitting around the breakfast table, deciding where to eat dinner. (This is another Italian trait; always plan your next meal, as you're eating your current meal.) We had already been to Bradley's twice, at Grandpa's urging, and he kept saying he wanted to go again. My Aunt Paula was thumbing thru the local guide, looking for a new place to eat. She suggested a few places, all of which my grandfather pooh-poohed. He kept insisting he wanted Bradley's. Finally, my poor Aunt made one last suggestion, which Grandpa growled at, and my Aunt, in desperation, hurled the guide book across the table at my Grandfather and shouted "WELL YOU FIND A PLACE TO EAT THEN!". Things got very quiet. I don't remember where we ate that night, but I don't think it was Bradleys.

Epilogue. Just for fun, I googled Timber Trails and looked at some of the real estate. It looks as though it has become quite the vacation destination, complete with golf, tennis, club house, pools, and a whole array of annoying organized activities (e.g., Valentines Dance, Breakfast with Santa, Casino Night, etc. I hate organized activities.) One house was on Leatherstocking Lane and another was on Conestoga Trail. A huge bell went off in my head, as I recall riding my bike on those very roads (see prior post). WOW! I think Bradleys burned down, and I found no listing for Little Brown Jug; however, the Pioneer Diner seems to still be there! Perhaps we'll visit this summer and order the Chicken parm, just for fun.

Hey Kids, Only 6 Hours to the World's Largest Ball of Twine

2009-01-23T13:42:00.000-08:00

Every year the Children's Craniofacial Association (CCA) sponsors an annual family weekend. First of all, for those of you who don't know, CCA is a non-profit organization dedicated to helping children who have been born with facial disfigurement and their families. It is an awesome organization and their events are very enjoyable. It is held in different parts of the U.S. each year. We have been to two of these family weekends: one in Hershey, PA and one in Myrtle Beach, SC. In the ads for these trips, many people are quoted as saying that they"make this weekend part of their annual family vacation." I wish we could go every year, but I am not sure we have reached the status in life where we have an "annual family vacation." First of all, flying in a plane costs plenty of money, not to mention the price of hotels, food, activities, etc. Secondly, family vacations are exhausting and anything but relaxing for the adults involved.

I think my family reached "annual family vacation" status when I was about 7 or 8. We went to a place, I believe called Pennswood, in the Poconos in PA. (FYI, there is an item in the by-laws of New York City that states that all city residents may vacation in one of 2 places: the Poconos or Florida. You must start with the Poconos and after - and only after - at least 3 years' experience, you may attempt Florida.) Anyway, I remember little about Pennswood except that it was like a little cabin on some sort of man made lake. I do believe that this is the most rustic place my mother ever stayed of her own free will. I do remember that it had a pool, and one day I got it in my head that I was Esther Williams and just jumped off the diving board into water 5 feet deep. My father had to jump in and save me.

The next year we went to the Host Town. Compared to Pennswood, this was like a country club. Again, my memory is fuzzy, but it was like a hotel resort type of place. They had a pool (and maybe a game room with pinball and stuff; no video games in those days).They had a dining room and each evening we would go over for dinner. I recall thinking that this was very fancy indeed; you got a fruit cup, I think, and then some sort of soup or salad before you even had your meal! Wow! Plus they came around with dinner rolls and the butter was in little pats shaped like flowers. They served things like prime rib and roasted chicken. To a little girl from Staten Island it was the dining room at the Waldorf Astoria. I also recall that my baby brother Matt was an infant, and so my parents would take turns going to eat with us older kids: My Mom and I would go together, then my Dad and brother Mike; or my Dad and I would go, then Mom and Mike. This was also very exotic. I think we had breakfast there as well, with the waitresses taking turns holding Matt while my parents ate.

After a few years at the Host Town I believe we went to Naomi Cottages, on Lake Naomi, wherever the hell that is. This cabin was more like a little house, and we spent most of our days at the lake. I don't recall this vacation well. Then our neighbors, the DelPretes, bought a second home in a Pocono development called Timber Trails. I think the house had 4 bedrooms. It had an open floor plan and was like a county home, with all the comforts of a city home. We each got to choose a bedroom. It also had a tree house and a tire swing. Heaven! Best of all, there was a road that went through the development that was for residents (and renters only). There was very little traffic so I was allowed to take one of the bikes in the house and ride around by myself. The freedom! I would explore all the little side roads that had rustic names such as Evergreen Drive, Country Crescent, and Barnowl Road. I loved Timber Trails, although I do remember a skunk spraying us all one night. I am not sure what my father had to do to get my mother to return to this house, but we went back to Timber Trails several times. Remember this place, as it features prominently in the second half of this post.

