I have it all, so what do I do with it?

Memories of JoePa

2012-01-22T09:44:00.000-08:00

It is with great sadness that I heard of the passing of former Penn State Coach Joe Paterno this morning.

The debate continues about Paterno's role in the Penn State scandal allegedly perpetrated by former assistant coach Jerry Sandusky. Questions regarding how much Paterno knew and whether he should have done more will undoubtedly cloud his legacy for a long time.

In my mind, however, the world has lost a great man.

How many football coaches alive today have donated their own money to upgrade a university library? How many of them have not taken a salary in over a decade, preferring instead to donate that money back to the university? How many can boast such a high graduation rate among their players?

Beyond all of that, it is the personal connections to Paterno I will remember the most. He was not just a figurehead, but an actual presence on that campus. It was not unusual to see him walking around the grounds on an ordinary day. I had the privilege of sitting next to him and his family at a mass on campus one Sunday.

My fondest memory will be the one summer when I was taking classes and staying in the dorms. During dinner in the dining hall, I was seated with a group of girls in a semi-circle around one of the tables. A male acquaintance walked by and said it looked like we were forming a panel to rate guys.

It suddenly occurred to us that this was a great idea. Someone donned pens and paper and we retired to the quad area outside the dining hall, faced the lawn chairs toward the hall entrance and proceeded to rate guys as they walked in and out on a scale of one to ten. We were nice for the most part--I don't remember anyone getting less than a seven.

We had been at this for about a half hour when who should walk by but Coach Paterno himself, heading into the dining hall to join his players. Someone shouted "Give that man a ten!" We all did, of course, along with a loud chorus of whistles and cheers. This earned us a smile and a wave from Paterno.

The world may remember the coach. The world may recall the scandal that unceremoniously ousted him from his job. I will choose to remember the man.

Coach, you will always be a "ten" in my eyes.

Rent-An-Elf

2011-12-19T22:18:00.000-08:00

Here it is five days before Christmas. Is it time to panic yet?

I just got the last of my cards out. My baking is not done. The online items I ordered have not all arrived. I still need to find stocking stuffers. Not to mention the pile of gifts that still need wrapping.

I saw a commercial for a retailer that stated "Santa has elves. You have Target." Forget Target. Where can I find a few elves?

Santa should branch out into the personal service industry. He could make a fortune. There must be thousands out there like me who see the giant Christmas clock ticking and are using every bit of self-self control available to avoid a nervous breakdown in the middle of Walmart.

Imagine if you could order an elf for the holiday season to do your shopping, wrapping, cleaning and baking. We could spend the days leading up to Christmas drinking eggnog and watching endless reruns of "Miracle on 34th Street." All stress would melt away as we order a tiny person to cook a five-course dinner and kick fellow shoppers in the kneecaps while fighting the crowds for this year's hot item at Toys R Us.

Unfortunately, the odds of finding elves to do our bidding is as likely as Santa leaving a maid, a million dollars and a house in the Virgin Islands underneath my Christmas tree. We must face the holiday crunch time alone.

I do, however, have something that Santa does not: children. I am starting to think my 14-year-old son would look good in an apron. I think the time has come to share with them one of the joys of the holiday season--the wonder of manual labor.

Santa may have elves, but I have offspring.

We Were. . . Penn State

2011-11-08T09:51:00.000-08:00

Anyone who has ever set foot inside Beaver Stadium on a football Saturday at Penn State can attest to the fact that the mood is electrifying.

When half of the stadium yells "We Are" while the other half echoes "Penn State!", the atmosphere in Happy Valley is more than the combined efforts of 100,000 plus fans cheering on their team. It is a reflection of the belief these fans hold in their football team and its coach. It is also a statement of pride for the integrity of the university that sponsors them.

Scandal is nothing new to college football. And Penn State certainly is not immune to the pressure that any top-level collegiate team is under to perform at its best and, above all, win.

The difference has been the refusal of its coach and athletic department to bend to that "win at any cost" philosophy. In the past, there have been players who were placed on academic probation, were involved in questionable behaviors on or off campus or have been proven to accept gifts from boosters. They either were suspended or dismissed from the team. There were no attempts to make excuses or circumvent regulations.

The fact is that Penn State Coach Joe Paterno understood something that many others do not: that winning a game at the cost of your integrity is no victory at all.

That philosophy seems to have been lost amidst scandal now that allegations of child molestation have been brought against former Penn State defensive coordinator Jerry Sandusky. Sandusky allegedly abused young boys that he "mentored" under the guise of a charity he started for underprivileged young men.

This action in itself is inexcusable. Worse yet is the fact that university officials knew of these accusations. How much they knew is unclear, but their behavior most definitely must come into question. Even Paterno is not unscathed since he reported an incident of abuse witnessed in 2002 by a member of his staff to athletic director Tim Curley.

Granted, Paterno was relaying something second-hand and had no authority over Sandusky, who had retired several years earlier. But Paterno also knew of his close affiliations with children. Wouldn't you, at the very least, follow up with university officials on the status of the investigation? And why did no one bother to report this incident to authorities?

Curley and Penn State Senior Vice President Gary Schultz, both of whom have been implicated in covering up the scandal, have departed the university. Rumors abound that President Graham Spanier and Paterno himself will be next.

I have been following this story in the press, on Facebook and on Twitter. I can say that, as a Penn State alum, this has rocked us all to the core. No one is defending the actions of the university. No one is placing the blame on the the victims themselves, the police, NCAA regulations, or any of the other nonsense that usually crops up in college sports scandals.

We are upset. We are disheartened. Above all, we all share in the embarrassment brought upon our university. We are demanding justice for the victims.

It is disheartening to know that our beloved Penn State, in which our very alma mater states "may no act of ours bring shame," is affiliated with such a horrible situation.

On behalf of all Penn Staters, I apologize to these young men whose lives have been ruined, possibly at the cost of Penn State's desire to protect its reputation. You deserved better. College athletics deserve better. Above all, those of us who love Penn State--and now mourn the loss of some of that Nittany Lion pride--deserve an explanation.

Words Of Wisdom

2011-08-20T18:05:00.000-07:00

Storytelling is an art that preceded that of the written word. Generation after generation has benefited from the wisdom and experiences of their elders.

My family is no different. We enjoy sharing stories and passing our knowledge on to the young. Our experiences, however, are less like words of wisdom and more like some episode you may have seen on the MTV series Jackass.

Nevertheless, when gathered with some good friends following a recent family wedding, we decided that our words of advice could benefit future generations. At the very least, they will lead far less embarrassing lives than their ancestors.

So, in an effort to preserve our family wisdom for posterity, I give you these sage words:

Don't fry bacon naked.

Don't put dishwashing liquid in a dishwasher unless you want a room full of suds.

Make sure you put your car in park when stopping at a drive-thru.

Even if an approaching train is going only five miles per hour, do not cross the tracks in front of it. In spite of what you might think, the train engineer is not waving you across the tracks.

Never clean a coffeemaker by running bleach through it.