When I was 13 and had finished 8th grade, my parents submitted their application to the NYC Vacation Board and were granted permission for the big Florida trip. In June of 1981 we headed to Disney World. We stayed "off site"in a tiny hotel room, where my parents and brothers shared 2 double beds and I slept on a cot. I was just happy I didn't have to share. Disney World was incredible. I loved the rides and everything about it. I can only imagine how hard it was for my parents to afford this trip, but we all had a great time, at least from my perspective. Four years' later, when I graduated from high school, we went back to Disney World. Of course, by the this point I was too cool for anything, but I secretly had fun, even though I likely moaned and groaned about missing my stupid boyfriend and any other highlights of the Staten Island summer season. We stayed in one of the Disney hotels this time, and each night someone would come and turn down your blanket and leave a piece of chocolate there! I was sure this was a classy joint.

Despite all the mayhem and money these trips cost my parents, whenever I think about them I have a laugh and enjoy the memories. Stay tuned for Part Two: Annual Family Vacation Traditions.

Sorry, Mrs. Beeler, you have no sick days left

2009-01-14T15:42:00.001-08:00

Well I must apologize to my three readers who have deprived of my witty repartee for the past month, but it seems I contracted a nasty case of pneumonia. I have never been so sick in my life. I don't recall many childhood illnesses, but it's safe to say this was the "sickest" I've ever been as an adult.
Being sick as an adult is very different than being sick as a child. Maybe it's more accurate to say that being sick as a parent is much different than being sick at any other stage in life. When I was a child I enjoyed being sick. That's right, I loved it. You must understand that being sick had many advantages. First, I did not have to go to school. School was boring and no fun at all, so being spared a few days of this drudgery was pure joy. Second, my mother waited on me hand and foot. No one knows how to take care of a sick child better than an Italian mother. (Thanks Mom!) She would bring the small black and white TV into my room and I could watch it all day. At this point in time we had only two TVs in the house (shocking!). I did not get one in my room until I was a teenager, so having the little black and white all to myself was bliss. As an added bonus, she brought me my meals in my room. Understand that in my house, this was a very big deal. My mother had (and still has) better hearing than a bloodhound and she could sense that food was being moved out of the designated eating zone (i.e., the kitchen). You could open that bag of Doritos without a sound, place them gingerly on a paper towel, and tiptoe to your room, all the time thinking your were safe. But, as soon as you cracked the door to your room, a voice would come from nowhere: "Are you eating in your room????" So, suffice it to say, eating in your room with permission was extraordinary.
The other wonderful thing about being sick was that my father always brought me a book. Picture books when I was little, but as I got older, I could count on a brand new hardcover Nancy Drew anytime I was ill. I loved Nancy Drew. In fact, every once in a while, I'll pick one up while Ava is in the library and read a little. These books were like gold to me. I loved all the stories of Nancy, girl detective; her beau Ned Nickerson; and her friends Bess and George (George was a girl, but somewhat man-like.) The mysteries always built to an engaging climax, and I could never read them fast enough. I don't know if girls read Nancy Drew anymore. I knew that the books were somewhat "old-fashioned" when I was a kid; Nancy wore dresses and peddle pushers, and her hair in a flip style. She had elegant manners. She drove an older convertible, and something about the pencil sketch drawings told me that these stories took place in a time before I was born. Nowadays, Nancy Drew would have a belly ring, drive a Hummer, and be smacking her gum while addressing her clients, "Yo yo yo, wus up?". Shudder.
But I digress...as a child, I don't remember that being sick was a bad thing. I am sure my poor mother - who had to take care of all 3 of us with the chickenpox at once - does not recall our childhood illnesses with any fondness whatsoever. Now that I have a child I know why.
When you are a mother, your child does not really care that you feel like crap. It's not because they are bad kids, it's because they are self-centered and can't fathom anything but their own needs. They still pry your eyeballs open at 6 am, looking for breakfast. They still need baths and help getting dressed. They want you to play even though you'd rather crawl into a hole. And the show must go on. There is little time to rest when you are a sick Mom. You can catch a few winks while they're at school, but if you have a child under school age, you are SOL. Even as a single adult, you have the luxury of staying in bed all day while getting paid for a sick day. Mothers have no such luck.
In any event, I am glad I am feeling better. However, I'd give almost anything to have my Mom take care of me when I am sick, even if I am 41. And I could sure go for a nice new Nancy Drew.

Basil Basil, Bo Basil, Be Bi Bo Basil...

2008-12-21T17:27:00.000-08:00

Unusual names have been with us for a long time. Scarlett O'Hara (heroine of Gone With the Wind), Elijah Blue Altman (Cher's son with rocker Greg Allman), and Moon Unit Zappa (daughter of musician Frank Zappa) are all "different"names, to say the least. However, one of these is a fictional character, and the other two were named by people who likely spent a lot of time high on drugs and booze. Back in the days, names like these were anomalies.

But not anymore. About a dozen years ago, people decided that their children were so extraordinary that a regular old name was just not good enough. And so began the trend of giving your child a "unique" name. A name that would not only show the world that this child was, indeed, extraordinary, but also that its parents were complete and total idiots.

When I was in grade school, back in the 70's, kids had names. I mean names that could be found in the little book parents used to consult before naming their child. I went to school with a lot of "-eens": Eileens, Maureens, Noreens, Doreens, Jeaneens, - and also a lot of Marys, Annes, Dianes, Lisas, Debbies, and Karens. Nothing odd or unique about them. The boys were named John, Joseph, Robert, Peter, Michael, Mark...good, solid biblical names.