Don't clean a fiberglass tub with steel wool.

Do not iron clothes while they are still on your body.

Never get drunk and dance with priests (don't ask).

Do not melt Limburger cheese in a microwave.

Leave bikini waxes to the professionals.

Don't put apple pies on the floor to cool unless you want them decorated with footprints.

Never test a staple gun on your fingers.

Hopefully, our experiences will have a lasting effect on the lives and well-being of future generations. After all, no one wants to go down that great highway of life with their dress tucked up inside their pantyhose. It almost caused an accident.

Stupid Groundhog

2011-03-07T08:07:00.000-08:00

Here we are, barely a month past Groundhog Day, when Punxsutawney Phil's shadow did not appear and he declared an early spring was on its way.

Looking out my window, there is a fresh layer of snow on the ground and the temperature is 32 degrees.

I do not wear fur, but at this point I would be willing to make an exception for Phil.

Where is our early spring? Where are the daffodils that are supposed to be peeking up through the ground? Is Phil perhaps getting too old and is eyesight is failing?

Maybe I should cut Phil some slack because he is, after all, just a groundhog. These creatures are better known for digging holes in our yards and running out in front of our cars than for their meteorological prowess.

In the immortal words of Today Show weatherman Al Roker, "What do you expect when you trust a rodent in a hole?"

I often wonder how the tradition of Groundhog Day got started. Who decided that a groundhog's shadow could predict when winter would end? Surely it was not the groundhog himself. Ever watch the Groundhog Day ceremony in Punxsutawney? They drag that poor thing practically kicking and screaming out of box just to check if he casts a reflection on the ground. If you don't like being awakened from a sound sleep, imagine how the groundhog feels.

Perhaps, like us, our ancestors were just grasping at straws looking for some reflief from the long, cold winter days. Some poor, unsuspecting groundhog stuck his head out a hole, looked around and decided it was not worth freezing his behind off to come out of his nice, cozy den. Some farmer probably witnessed this event, and a holiday was born.

So let us give groundhogs everywhere a break and stop blaming them for the extended winter weather. Spring will come in its own time.

Until then, I am going to take Phil's advice. I will be sleeping for the next three weeks. Wake me when spring gets here.

Confessions Of A Mother Of A Teenage Boy

2011-02-18T07:12:00.000-08:00

I think teenage boys are God's way of testing not only our patience, but also how much we can stomach. You haven't seen "disgusting" until you have removed six moldy, festering bag lunches from a locker.

This is but one of my experiences as the mother of a 13-year-old boy. I am starting to realize that my son is in the running for one of the most disgusting creatures on God's earth.

They ignore the manners you have been teaching them since they were toddlers and prefer instead to amuse themselves with such behaviors as burping and unleashing other bodily functions at the dinner table. They forget to flush toilets. They leave a trail of trash, dirty dishes, clothing and school papers throughout the house.

They also stop talking and prefer instead to mumble incoherently and grunt. I have heard of tribes in Africa that communicate though a series of grunts and clicks. I am considering sending overseas for a translator.

And they lose things. His cell phone was missing for over two months before he finally found it under his bed. The only reason he bothered to look for it was because I refused to get him another one. He is constantly looking for his ipod.

Although we have developed a system of binders with folders, notebeooks and pencils for each of his classes, he refuses to use them. He prefers instead to borrow pencils and paper off everyone from the person sitting next to him to the school custodian. Homework papers are shoved in the bottom of his locker, his backpack, or in the pocket of his jeans. Many are lost or simply never turned in.

Most of the time, my patience with him is at its breaking point. In my weaker moments, I think that mothers who eat their young out there in the animal kingdom may have the right idea.

But then they do something that reminds you that they are, after all, still your "little boy" even though they are now taller than you. The other day as he was walking out the door for the bus, he looked back and shouted, "Love you, Mom!"

So, for now, I will resist from either killing him or grounding him until he is thirty. At least until his grades come out.

Enter At Your Own Risk, But Please Bring Chicken Soup

2011-01-18T18:11:00.000-08:00

If you visit my house this week, don't be alarmed if you see a big "quarantine" sign on the door.

I am just now recovering from an upper respitory infection. Shannon has a sinus infection. Sean was just diagnosed yesterday with an ear infection. Even two of our cats have colds in their eyes.

Apparently, the First Horeseman of the Apocolypse, Pestilence, has moved into my guest room. Either that or we are living in a giant petri dish.

Somehow Cliff has managed to stay healthy in this biological house of horrors. The dog seems to be doing fine as well, but what do you expect from someone who regularly eats out of the trash can. That dog would probably be immune to the Ebola virus at this point.

In my quest to get everyone healthy, I have spend numerous hours over the past few weeks in doctor's offices and pharmacies. I am even trying some herbal rememdies from a local health food store. I am determined to get everyone well and spend the rest of the winter in good health.

If only I get Pestilence off our couch and pry the television remote from his hand.

Happy New Year--And Pass Me The Nasal Spray

2011-01-04T13:22:00.000-08:00

2011 is upon us--time to start the New Year with a bang.

Unfortunately, mine is starting with a whimper as I have contracted an upper respitory infection. It will also be beginning with a trip to the mall as our puppy ate a hole in the quilt on my bed while my son was "watching" her.

Okay, so we're not off to a stellar opening.

I always find it hard to muster a lot of cheer for the start of a new year because I am a holiday junkie. A new year means the that the wonderful holiday stretch from Thanksgiving through January 1st is over. We now have the long winter laid out ahead before any major holidays appear. I don't count Valentine's Day as a big holiday because the only way I get a box of chocolates is if I buy them myself.

When the kids were young and would become sad when the Christmas tree had to come down, I would remind them that we now have a whole year ahead of us to do all of the fun things we did last year over again. I try to remind myself of that "blank slate" before me that is full of possiblities and promises, not only to do things over but also to do them better.

I am not big on resolutions because when I "resolve" to do something, I always feel terrible when those expectations are not met. Instead, I like to set goals that require a number of steps to reach them. That way, at least accomplishing some of these steps means I'm on my way to achieving that goal.

Over the last two years, my main goal has been to compete in walking races, working my way up to the Crim 10-mile race and hopefully placing in some of them. I'm happy to report that I had three third place finishes last year and placed in the top 15 in my age group in my first 10-mile race. Mission accomplished.

Among my goals for 2011, I have decided to:

-Increase my speed in races to get below a 12-minute mile.
-Take at least one writing class
-Keep better contact with friends, especially those living out-of-state
-Eat more chocolate

As you can tell, I like to throw one in there that is really easy to reach.

No matter what your goals are for 2011, I hope you meet them. May the new year be filled with promise and potential, and may all your expectations come true.

And may you also get to eat lots of chocolate.

Holiday P.R.

2010-12-21T12:29:00.000-08:00

One thing that amazes me at this time of year is how everyone suddenly becomes a public relations expert.

Many of us are guilty of sending out those standard holiday letters. I know I send them to all those on our Christmas card list who we don't speak to on a regular basis.

What I find most interesting is how everyone's six-year-old seems to be in line for a Nobel Prize and how redecorating the dining room has made us a candidtate for a spread in Better Homes and Gardens. Because whatever news we have this year, good or bad, we spin it.

That speeding ticket you got in October becomes a commedation from the police department. The bad progress report your sixth grader brought home is now a special recognition for academic achievement from the school's principal.

Wouldn't you love--just for once--to get a letter that sounded like this:

Happy Holidays to all of our family and friends!

We hope this year finds you well. It has been an exciting time in our household.

Cliff continues to enjoy golf. He recently purchased new clubs since he threw his old ones in a water hazard out of frustration. Cliff's electrical business continues to thrive. We were not bothered at all by that pesky IRS audit last year. He expects the fraud and racketeering charges to be dropped at any time. If they aren't, what's 10 to 20 years, anyway?

Kris is quite excited about her expanding cosmetic business. She is planning a demonstration at a women's prison early next year. Her hobbies include gardening, scrapbooking and following her rather disorganized family around the house with a dustpan and a can of Lysol. She is still taking remedial cooking classes and was not discouraged at all by that three-alarm fire in the kitchen at Thanksgiving.

Shannon is still thriving in high school. The little cheating incident on the PSATs has not discouraged her academic goals at all. She is hoping to be accepted into one of the finest convent or reform schools in the country.

Sean's progress in school continues to be, well, interesting. The teacher thinks he may very well pass seventh grade without summer school this time. Our family in Pennsylvania is making plans to visit him for his military school induction or his first parole hearing, whichever comes first.

Our little puppy Chloe is growing fast. We are searching for a doggy psychiatrist to assist us since she has been kicked out of three obedience schools. She is almost totally housebroken now, and we only had to replace the carpets in six rooms, along with two couches and a matress.

For those of you in the southern part of the country, we may very well show up on your doorstep next year. We will be travelling to Podunk, TN to see the world's largest ball of yarn!

Now there's an interesting year!

Here's wishing you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year that is "spin-worthy!"

I Believe In Santa Claus

2010-12-07T10:34:00.000-08:00

In our house, it's been a long time since we have had a little one waiting anxiously for Santa Claus to arrive. And that makes me little sad.

The fact is that children mature and realize that Santa Claus doesn't land on the roof and descend down your chimney with a pack of toys. But to a parent, the loss of that belief is a sign that your children are growing up and that some of the magic has gone from this time of year.

I, however, refuse to believe claims that Santa is a myth, because I still believe that he exists.

Santa Claus was actually a real person who lived about 1,700 years ago. The real St. Nicholas was a 4th century bishop in Turkey who used his substantial inheritance to help the poor. Legend has it he would toss coins through open windows, and children began hanging up stockings hoping to capture them.

St. Nicholas has evolved through the centuries into the jolly, fat, bearded man in red we know today. He is blessed with the uncanny ability to force children into good behavior (I used to warn mine his elves looked through the windows to give Santa status reports) and reminds adults of the days when they, too, waited to hear sleigh bells on Christmas Eve.

And I miss Santa. I miss the annual trek to the mall for a visit. I miss writing letters to him, mailing them to the North Pole and waiting for a response. I miss sprinkling reindeer food in the yard, setting out a plate of cookies by the fireplace and tracking his progress across the world on the Norad Tracks Santa website.

Of course, I could still do all these things, but my family would probably think I've dipped into the eggnog too often. Besides, a 40-something woman sitting on Santa's lap just may give the jolly old elf the wrong impression.

Although Santa may no longer exist as a person, I believe he endures in a non-physical sense. He is the embodiment of all that is good and wonderful this time of year. He causes children to behave a little better, strangers to treat others with more kindness, and puts a little bit of magic and mystery back into our lives during the holiday season.

As we stress ourselves out trying to recreate the Martha Stewart holiday special in our own homes, perhaps we should all remember what Christmas comes down to: celebrating a miracle in a stable and the pure joy of giving.

As Francis Church famously responded to eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon's question "Is there a Santa Claus?" in the New York Sun back in 1897, "No Santa Claus! Thank God he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Viginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood."

He also fills the hearts of adults with joy, if only we let him. Here's hoping we each find a little bit of Santa in ourselves this time of year.

Talkin' Turkey

2010-11-23T11:02:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is upon us. It's that time of year when families once again gather to gobble (pun intended) loads of food, watch hours of parades and football and wind up feeling as overstuffed as the turkey we just cooked.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. It has all the togetherness of Christmas without the mad dash to blow money we don't have on gifts and over-decorate just to show up the neighbors. It is simply a time to gather and reflect on all for which we are grateful.

Although retailers would have us believe the Christmas season begins the day after Halloween, I prefer to give Thanksgiving its due. Although many around us are already lighting the plastic Santas, our house is still adorned by pumpkins and cornstalks.

That's not to say I have not begun planning for Christmas. I just prefer not to have a Christmas tree next to my Thanksgiving table.

I applaud Nordstrom's Depatment Store for its decision not to put up Christmas decorations until after Thanksgiving. Perhaps if more retailers did this, we would feel a little less pressured to jump into the holiday season before the jack o'lanterns have had time to rot on the porch.

So go ahead and put your grazing ornamental reindeer in your front yard and illuminate your house with enough lights to guide a 747 to a safe landing on your roof before the cranberry sauce has enough time to congeal on the tablecloth.

I'll be enjoying my turkey sandwiches without the holly and ivy as side dishes for a little while longer.

Can We Talk?

2010-11-09T09:44:00.000-08:00

The time of year is upon us that many parents dread. It's time for parent/teacher conferences.

I would have to say that more parents fear these dreaded teacher meetings than the sugar-filled, present-driven hyperactivity of the Christmas season. At least Christmas is over in one day. The repercussions of these conferences will haunt you for weeks, an entire semester or even a whole school year.

For some lucky people, these are pleasant exchanges. With Shannon, we meet with her teachers and hear what a polite, cooperative young woman and great student she is. Then we head over to the middle school for Sean's conferences.

And we brace ourselves.

It's not that Sean is not an intelligent child. He has unfortunately been cursed with some sort of genetic disease that prevents him from keeping track of things. He received an ipod for his birthday a few weeks ago and has already managed to lose the headphones.

Unfortunately, this defective gene also affects his ability to hand in homework. We know that he does the homework, but we have no idea where it goes once it enters the black void of his backpack.

It is frustrating to go online to check his grades and see that he has A's and B's for all the work he has done, but has a C in the class because of all the Fs he receives for missing work.

I have a feeling many of the papers simply end up on the bottom of his locker. I had to retrieve a book from there a few weeks ago when he missed several days of school with an ear infection. That thing needs to be declared a bio-hazard.

Apparently, everything that has ever disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle has materialized in Sean's locker. The bottom was half full with gym shorts, swearshirts, both of his coats, binders and notebooks with at least 30 pieces of paper randomly stuffed around everything else.