When I started teaching, about 10 years ago, I came across a lot of Amandas, Brittanys, Ashleys, and all kinds of -annas: Lilliana, Julianna, Brianna, Gianna, etc. Even still, these are at least real names.

A while ago I was reading an article in Parenting magazine. Side note: I hate Parenting magazine. It's always filled with lots of tidbits about how to make recycled stationery out of used paper plates, or an article about how some child overcame an allergy to avocados and went on to lead a perfectly normal life. Snoozers! I was forced to read it in some doctor's office, where all the other literature was in Spanish. An article about "New Naming Trends" caught my eye; I knew it would be painful to read, but I had nothing else to do. It started out by saying that, these days, parents are putting a lot more thought into naming their child; in other words, they have nothing else to do, so instead of shouting some random name as the child passes painfully through the birth canal, they spend months researching this all-important topic.

In the article several couples are interviewed. One that stands out is a couple who said they spent months trying to think of an appropriate name and finally decided "that Basil was the perfect name for our son because it combined our mutual loved of nature and gourmet cooking into one word." Yeah, I have a word: Asskicking, which is exactly what Basil is going to get every day of his life. Imagine poor Basil when he graduates from college and must get a job. Somebody is going to read his name and say "There is no way I am hiring some a**hole whose name is an herb."

Why does this annoy me so much? it's just another reflection of the self-centered, self-absorbed, self-important society in which we live. Every child is exceptional; every person is gifted; and rules are just for the "regular" people. Little Basil can't be expected to do the same thing as his peers; after all, his name alone conveys "a love for nature and gourmet cooking." Yeah, well good for him. If he has any brains, he'll change his name when he's older. Or, if he's as stupid as his parents, he'll probably change it to Thyme.

Christmas Letter

2008-12-11T16:25:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends and Family,

The holidays are upon us, and once again we've been kind enough to write down everything we did this year, so you can read it with envy. We don't want you to miss a detail!

I'd start with January, except I don't remember any of it. February brought the 5th birthday of our daughter Ava. Because we are out of our minds, we decided to host a children's party for 10 of Ava's little pals at a local kid's museum. Thank God all the parents stayed or I would have lost at least half the children. Once that was done we all went home and got drunk.

March was completely non-descript except I think Easter was thrown in there somewhere. I am sure something happened in April, although I can't recall what it was.

In May we were thrilled that Ava got to have eye surgery and an airway assessment. Our doctor said that since Ava was such a complex case we should go to Cincinnati Children's Hospital for a complete airway assessment, because they are the experts in kids with complex airways. Needless to say, we were thrilled at the thought of visiting yet another hospital and with the added bonus of flying there as well!

In June we decided to take out first plane ride with Ava to a family weekend for craniofacial kids in Myrtle Beach. After spending 12 hours packing our clothing, and cramming all our toiletries, countless medical supplies, and other necessities into 4-ounce containers - and then cramming the 4-ounce containers into quart size plastic bags - I was ready to schlep all our crap to the airport and get on a plane. Ava loved the plane ride and we all enjoyed the vacation, despite the fact that it was hot as blazes and everything cost a million dollars.

July brought my 41st birthday -yipee- I think Malcolm and I may have gone out to dinner, but I don't really remember. All I can tell you is I likely fell asleep by 10pm. also I now need reading glasses on top of my contact lenses for "age related eye problems. "

In August we celebrated 9 years of wedded bliss as well as Malcolm's 43rd birthday. Ava started kindergarten too. As we expected, she is at the top of her class and excels academically. Now if she could sit still during story time we'd be fine. She also dabbles in the martial arts at her twice-weekly karate classes. I am sure she is gifted in this area and we'll likely be celebrating her black belt soon. While the instructor says she can be "unfocused", I view this as such as negative term, and prefer to call her inquisitive and engaging.

Finally, in October we took our dream vacation to Cincinnati, OH, where we spent 5 nights in a cut-rate room - an old hospital room converted to a hotel suite. It wasn't quite as nice as the Ritz but we made the best of it. All I can say is thank God there was a Marriott with an excellent bar across the street or I might not have made it through the week.

Autumn also brought pumpkins, beautiful foliage and the news that Malcolm has high blood pressure. Just another hurdle for us, as he is now taking daily medication for this condition. I continue to take the fist full of anti-anxiety and anti-depressant drugs I need to make it through the day.

This Thanksgiving was much better than last since we spent it with family instead of in the hospital. We look forward to doing the same at Christmas; we hope that we are all healthy.

Day to day life remains the same. Malcolm toils away at his job as an engineer, while I engage in such glamorous activities as grocery shopping, laundry, feeding the cat, cooking, and cleaning every few months. I do get out every chance I get and have had several good hangovers this year due to my tendency to drink like a fish whenever I can escape the monotony of being a housewife. I also joined a gym this year and despite working out 2 hours a week have not lost one pound. But muscle weighs more than fat, you know. What a crock.

All I know is we have survived another year. We had our ups and downs, and like everyone else, had our fun and our struggles. We are glad that Ava enjoys school. We don't care if she is the smartest or the slowest, as long as she learns and is happy. We are grateful that we have employment and a roof over our heads. We don't care to compare vacation notes, home improvement projects, our children's crowning achievements, or any other petty details. We do hope that you take a moment to look around you and realize that there are other people in the world besides you. And those people don't really give a rat's ass what you did all year.

Happy Holidays! Love The Whiners

I Don't Wanna Work, I Want to bang on the Drum All Day

2008-12-04T17:14:00.000-08:00

Let's face it, we are all mercenaries. We all toil away at our jobs because we need money. We need money to live, to eat, to survive, and to enjoy as much as we can out of life. From the time you are a child, you are asked “What do you want to be when you grow up?” It’s drilled into us from toddler-hood that at some point you will grow up and have a job.

Most of us are descendants of immigrants. Unless you happen to be a Native American, your ancestors came from another country. This means that they likely came here for opportunity. Things have to be pretty bad if you are willing to journey across the ocean on a month-long trip that will take you to a place where you know no one, and do not speak the language. So suffice it to say that immigrant life was not easy. I know for a fact that it was not. My great grandparents all came from Italy and worked their tails off so their children could have a better life. And their children did have better lives, as did their grandchildren. They worked HARD: in factories, at physical labor, or at whatever job they could get. They did not have fancy educations; they did what they needed to do to feed their families.

Recently I came across an article in a magazine about teenagers having part-time jobs. The article was about the pros and cons of teenagers working during the school year. I started the article with an open mind; after all, these days the pressure on kids is enormous. Some of the kids I tutor wake up at 5:00 am (some of the girls at 4 am, to do their hair), get on the bus by 6, ride over an hour to school, and start their school day at 7:30. They are out of school at 2:00pm, but then face sports practice, clubs, or just the ride home. By the time they get home, they have to squeeze in homework, dinner, and sleep. Most of them are stressed, over scheduled, and just plain exhausted. Therefore, I could see where in these cases it may be hard for a teen to have a part-time job during the school year.

The article went on to say that a summer job for teens is almost always good. I agreed (although at 16 I thought this was a terrible idea). The article then started to state why teens working during the school year could be a poor idea. I thought they would be discussing the reasons I mentioned above….oh no.

The article said that teenagers who work often do so at mundane jobs. For example, they may stock shelves, serve customers fast food, work a cash register, or file papers. These were the types of jobs we had as teens; it never occurred to us that we were qualified to do anything else. The article continued by saying that working at a “boring” or “monotonous” job may contribute toward negative attitudes toward work itself or poor work habits. It said that parents often never saw their teen’s place of employment, and could not therefore conclude if it was an appropriate work environment.

And there’s more, folks. It said that teens should be encouraged to find jobs that are fulfilling and interesting….it listed good motivations and poor motivations for working. Good motivations included dabbling in a potential career field, or gaining valuable life experience. Bad motivations were wanting extra money or wanting to work at the mall, where their friends worked WHAT????????? I repeat, WHAT?????? Honest to God, you can’t make up this stuff.

There are two primary reasons teens work at mundane jobs. First of all, teenagers are completely self-absorbed, and therefore, their brains are often focused on other things. They are, by nature, self-centered creatures, who think that every problem is a tragedy that will never resolve and that life is just hangin' with your BFFs, who will there forever. I was the same way, every teen is. Secondly, most teens have not yet completed high school, nevermind any formal training in other areas of employment. Therefore, they are not qualified to do anything else. They are not qualified to be surgical residents, CEOs of companies, university professors, or leaders of expeditions to save the endangered whale. Now I admit, any of these endeavours sounds more interesting than bagging Happy Meals, or putting away the returns at the local Wal-mart. But that is life; you start at the bottom and work your way up. You gain experience dealing with a crabby boss, working with people who are shitheads, and understanding what it means to earn your money. You realize that the things your parents buy are not so cheap and that money is something that should be spent wisely.

My first job , when I was 16 years old, was at a Pathmark grocery store. I was a cashier. Scanners had just begun popping up in supermarkets, so being a cashier was pretty easy. And it was boring. And I hated it. But my parents told me that if I wanted to have that Flashdance sweatshirt with the ripped sleeves and those white leather boots that I had to get a job and pay for them myself. Again, at this age I thought this was a crappy plan. Having them give me the money was a much better idea.

But I did work in Pathmark for about 3 months until 2 of my friends got jobs next door, at the Kmart. After those 3 months I hung up my blue polyester smock forever and moved next door to Kmart to be with my friends. It was a dull job, but we had fun. We took breaks together, and hung out together after work. We traded shifts if someone had a date, or worked extra hours to buy x-mas gifts. We made the best of those dull jobs and earned some cash in the process. I learned to handle money, smile courteously at people I hated, and keep my temper in check. I learned that people counted on me to be at work and that I better show up. I also learned that money is hard to earn and you should appreciate what what you have. I guess these were poor motivations for work. All I can say is I have not stopped working since I first donned that Pathmark smock at 16; I work because I have to, not because love it. But that's life and unless you are Paris Hilton, get used to it.