Even worse, Sean had left an insulated lunch sack in the locker for about four weeks with, unfortunately, the lunch still in it. Brown goo had oozed through the lunch sack, which now covers the bottom of his locker with some papers actually stuck in it. I practically had to don a protective suit to get anything out of there.

Also, I have repeatedly warned him not to put papers in the pockets of his pants. Crumpled school papers, however, sometimes appear in the washer and dryer. Since he has a binder for each class, I cannot figure out why he thinks the pocket of his jeans is the best place to store papers.

Despite regular efforts to go through his backpack and a new organizational system we are trying with his class binders, success has eluded us. The problem is he is simply not motivated to keep track of his schoolwork.

Since Sean is motivated by money, we have now instituted a new system where he loses $1 from his monthly allowance for every missing assignment that pops up on Powerschool. We figure he will owe us money by the end of the semester.

We also have a longstanding policy where he loses television, computer or videogame privleges for any grade below a C. That list will now include his ipod. Our hope is that he will become organized out of complete boredom.

So, next week, we will once again arm ourselves with a brave face, gather our courage and enter the realm of middle school to once again prepare for battle with the dragon that is a teenage boy's lack of enthusiasm and motivation.

Seems to me that slaying a real dragon would be a whole lot easier.

Politically Incorrect

2010-10-26T11:51:00.001-07:00

I was appalled to watch the news this morning and listen to a candidate in next week's elections tell the President of the United States to "shove it." What is even more shocking is that this person is a member of his own party.

This only goes to prove that, when it comes to politics, any shred of courtesy, decency, morality and respect has gone the way of the dodo bird.

In a world of 30-second sound bites and a "do whatever feels right" mentality, civility may well be on the endagered speicies list. Nowhere is that more apparent in the world of politics. Political ads today do not tout the merits of a particular candidate, but instead are designed only to slander the oppostion.

I heard a commerical recently that claimed "since Fred Smith has been in office, unemployment in his area has gone up 80 percent." Can someone please show me somewhere in this country where unemployment has not gone up 80 percent?

But candidates today assume that people who are polarized toward their particular party are not going to stop to think about such a statement. Unfortunately, they are correct. The ad could probably blame this guy for everything from the Chernobyl nuclear disaster to Hurricane Katrina, and ignorant people would be calling the candidate's office (because they of course publish a phone number) to accuse him of being everyting from a communist to an evil, tree-worshing wiccan who can control weather systems.

Even worse is that we are grooming the next generation behave exactly like us. My daughter was recently volunteering at a water station for a road race with some of our other youth group members. Two girls tried to convince her to state that she hates President Obama because "he needs to die." The worse part is that these fine young representatives of our church were saying this within earshot of other volunteers from a protestant church who were mainly African-American.

Fortunately I have groomed my children to handle political incorrectness like this by simply stating that they are a Christian and do not hate anyone since that goes against everything for which our Lord lived and died. You would be surprised at how quickly a statment like that shuts the mouths of supposedly "good Christians."

It's obvious these children are learning from their parents that inflammatory speech is perfectly acceptable when it comes to politics. Not only are they grooming ignorance, but they are teaching an entire generation to follow a narrow-minded path wihout instilling in these children any compassion, common sense or the ability to think for themselves. Certainly we want our children to follow our moral examples, but should these examples include racial and religious insults and death wishes?

As for me, I am proud to be a dinosaur who believes that the President of the United
States deserves the respect to which his office entitles him regardless of if I agree with his politics. Taunts and name-calling should be left on the playground with the rest of the pre-schoolers. And freedom of speech does not mean we have a right to behave like a bunch of uncivilized baboons whose opinions come only from advertisements, political pundits and "unbiased" news sources.

God blessed each of us with a brain and the ability to think for ourselves. Let's not insult him by refusing to use it when it comes to politics.

It's Duck Season!!! It's Wabbit Season!!!

2010-10-05T10:26:00.000-07:00

The nights have turned crisp and cool. The leaves are turning. And, my husband is growing a beard.

All clear signs that hunting season is upon us.

I must admit I don't understand that male ritual of sitting in one spot in the damp woods for hours just to shoot at something that no one else in the family will eat. But that does not stop Cliff from donning facial hair and camoflage to go out in search of Bambi each year.

For the past two years, my son has joined him in this rite of male passage. He has not been old enough to hunt with a rifle, but simply goes along to join his dad, grandfather, uncles and male cousins in the annual testosterone-fest at our cabin in Gaylord, MI.

Not that I really need to worry about my husband getting a deer. The last time I remember him actually shooting one was about 20 years ago. One year while he was hunting, I actually hit a deer with my car. A police officer had to shoot it and then asked me if I wanted to take it home. Cliff never even saw a deer that week. I bagged one with a Ford Tempo.

When I think about it, hardly anyone ever gets a deer during hunting season. This makes me wonder what actually goes on at that cabin.

Years ago I heard a song on the radio called "The Second Week of Deer Camp" where a bunch of guys sang about how they got together each year in the woods to smoke, drink and play cards. At the end of the song, someone finally got a deer. They hit one with their truck while on a beer run.

I seriously doubt the Moore boys spend most of their week three sheets to the wind. I think hunting season is more about the timeless tradition of males getting together to bond, share experiences and pass on their rituals to the next generation of hunters. And, occasionally, they go out into the woods.

Besides, I can hardly complain. Hunting season has led to a female ritual commonly known as "Outlet Shopping Season." This is one tradition in which I will be happy to partake.

Coming Out Of The Closet (The Clothes--Not Me)

2010-09-21T09:49:00.000-07:00

With the arrival of autumn, it is once again time for me to go through all of the closets and prepare for the arrival of cold weather.

This is a ritual I repeat every spring and fall as the weather changes. I replace some seasonal garments with others, clear out what the kids have outgrown for donations, and make note of what they will need for the upcoming warm or cold weather.

Orgnaizing my closet, however, is not so simple. As every woman knows, we need three sets of clothes for every season.

We have our normal set of clothes which wear on any given day. These clothes are the size we generally hover around and wear the majority of the year

Then of we have our "fat clothes." We don these garments if we put on a little weight, or on mornings when we wake up feeling like we are the size of a walrus.

Every woman also has some clothes that she wore in college or before the kids came along. Some women refer to them as "skinny clothes." I refer to this as my "I have a dream" section.

Organizing experts say you should not keep anything you have not worn in a year. That theory goes right out the window when it comes to our "skinny" garments.

The fact that the size 2 formal dress I bought in 1987 will probably never again see daylight does not deter me from keeping it. Every woman has clothing she convinces herself that, one day, she will get into again. Never mind that she probably has better odds of winning the Megamillions lottery.

Those clothes will be in that closet until the day she dies. Someone will be going through our closets thinking, "What did she save that for?" and "Did she actually WEAR that?"

Skinny clothes are not to be confused with clothing from special occasions such as weddings or proms that we all stash in some spare closet in the house. We don't wear them. We just take them out occasionally to reminisce.

To a woman, a closet is more than a place to store clothing. It is memories of her past. It is a reflection of who she is and how she came to be that person. It is as personal to her as a diary.