Deck the Halls with Trampled Bodies...

2008-11-30T13:30:00.000-08:00

The holiday season is upon us. I happen to really enjoy Christmas, along with all the food, drink, family visits, and celebratory attitudes. I try to do my shopping in small batches and mostly on-line, because fewer things make me more cranky than fighting for a parking place at the mall, tearing through said mall, buying a bunch of overpriced crap, and then waiting a million hours in line while the inept cashier tries to figure out how to make change or change the register tape. Does not make me merry in the least.
So now that the holiday season has started, so has the accompanying madness. I rarely listen to or watch the news. Maybe I am ill-informed, but I don't really care. The news is depressing. Take, for example, the news from this past Thanksgiving weekend: a Wal-mart employee was trampled to death - yes, I repeat - trampled to death in NY state while a crowd of psychopathic shoppers ran to save $5 on some crappy electronic device. It seems that Wal-mart had advertised a flat screen TV (or something like that) for far less than the average price and they had 5 in stock. So a bunch of lunatics sat outside a Wal-mart in Valley Stream, NY for 29 hours to get a chance at getting this stupid TV. Oh, where do I begin? Here are just a handful of remarks that come to mind:
1. Anyone who sits outside of a store for 29 hours is an idiot. I don't care if the store is offering a Porsche for $1.99, it's not worth it. It's certainly not worth someone's life.
2. Anyone who is in a store at 5 am on the Friday after Thanksgiving is also an idiot. Sorry if you are one of those folks, but since only about 2 people read this blog, I am pretty certain I won't be offending anyone.
3. Stores should not be allowed to advertise such ridiculous sales. If you have people dumb enough to sit outside your store for 29 hours, Lord only knows what will happen when they are let loose in the store. Chances are they will behave like maniacs. Sales like these should be banned.
4. I am still unable to comprehend how anyone can be trampled to death. I could see if this was ancient Rome and perhaps you fell under the wheels of a chariot while it sped off to war, but this is 2008, people. To quote George Costanza, "We're living in a society here!" I would like to think if I was in a store and stepped on someone's sternum - or perhaps their head - that it would occur to me to help them up or at least say "excuse me". These imbeciles offered no help and just kept going.
5. Repeat #4, as this is still unfathomable to me.
6. Even after being told that someone had been killed and they had to evacuate, these morons replied, "We've been waiting in line since 5 am!" Hmmm, whose choice was that?
7. Last, but not least, the police are examining the security tapes to see if they can identify any of the heartless a-holes that stepped over his poor man and caused his death. I hope they find them, bring them up on manslaughter charges (Jack McCoy would figure a way to charge them with murder), and send the sons of bitches to jail for the rest of their miserable and selfish lives. Perhaps they'll be caught in a prison stampede and justice will be served.
Oh, by the way, have a Merry Christmas....pray you survive.

Just Eat Smaller Portions...Yeah Right

2008-11-26T15:52:00.000-08:00

Here is a confession from me: I love food and I love to eat. Oh and I love to drink too. Wine, mostly. I grew up in an Italian family; that meant, if we were not eating, we were thinking about the next meal. I think the first thing I always asked when I arrived home from school was, "What's for dinner?" I almost always loved it. The only time I ever lose my appetite is during times of great stress, and we're talking close to life and death here. Otherwise, I can always go for a little something to nosh.

I have lived in several places: I grew up on Staten Island, which was full of Italian immigrants. My extended family lived in Brooklyn, and were a stone's throw away from Manhattan; 'nough said about the qualty of food in both places. I lived in San Francisco, which boasts some of the country's best restaurants, not mention the wine that is produced in Napa and Sonoma. I also lived in Oakland, a place very close to the infamous city of Berkeley, which has some of the best ethnic cuisine I've ever had.

So it was a great surprise to me when I moved to CT. Rural, small town, CT at that. It is difficult to find anything good to eat here. A few good - and even some exceptional - restaurants exist here, but they are the exception rather than the rule. I have simply come to the conclusion that many people here don't like food. They eat simply to survive, which, to me, is an abomination.

This brings me to the point of this blog. These people who do not eat, obviously don't gain any weight, and are therefore skeletons. These are the people who attend my gym (lucky me).

I joined a gym about 18 months ago. In addition to loving food, I also hate exercise. There I said it. I love to eat and I hate to exercise. I realize this is not a popular opinion among the skeletons, but who cares? I go dragging into the gym, twice weekly, for an hour's workout. I do some strength training for 30 minutes and then 30 minutes of "cardio", another term for nearly killing ones self on some stupid piece of exercise equipment. Despite over 1 year of this I have not lost 1 pound. Nope, not a single one. Many people give me that line, "Well muscle weighs more than fat." My thought is, "And ice cream weighs more than 1/2 cup of steamed broccoli."

I am not sure what it is, really. I know all about portion size and not eating after 7 pm and all that crap. And if I hear one more person say cheerfully, "Eat less and move more!" I just may kill them. I just can't help myself. I am not obese, but I am likely 20 pounds from where I should be. It's been 6 years since my child was born, so i can't blame it on baby weight, although that was a good excuse for a while. It's just that are so many good things to eat.

And I am sorry but a piece of grilled chicken breast the size of a deck of cards and a side of steamed greens is NOT as appetizing, nor as filling, as say: a burger with sweet potato fries; a heaping plate of macaroni and meatballs; a huge steak, with a baked potato; a piece of pie; or a banana split. Are we seeing the problem here? It's not that I dislike "healthy" food; on the contrary, I enjoy it very much. But I seem to have a breaking point. For example, I have been watching my diet closely for about 5 weeks and managed to lose about 5 pounds. Now, mind you, I am not suffering; I am eating between 1400-1600 calories a day, drinking a little less wine and trying to keep up with my exercise. BUT I HATE IT. Every minute feels like a sacrifice, and I hate watching every piece of food I eat. I hate that I can't have seconds at dinner or that by 9pm I am so hungry I could eat my pillow.

I guess I am one of those people who lives to eat and I will never change. I'll never be one of those skinny little women at the gym who is feverishly running on the treadmill at 90 mph and then goes for another 2 hours on the bike. I can't do it. Or should I say, I don't want to do it.

I don't understand any of it. I was always thin as a rail as a kid, but then came 30, and then came 40, and...crap...extra weight. I just hate all of it and am ready to say I am happy with who I am and who gives a rat's fat ass if I am a little chubbier than I should be. Don't get me wrong...I'll keep at my exercise and at my portion control crap, but I am having birthday cake, I am having wine, and I am having ice cream once in a while. I may never be a skeleton, but I'll never regret a minute of living either. Now, i wonder if there's anything in the kitchen for a late night snack?

It Was the Age of Rudeness...

2008-11-20T18:18:00.000-08:00

It never ceases to amaze me how rude and completely oblivious people can be. My daughter, who is 5, takes a karate class twice a week. She really enjoys this class, despite her tendency to pay attention to everything except the instructor, and to twirl and jump and stare at herself incessantly in the mirror that covers the wall. She is not alone...most of the kids in the class are doing their own little thing, while learning what they can about karate and all its positive lessons.
For some reason unknown to me, parents - or anyone who brings the child to class, (e.g., a grandparent) - are allowed to stay and watch the class. To me this creates an unnecessary distraction, but what do I know?
Anyway, most parents are respectful; they sit quietly, watch the kids, or read a magazine. There is a HUGE sign at the entrance of the workout room that says "Please turn off all cell phones beyond this point." I assume this is so some moron's "You Shook Me All Night Long" ring tone won't disrupt the class. Of course, there always has to be one who believes this sign was meant for everyone but them; obviously, their business is so important that it trumps the rules.
I sit by myself during karate and either watch the class or read. I tried talking with the other parents, but after a while, their boring banter about whose child was the brightest turned me off to wanting anything to do with them. A few weeks ago a new girl joined the class. Her grandmother - a loud, annoying woman - brings her each week. Today, at the start of class, she grabbed the instructor and asked, "Is Sam supposed to come on Wednesdays now?" The instructor said, "No, not unless she's received a letter saying she's in the Wed. class." The grandmother went on to ask 3 other ways if her granddaughter was to come on Wednesdays and the instructor answered "No" each time. During the last round of questioning, Grandma's cell phone rang. Mind you, the class had started by this time, but Grandma just started yammering into the phone, to the child's mother, "I AM JUST NOW CLARIFYING IF SHE IS SUPPOSED TO COME ON WEDNESDAYS." She then went on, squawking into the phone, about the day's events and what was for dinner. It took every ounce of my self control not to grab the F$%#!& phone and hurl it into the parking lot. Meanwhile, several members of the next class, which doesn't start until 5:15, always arrive early. There is a sitting room where they can wait, but oh no...their parents let them come into the workout room where they proceed to run around like maniacs and make a ruckus. One mother is also thoughtful enough to bring her son's 2-year-old sibling, who also runs around screaming like a lunatic. Here's an idea...keep your goddamn noisy kids in the waiting room until the instructor has finished her class. The irony is that karate is all about courtesy and respect, yet these parents display neither trait in either themselves or their ill-mannered children.
I guess the bottom line is, I am just a crab. I am sick of all these people who think their lives are so important, or that their kid's lives are so important, that they can just ignore any rules. Guess what? You are not the only person on Earth. No one gives a sh$@ about what's going on for dinner and everyone would appreciate it if you would keep your kids quiet for 5 minutes while another group finishes their task. I realize this requires you to think of someone other than you or your children, but I think you can do it if you really try.