So when my husband asks why I am keeping a maternity dress that I wore when pregnant with my son thirteen years ago, I simply move it to another location. Getting rid of it would be like getting rid of a part of me.

The other day I came across a dress I wore to a college formal. It was fire engine red with a plunging back and hit about four inches above the knee.

Perhaps I will surrender that one. I don't want anybody to find it after I die. Might give the wrong impression of my single days.

Puppy Love

2010-09-07T09:47:00.000-07:00

The pitterpatter of tiny paws has returned to the halls of our home.

We have adopted a puppy. Her name is Chloe and she is a three-month-old border collie/german shepard mix. I also suspect she has some labrador in her as she is forever pointing at nothing outside and attempts to flush chipmunks and mice out of my gardens. I would not have an issue with this if she were not also pulling my plants out by the roots.

In the thirteen-plus years since we had a puppy, I seem to have forgotten many things. Puppies are a lot of work.

I got quite acquainted with the planet Venus for about a week as I was up early enough to see it well before dawn while Chloe explored the yard searching for the perfect pee spot. Although she now sleeps a bit later, the potty training adventure continues. She is not yet letting us know when she needs to go out, so I have seen more of my backyard in the last month--especially in the the dark--than I have seen in the last 14 years.

I have also been reminded that puppies chew. This is evidenced by the fact that Sean is now missing the back end of one of his flipflops. We alleviate this problem by keeping plenty of chew toys on hand.

What we cannot seem to get through to her is that cats are not chew toys. Most of our cats avoid her, but Midnight is attempting to befriend her. They do play together, but it usually ends with Chloe pinning him to the ground by his neck. Cats do not like this.

With the cooler weather this weekend, Chloe has also discovered that people wear pants. This is apparently something she thinks she should latch onto and hold on for dear life.

Most of these habits will be overcome with time, patience and a good dose of obedience training. She does have some very good qualities in that she rarely ever barks, walks well on a leash and is already picking up on some basic commands. Our puppy is no dummy.

This has also been a good lesson for Shannon and Sean on the responsibilty of owning a young animal. A large part of her care fell upon them before school began. They now realize that puppies are not something that can be ignored or taken care of on your schedule, but have their own timetable. They require lots of attention, affection and are not something disposable.

We are hopeful that our experience with Chloe will be as memorable and wonderful as our time with our beloved labrador, Zak. She has already found a special place in our hearts in her short time here.

Feel free to visit or call for updates or with advice. And don't hesitate to call early. Believe me, I'll be up.

They're Going Back!!!!

2010-08-24T10:11:00.000-07:00

It is the time of year that parents everywhere hear the words that bring joy to their hearts: Back To School!

The days of lax schedules and sleeping in are drawing to a close. The dog days of summer are giving way to class schedules and school projects. Soon I will again hear the dulcet tones of the school bus stopping at the bottom of the driveway. I never imagined that would be music to my ears.

If someone had told me 20 years ago how excited I would be to see bins full of pencils and spiral notebooks lining the aisles at Walmart, I would have thought they had sniffed one too many Sharpies. It's the same feeling I used to get when I saw the words "shoe sale." These days I would drive past 10 shoe sales just to make sure I get hold of those fifteen cent folders at Target.

Funny how your priorities change as parents. When childless, I would plot and plan how to save enough money for my dream car. Now I spend the latter part of my summer scouring sale flyers for the best deals on binders.

I used to think I was become boring, but I now realize that as parents, we become realistic. Car seats simply don't fit in the back of a Mustang convertible. That Prada bag simply would not function the same stuffed with diapers and wipes. And who needs to spend money on a Versace blouse when they must send their children off to school with Crayola supplies rather than--God forbid--some generic brand of crayons which will cause them to be made fun of and scar them for life, resulting in thousands of dollars spent on therapy.

So as I run amok between retail outlets in search of the gel ink pens and mechanical pencils my daughter cannot live without, I remind myself that the house will soon be quiet and structure will return to my days. I will--in some small way--miss the sounds of video games rising from the basement and the lovely tones of my daughter's cell phone as she receives her 30th text message of the morning.

In the meantime, I need to hurry up and get to Kmart. Rumor has it there is a huge sale on highlighters.

Ain't No Cure For The Summertime Blues

2010-08-10T09:23:00.001-07:00

The end of summer vacation is approaching. In a way, this is a good thing as it coincides with the yearly end of my sanity and patience.

I have actually managed to keep the bickering and boredom to a minimum this summer. It may have preserved some of my faculties, added a few days to my life and resulted in fewer gray hairs. I wonder, however, what has it done improve the quality of my kids' free time.

Summer vacation today is not the same as the carefree, sunny days of my childhood when children went out to play after breakfast and you only saw them at mealtimes and bedtime. Even though it is a vacation from school, today's breaks are not necessarily a vacation from learning. Since many education experts have warned about the "brain drain" that occurs during summer vacation, I have always felt compelled to keep their minds engaged during the long school breaks.

It used to be we did workbooks each day. This was about as fun for my children as watching paint dry. This summer we tried a different approach. Following Sean's stellar performace during the first year of middle school (we are still thanking the powers that be that he actually passed everything), he is enrolled in a learning center this summer for math and took a chemistry class at our local planetarium.

We also decided that Shannon should take a "test run" for some classes she will be taking online this next school year through Michigan Virtual High School. She decided to try learning Latin.

Their chore list has also grown this summer to include lots of yard work and even more household chores. They also both volunteered during our church vacation bible school. Shannon has also picked up a couple of new babysitting clients.

Athough I make a huge effort to keep them busy, like most parents today I also spend the far too much time prying them away from cell phones, computers and video game controllers.

The days when gangs of children roamed the neighborhood on summer days are long gone. Only two of Shannon's friends live within walking or biking distance from our house. None of Sean's friends are nearby. Telling them to "go outside and find someone to play with" has never worked at our house unless you could befriend a squirrel.

When they were younger, I could send them out to play on the swingset, sandbox or other variety of outdoor toys that littered our backyard. This would generally occupy them for a long period of time. Although we now have more "grown-up" toys like a pool and a trampoline, this will engage them if they alone for about 10 minutes.

I find it alarming that they are willing to spend hours texting and communicating on Facebook, but are reluctant to invite friends over and actually hold conversations face to face. If I have learned anything this summer,it is that technology is starting to take a toll on personal relationships.

In a way I feel bad trying to structure their vacation time so much. My parents never gave me hours worth of chores, insisted I do volunteer work or made me do math problems over the summer. Sometimes, I feel like the Adolph Hitler of summer vacations.

But as I think back to those school breaks of my childhood, I think my four siblings and I spent more time bickering during the summer than playing together. My poor mother probably locked the doors once we went outside in the mornings just to keep her sanity intact.

I try to remember that summer is not only a time to unwind and relax, but also a time to learn and grow through new responsiblilites and opportunities. And we always make sure to make time for "the fun stuff" like scout camp, spending the afternoon at a local beach or going to the movies.