2008-11-14T16:47:00.000-08:00

All I can is thank goodness there are plenty of idiots in this world; I will never run out of material. Our local newspaper is often a good source of amusement for me. It' s a nice little paper that publishes lots of positive stories about kids, families, and local events. However, the Letters to the Editor section often sends me into a complete and total dither.
Take for example one of the letters from this Friday's edition. A local woman started out a letter by saying "After an evening of discussing democracy and the United States election process, my 5-year-old daughter and I excitedly headed for the polls this morning." Hmmm, I tried to explain the election process to my five-year old and she said "So we are going to the library to get a new present?" So much for my explanation.
Anyway, the woman goes on to say, at great length, how her daughter was so happy to be part of the voting process and how everyone in line thought she was just a real charmer. Then she states -and I quote - "...the warm fuzzy camaraderie of the morning painfully and abruptly ended. A booming, disembodied voice yelled out 'Don't let the child touch the ballot!' " The author then goes on and on about how her poor child was so fearful and kept asking if she was "going to get in trouble". The woman ended the letter by saying she let the child place the ballot in the scanner, despite her being told not to do so. Well goody for her.
If we were allowed to write to the local paper anonymously here's what I'd write:
Dear Twit,
I read with interest the story of how your poor child was traumatized at the hands of our senior citizen poll volunteers this past Tuesday. I am so sorry that your poor baby was so terrified by that "booming, disembodied voice" who simply told you (an adult) not to let her touch the ballot. This must have been an awful experience indeed. Let me offer you some perspective into the real world to help you cope with this tragedy. Here are 5 things that might actually, really traumatize your child:
1. Her 4-year-old sister could die of a rare genetic disorder while her father is on his 3rd deployment in the Middle East.
2. She could have to endure months of radiation and chemotherapy (along with vomiting, hair loss, and fatigue) after being diagnosed with an inoperable cancerous brain tumor.
3. She could have to endure 5 years' worth of painful surgeries just to be able to eat, breathe and look like everyone else (sorry, had to get that in there).
4. She could have to endure painful infusions of life-saving antibodies every month just to say alive throughout the winter.
5. Her baby brother could die on an operating table during a surgery.
Lest you think I am being dramatic, these are things that have happened to people I know of during the last year.
And while you think about that, let me also thank you. Thank you for never letting your child understand the meaning of the word no. Thank you for showing her that the rules put forth by others don't apply to either you or her. Thank you for always being there to make sure she never experiences anything negative. I am sure she is a real joy to be around.
I certainly hope she recovers from her negative voting experience by the time she turns 18. On the other hand, maybe you'll both just stay away from the polls. I don't think I'd want either of you voting for prom queen nevermind the leader of the free world. All I can say is that I hope neither of you ever has to deal with anything truly painful; you'll both be really crappy at it.
Sincerely, The Whiner

Trick or Crap

2008-11-08T12:55:00.000-08:00

I don't recall when Halloween became a national holiday. It was always a cause for fun, but I don't ever remember it dominating the months of September and October. Don't get me wrong...as a kid, it was always a big deal. We would get a costume, either custom-made by Grandma Salamo, or bought from Kmart (or Masters) in a box with a clear cellophane top. The clear top allowed you to view the high-quality plastic mask inside, held tightly to your head by a thin rubber-band. The costume itself was large and flimsy, so it could be slipped easily over a winter coat, in a time before October brought 70-degree temperatures. We would try on the costumes at home and goof around. I think we had a few cardboard decorations; I think one was a skeleton that had metal fasteners at the limbs, so he could be bended different ways. We had a crepe paper pumpkin that you could open up into a sphere; the shape was held tight by a metal fastener. It then folded flat for storage. (I am sure my mother still has these in her attic.)
My recollection is that we would take these decorations out maybe a week - or two at the most - before Halloween and adorn our windows.It was fun and exciting. Halloween Day was fun too. I remember coming home from school and running into the house to put on our costumes. We would go Trick or Treating, up and down our street, exhausted mothers in tow, and get a huge bagful of candy. We would then go home around dinner time, spread out the candy on the livingroom floor, and trade. One Sugar Daddy (one of my personal favorites) for a Snickers. Two Starburst for a Chunky. We each got what we wanted and screamed if one of our poor parents wanted a taste of something. They were smart and waited until we were alsleep until they ate the candy. We ate the candy over a week or so, and moved on.
Today Halloween starts around August, right after the last Back-to-School notebook has been crammed into a side aisle at the store. Decorations, costumes, and all kinds of specially packaged candy are spilling out of the endcaps at every store imaginable by Labor Day. It's not just enough to have a costume and some candy. Oh noooooo....now, we must turn our house into a either a Horror Show or a Harvest Fair. The place must be decorated - inside and out - with various fall themes, complete with autumn-colored pillows, chachkis, blankets, candles, and novelty items. God forbid all you have is a pumpkin or two...that will never do! (Hey a rhyme!) The house must exude all that is autumn. Carefully planned Trick or Treat parties are a highlight of the day. No more going door-to-door; who knows "what evil lurks in the hearts of men." Halloween parties are contrived events, carefully coordinated by overprotective parents, to contain healthy snac ks, allergen-free goodies, hayrides, friendly scarecrows, and more crappy cheap toys than one can find at the Dollar Store.
I am not anti-Halloween; I am anti-excess, anti-stress, and anti-complicated. Put out a few decorations, get a simple costume, enjoy your candy and enjoy the day, for God's sake. All I heard, all friggin day, was how people "couldn't wait for Halloween to be over." Is this fun? I don't think so. A simple holiday shouldn't cause stress, cost a fortune, or promise to "fulfull everyone's dreams of a perfect day." It is what it is; parents with too much time on their hands shouldn't push their overrated ideas of perfection onto their children. They should allow them to be children and do what they want to do. After all, now that Halloween is over, everyone will be preparing for the perfect Christmas, and waiting for that to be "over with" so they can move onto the excess of Valentine's Day. Harumph.

Sucking the Joy Out of Our Children's Lives

2008-11-08T12:48:00.000-08:00

It seems today that is has become trendy for parents to make a pre-emptive strike against anything that may cause their children frivolous happiness. Television shows devoid of educational value, games that do not teach a second language, or activities that can’t be placed on an application to Harvard are deemed worthless. And the food issues…oh where do I begin?

Some parents feel that any food that passes their children’s lips must be organic; holistic; free of sugar, chemicals and dyes; and not contain a gram of hydrogenated oil or high fructose corn syrup. That leaves them the options of celery and Earthy Bob’s Tofu Bites. While I admire the enthusiasm, albeit naïve enthusiasm, of these mothers to encourage healthy eating habits, I find the whole thing just a bit tiresome. This is the same brigade that is asking schools to ban children from bringing celebratory cupcakes, Munchins, or other treats to school for their birthdays. Is there anything more important to a young child than his or her birthday? Hell, I would get pissed if someone told me I couldn’t have treats with my friends on my birthday and I’m 41. It’s as if these parents are walking around with a giant vacuum, busily sucking the joy out of children’s lives.

“Don’t eat too much sugar, you’ll be hyper!”
“Don’t watch any cartoons; they are junk food for the brain!”
“Don’t go trick or treating, you’ll be kidnapped by pedophiles!”
“Make sure that you ask for extra homework…you’ll be better for it in the long run!”

Now I admit, not every part of my childhood was filled with happiness. I went to Catholic School, which was so boring I could literally hear the moments of my young life falling to the ground and dying while some nun or underpaid lay teacher droned on about God knows what.

Lunch is the one piece of the school day I remember fondly. When I was little, I had a tin lunch box, complete with matching thermos. I think my first one was Snoopy and then I graduated to Kroft Superstars around 3rd grade. By 5th grade it was the brown paper sack. Lunch was pretty consistent: sandwich (usually bologna; pb&j; or Chicken Spread, my personal favorite). The sandwich was accompanied by Hawaiian Punch and either a bag of chips or a Hostess cake. Sometimes it was both. Yes, that’s right; my mother packed me chips AND a Twinkie. And I loved it. Twinkies, Devil Dogs, Ring Dings, Yodels, I loved them all. Oh and those little coffee cakes! To die for!

Could you imagine if I tried to bring that same lunch to school today? First I’d have to be inspected to ensure that my food did not contain any traces of tree nuts, which could send a less hardy child into a coma. Then, I’d have to be seated away from the peanut-free, dairy-free, and fun-free tables so I could eat. After lunch I’d be made to stand on a podium, a scarlet S (for sugar) slapped onto my tee shirt. “See that little girl? She ate a Twinkie and a bag of chips in one day and now her eating habits will be destroyed, destroyed I tell you!”

I tell you all this because at a recent PTA meeting we were discussing the reward our students would receive if they collected enough box tops or whatever to generate $500 for the school. The PTA president, a seasoned mother of three, suggested giving each child an ice cream pop one day at lunch near the end of the school year. Simple, easy, and best yet, no volunteers required. From the back of the room, a hand shot up: A mother, the earnest parent of a new kindergartener, said smugly, “I work with a nutrition cooperative and we are trying to discourage people from using food as a reward.”

Had I not been in a room with other parents and teachers, I likely would have said, “It’s one f$#@!%^* ice cream pop on one f$#@!%^* day of the school year. It will not destroy your precious organic baby’s health or encourage him to become obese in any way. So, unless you’re planning on personally handing out cash as a reward, zip it and go along with the program.”

I will admit that I try to adhere to a healthy diet; I am conscious of the food choices I make and try to stay within reasonable guidelines. I try to eat things in moderation, although I am not sure if drinking a bottle of Malbec while polishing off half a quart of Ben & Jerry’s would be considered moderate. However, I try to quash the binges by eating healthy when I can and encouraging my family to do so.

Now does this mean that I don’t enjoy the occasional (all right, thrice weekly) sugar-laden treat? Hardly. I love gummi bears, Dots, gum drops, and anything with the name Godiva printed on it. I happily eat any dessert whenever I get to a restaurant and on birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, Saint Feast Days, and Fridays. But treats are fun and they are delicious and they are part of living, for God’s sake. So swallow the sugar, the cake, the ice cream and enjoy life…and stop trying to prevent your children from doing so.