Perhaps I am not doing them a disservice by insisting on a balance between fun and responsibility. After all, they both seem to have grown and matured a little this summer. They may complain about the workloads, but in the end I am sure they are grateful for the structure in their lives.

I, too am grateful that the household has seem to run more efficiently and the choruses of "I'm bored" have lessened this summer. I am even happier that I have not lost too many brain cells refereeing arguments over whose turn it is to play the Avatar game on the Wii.

At my age, I don't have that many brain cells left to lose. And I can certainly think of better ways to lose them.

Goodbye, Zak

2010-07-27T09:43:00.001-07:00

Last week was a very sad time in our household as we had to say goodbye to a very dear friend, our 13-year-old black labrador retriever, Zachary.

He was diagnosed in April with a defective heart valve after I took him to the vet with some breathing problems. There was nothing that could be done to correct the problem save an expensive surgery he would likely not survive. However, our vet said that with a limited activity schedule, he had seen dogs live for several years with this condition.

Happily, Zak did well for awhile with only short periods of exercise. Up until the day he died, he could still enjoy a quick game of catch and a short walk.

On the evening of July 21st, he suddenly had great difficulty breathing. Our vet met Cliff and Shannon at his office and gave us the bad news: Zak's lungs had filled with fluid and his oxygen levels were decreasing. He was in congestive heart failure. There was no more he could do for him. The decision was made at that time to put him to sleep.

The hardest part is that Sean and I--who were not home at the time--were not there to say goodbye. Our dog was suffering and there simply was no time to wait for us. I listened on my cell phone while our vet put my dog to sleep.

Sean has taken it particullarly hard--his dog has been his constant companion since he was a baby. We have photos of one-year-old Sean toddling through the house with his blanket and stuffed elephant, Blue, in his hands, his binky in his mouth, and his faithful dog close at his heels.

Zak was as loyal and devoted a dog as anyone could ask. He was far too friendly to be much of a guard dog--we used to joke that if anyone broke into the house he would make them a cup of tea and help them load up their van. But he was always up for catching a tennis ball, a walk to explore the neighborhood, or a ride in the car whether it was for a trip to our cabin or a visit to the vet or dog groomer.

Our constant companion for over thirteen years, the journey from the rambunctios six-week-old puppy to the old, mellow dog was far too quick. The memories with which he left us will last a lifetime.

As a labrador retriever, Zak would eat anything that would not eat him first. When he was a puppy, he would constantly get into my garden and eat the strawberries. I badgered Cliff to fence in this area, a job which he kept putting off. He was finally convinced to take on the project the day Zak ate about thirty red and green cherry tomatoes and threw them up all over the family room.

From that day on, the only thing he would not eat were tomatoes. One Thanksgiving holiday weekend, we were travelling back home from Pennsylvania and left an 18-inch turkey sub in the van with the dog while we stopped at a rest area. By the time we returned to the vehicle, the only thing left were the wrapper and the tomatoes.

He was such a gentle soul he would not even hurt another animal. He discovered a nest of baby rabbits in our yard once and did nothing but carry one in his mouth until I convinced him to drop it. He did the same thing to a very wet bird he found once during a rainstorm. His one passion was chasing squirrels and chimpmunks. He never had a prayer of catching them, but that did not stop him from enjoying the chase even in his final days.

The irony of his passing is that the Monday before he died, my book club met to discuss a book called "Good Dog. Stay" by Anna Quindlen. The book is about the life of her black labrador retriever named Beau and what she learned by watching him from his puppyhood until his passing at age 15.

Quindlen says that the life of a good dog is like the life of a good person, only shorter and more compressed. From watching Beau grow up and grow old, she learned to take every day as it comes, live life to the fullest, and to simply roll with the punches. Sometimes, Quindlen says, and old dog can teach you new tricks.

Zak not only lived a full, happy life in his thirteen years, but added fullness to our lives as well. Through him, I have learned to find joy in every day, take time to enjoy the beauty of nature that surrounds you, nap and play whenever possible, and--every once in awhile--drop whatever you are doing and chase a squirrel.

Goodbye, dear friend. We miss you and will never forget you.

No Pain, No Gain

2010-07-13T09:42:00.000-07:00

Each New Year's Day, I come up with a list of resolutions for myself. This year, I decided I want to challenge myself physically.

In additon to trying to keep my girlish figure, I am discovering muscles I never knew I had. Mostly because they hurt.

I have taken several Zumba classes this summer in addition to my usual pilates class. Apparently I am not the only one who has made this resolution because the class is filled with overwieght, middle-aged women with a few 20-somethings sprinkled in. You have not lived until you've seen a 200-pound, 50-year-old woman bouncing around to the music of the Black-Eyed Peas.

After a few years of competing in mostly five kilometer races, I have also decided to walk the 10-mile race in the Crim Fesitival of Races this summer. I have joined a training group that is--you guessed it--moslty middle aged people.

Why is it that we suddenly wake up in our forties and decide a change is necessary? We certainly could have been doing a better job of this in our twenties and thirties, which would of course head off the need to lose all that extra weight once our 40th birthday rolls around.

One reason is that families and jobs keep us so busy in our younger years that we don't have time worry about expanding waistlines. Once the kids are more independent and our careers are established, we then realize our figures rival that of Shamoo the Killer Whale.

It doesn't help that television shows, commericals and magaine ads blast us with models and celebrities with perfect physiques. I've never seen the show "Jersey Shore," but the cast was on the "Today" Show not long ago. One of the male characters actually has a named his abdominals and calls them "The Situation." I thought that was interesting because we have a nickname for my husband's abdominal muscles as well. We refer to them as "Missing In Action."

Even my husband, however, has caught the middle-aged fitness bug. He recently began jogging and hopes to lose at least 30 pounds.

Getting in shape at any age is a laudable thing, and I applaud all those who take steps to live longer, healthier lives even if they do get a late start. Just make sure you visit your local Costco or Sam's Club first and stock up on the Motrin.

And to all of those 20-somethings who run circles around us in the park, a word of advice: Stay out of my way or I will hit you with my cane.

R.S.V.P.--Response So Very Poor

2010-06-22T10:31:00.000-07:00

I discovered recenlty that the meaning of the phrase R.S.V.P. has changed. I was taught as a child that it stood for "respond so very promptly" I have come to understand that it means "reply sort-of, verification pending."

We had a 16th birthday party for Shannon last week with R.S.V.P by a certain date. Almost half or the people either did not respond or said they will "probably" attend.

I wonder if these people realize that "probably" means that you have to count them as attendees, and when they "probably" do not show up, you are stuck with the extra cost of covering them. Shannon invited 22 people to her pool party, and only eight friends actually came.

Granted, there were some legitimate excuses: one friend got stuck out of town, another had to leave early for camp. But to simply not show up or give a wishy-washy response is just one of those things that would make Miss Manners' head explode.

It seems customary--if not acceptable--to give a non-committal response. This to me is an insult. It's like saying "I will come if I have nothing better to do."

What really irks me is the people that commit to coming, then at the last minute decide they have a better offer. Someone Shannon thought was a close friend did this to her the night before the party, and she was devastated.

I have uncovered a couple of codes that will tell you if people think you are as exciting as watching paint dry. They are:

1. "I will have to see what else is going on." Translation: you are boring and if I get a better offer I am on it faster than a dog can pounce on a dropped hot dog.

2. "My grandmother passed away (for the sixth time)." You can get away with this excuse exactly twice. When you lose track of your fibs and your relatives start passing away more than once, you are either a bad liar or have one screwed-up family tree.

3. "I want to come, but I just can't seem to get out the door." Translation: I would rather sit on my couch and watch a "Gilligan's Island" marathon than drag myself to your snooze-fest.

As I feel I am becoming an expert on party etiquette, I will be conducting a seminar--or maybe it's a support group--for the chronically boring party host. We will cover topics such as "Getting party attendees without begging" and "Discover your inner party animal." Details to follow.

Just make sure you R.S.V.P.

My Sanity Has Disappeared With The Phone

2010-06-08T09:39:00.000-07:00

I am in need of a good detective. We have lost a cordless phone.

The phone from my home office has gone missing in action. Since the battery has now died from not being charged, the paging function does not work. I think we need professional help.

I have checked all of the usual spots in the house where I have found it before: under the sofa, inside the sofa, in the refrigerator (yes, I am serious). No luck.

This would not have happened except for one small problem in our household: NO ONE PUTS ANYTHING AWAY!!!!

Do I sound a little frustrated?

The scissors from my office are also missing. I have a bin full of socks without partners in the laundry room closet. At least two remote controls have disappeared into the Bermuda Triangle that has apparently relocated itself over my house.

I spend at least 15 minutes each evening putting things that others in this household leave lying around back in their proper places. I am constantly calling on my family to please put this or that away.

I tell myself this is a step toward being organized for the next day. Some days I think that it is one more step toward the state mental hospital as I will go insane from repeating the same phrases and tasks over and over.

I often wonder what would happen if I were to go on strike. What would result if I suddenly ignored all schedules, household tasks and responsibilities and spent my days lounging outside in the hammock? I would like to think my family would pick up the slack and gain an appreciation for all that I do. I suspect, however, that the house would simply implode due to neglect and we would all be living in a giant smoking crater.

I have decided I will no longer search for or replace the missing phone. Those responsible for its disappearance can now use the phone connected to the fax machine with the big white springy cord attached to it that goes no further than four feet from its base.

At least now there is one less thing I have to track down. Now, if I could get a springy cord that I could attatch to the remote control, I'd be all set.

The New Detention

2010-05-25T09:43:00.000-07:00

My 12-year-old son has been spending lots of time in after-school detention lately. This is not a good thing.

In additon to seeing how we can slide through 6th grade doing as little work as possible, we are now exploring the realm of having a reserved seat in detention hall. Except that the tradtional after-school detention has gone new-age.

Instead of making children sit in a room writing things like "I will not release toads in the school hallway" 100 times, teachers now take a different approach.

Yesterday, he and a group of his friends (who were all in detention because of an incident involving throwing milk cartons) had to weed the school gardens. Since our school has a rather large agricultural curriculum associated with Michigan State University, this was no small task.

Detention now means that kids are put to work. It makes sense to me. Why have a bunch of kids with a lot of pent-up energy sit in a room when you can get some free labor out of them?

A couple of months ago, they apparently couldn't find any work for the detainees to complete. Instead, they had to listen to music. Classical music. This may not sound so bad to you or me. To a bunch of pre-teens, however, this is akin to Chinese water torture.

When they were done with the classical selections, they switched to music for preschoolers such as "The Barney Song" and the Teletubbies theme. I am surprised his ears were not bleeding when he got home.

I am hopeful that forced labor and tortuous musical therapy will have some positive affect on my son. In other words, he will hopefully straighten his behind out and not want to spend any more time listening to Raffi.

It hasn't worked yet, however. He has detention again this Thursday for taking his cell phone out in school.

I look forward to hearing what task was forced upon him this time. I hope it's cleaning the boys' bathrooms with q-tips.

Sweet 16

2010-05-11T09:23:00.001-07:00

Hard to believe, but my baby girl is turning 16 this Friday. Scary.

This is opening up a whole new world that I am not sure I am ready to face. She will now be permitted to date. She will likely have her driver's license by the end of summer. She even applied for a part-time job to supplement her babysitting income and is saving for a school trip to Europe next summer.

Perhaps now would be a good time to look into convent school enrollment.

I am happy to admit, however, that she has grown into a responsible young woman. She has never had a detention in school, maintains a 3.8 grade point average and received the highest score on the PLAN standardized test in the entire sophomore class. Shannon has already gotten recruitment letters from about 30 colleges, including Columbia, Brown, Duke, Vanderbilt and the University of Miami.

She is generally respectful and follows our rules, usually does her chores and takes care of her responisbilities without complaining, and keeps busy with school and outside activites which keep her out of trouble.

Part of it, I am sure, has to do with strict parenting and clear expectations. But Cliff and I cannot take all the credit. All we can do as parents is set them on a path and hope they will follow it.

There is a poem I have always thought describes the parenting experience perfectly:

"Little one, I wish two things:
To give you roots,
To give you wings."

The roots are established. Now the time is coming to start testing the wings. I have no doubt that as Shannon begins to venture out into the world, her options will be many, her successes great, and her wings will take her far.

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl!

I'll Be Going Back To Bed Now...

2010-04-27T10:04:00.000-07:00

Ever find that when a day starts off badly, it just gets worse as it goes along?

It seems that the first few hours after you get out of bed seem to set the tone for the remainder of the day. If that is always the case, I should just go back to bed because today is already a complete wash.

We started off the day with my two kids missing the bus. It's the second time they have done this in three weeks. The problem is I am still trying to figure out how they do it.

I let them wait inside the house on cold mornings. All they have to do is stand in the family room and watch out the back door for the bus, which comes down the road that runs perpendicular to our street. Somehow, neither of them saw it. How you can not see a large yellow vehicle with flashing lights coming down a road, I will never know.

It probably did not help that the bus comes at 7:15 and Sean was still getting his shoes on at 7:14. They are both supposed to be ready at 7:10, and Shannon was indeed ready. She was, however, too busy messing with one of our cats to apparently notice a bus driving by.

The fact that I had to drive them to school was not what upset me. It is only about a five minute drive. What makes me angry is the lack of responsibility in not being ready on time or the ability to stay on task. To make it worse, the circumstances were similar the last time they missed the bus.

I would like to say I handled to situation in a calm and mature manner, but I probably sounded more like a howler monkey.

So the day started with me getting angry and delivering a lecture on responsibilty during the entire drive to school. This made both of them quite happy. So now no one's day is off to a great start.

What makes me feel bad is that nobody's day had to be ruined. As the kids pointed out, they have only missed the bus three times in all of the years they have been riding it. It doesn't do anyone any good to start the morning angry and upset.

I read the book "Don't Sweat The Small Stuff" by Richard Carlson several years ago. There is a chapter called "Look Beyond Behavior" that basically says you have to take into account the circumstances that might be behind people's actions. No one deserves a rough start to a tough day simply for being distracted or not moving fast enough. If it means swallowing a bit of inconvenience to maintain harmony, then so be it.

Of course my kids need to responsible enough to be ready on time for school, but that fact would sink in much better in when discussed by a calm mother rather than a raving banshee.

So I will have to put this experience in the "What NOT To Do" column and hope my kids learn a lesson about timeliness.

I could also threaten to make them walk the two miles to school next time. Then they would have an excuse to pass on that story handed down through the generations about how they were forced to walk to school. Uphill. Both ways.

Honey-Do

2010-04-13T09:12:00.001-07:00

Spring has sprung, and with it an event that my husband dreads every year: the awful "honey-do" list.

As I yield a pretty mean hammer and drill, I only put items on here that are absolutely impossible for me to do. I can hang a picture and even put together a storage cabinet from a kit, but adding an outlet to the kid's bathroom is something I will never attempt. Unless I feel the need to get an instant perm from the electrical shock I will inevitably give myself.

With the arrival of warm weather, however, my husband has other priorities. They are:

1) playing golf
2) watching golf on tv
and
3) dreaming about playing and watching golf.

As you can imagine, this causes some conflict in our household. I need a hand, and he wants to chase little white balls around with metal sticks.

Since I have made it a priority this year to work on my patience, I try to put the honey-do list in perspective. I try to remember that my husband is a hard worker and is also taking a very difficult electrical licensing class right now. Frankly, he needs a break once in awhile.

Also, if a to-do item sits on a list for awhile, so what? The world will not end if the lawn is not fertilized tomorrow.

So I will continue to smile as he heads out the door with his golf clubs, promising that he will get to the list soon. After all, patience is a virtue.

Besides, if he lets that list go for too long, I have some great hiding places for those clubs.

Dumbing Down

2010-03-30T08:41:00.000-07:00

I have been asking myself the same question over and over lately: When did I become so stupid?

According to my teen and pre-teen, I have apparently become the stupidest person in the world. This is evident in the fact that they seem to roll their eyes at everything I say lately.

Although I have been on the earth for forty-plus years, I apparently know nothing and understand nothing. I had an argument with my daughter before school the other day all because I would not allow her to simply roll out of bed and get on the bus. I am critical of everything she does and, of course, "don't understand" anything. All this because I insisted she do something with her hair.

When Sean was on crutches and I had to drive him to and from school, I thought he would die from embarrassment. I was absolutely not allowed to get out of the car to help him under any circumstances and should stay as hidden as possible. I considered renting a white cargo van and wearing dark glasses, a hat and a fake beard simply to spare him the humiliation of the entire middle school realizing that he actually had a mother.

What happened to the days when they hung on every word and I was the center of their universe? I suppose it is called "growing up."

It is only natural for teens and pre-teens to begin questioning beliefs and testing limits. I can remember living in constant fear at that age that my own mother would say and do something that I deemed embarrassing in front of my own friends. And "something embarrassing" usually consisted of being in the same room.

I can accept this (although I call them on the eye rolling and mumbling) as long as they understand that there is no compromising on certain prinicples. When my son decided recently that there are too many rules in our household, he informed me that when he is 16 he is doing whatever he wants. I informed him that if he thinks that will happen, he better have a full-time job and his butt better be out of my house.

Rules regarding morality, grades, curfews, substance abuse and going to church will never change as long as my children are living under my roof. Period. As I have told them before: If you don't like it, get you own house.

My kids know the saying ad nauseam: This is not a democracy. This is a dictatorship. Heil, Mamma!

Birds Of A Feather Sure Make A Mess

2010-03-16T09:52:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite ways to pass the time is to watch birds. I have set up two bird feeders outside my kitchen windows, which we keep filled year round.

It is amazing the number and variety of birds that get into the habit of coming to your yard when you feed them consistently. We have logged nearly 30 species of birds over the year. We even had a bluebird--the only one I have ever seen--coming to our feeders for awhile.

There is a downside to this wonderful spectacle of nature. Birds sure do make a mess.

Now that the snow has melted, it is obvious how much the birds have used our deck for "target practice" over the winter. I cannot tell at this point if the deck is supposed to be solid brown or brown with white polka dots.

Apparently I have also spoiled these birds so much that they now refuse to eat any seed that falls on the ground. Even ground feeders like the mourning doves now land in the bird feeders. I got a second surprise when the snow melted--a vast amount of moldy birdseed covering an expanse of lawn and garden.

As much of a pain as it is to clean up these messes, I would not dream of removing the feeders. There is something relaxing about spending a few moments watching the birds go through their daily routines.

Also, you would not believe how much bird watching can entertain cats. We refer to the kitchen windows as "kitty tv" since at least one cat is always sitting on the kitty perch chattering to the birds. This breaks up their daily routine of eating, sleeping, chasing catnip mice, sleeping some more, knocking down any breakables they can find, and sleeping.

So I will continue the expense of purchasing large bags of bird seed and the occasional forays outside with a scrub brush and rake to clean up what the birds have left us.

You'd think they'd come up with a better way to say "thanks."

One Smart Cookie

2010-03-02T08:46:00.000-08:00

March is one of my favorite times of year. Not only does it mean that the end of winter is near, but the beginning of this glorious month signifies the delivery of Girl Scout Cookies in our area.

We look forward all year to these delicacies arriving on our doorstep. Nothing cures the winter blahs better than diving headfirst into a box of Samoas.

The Girl Scouts actually do a pretty good job of marketing these cookies. They are only available once a year in limited quantites. They have even expanded by allowing certain companies like Dairy Queen and the makers of Edy's Ice Cream to add the cookies to their products for a short time.

Of course, you know the Girl Scouts have got you hooked when you are willing to pay $3.50 for a box containing 16 cookies.

Sadly these sweets do not last forever. We have had them for less than a week, and my 12-year-old son has already devoured two boxes of the chocolate-covered peanut butter ones on his own. I ordered the Thank You Berry Much cookies for my daughter and I since Sean does not care for cranberries. He has eaten half the box. Now he is eyeing up my Thin Mints.

This means war. No one comes between me and my Thin Mints.

I was wathching a show called "Worlds's Dumbest Criminals" which featured a segment on two teenage girls stealing money from a Girl Scout selling cookies in front of a supermarket. When a news crew arrived to cover the story and talk to the very upset young girl, these two teenagers actually came back to the supermarket looking for their 15 minutes of fame. They told the news crew they took the money because it was an "easy crime." Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum were then arrested.

One of the show's hosts declared they had actually botched the crime as she would have gone for the cookies. She explained that she can always make money. She can't make Thin Mints.

I saw news coverage once of an overturned armored truck that spilled money all over a highway and resulted in several motorists exiting their vehicles for a cash-grabbing frenzy. Can you imagine the chaos if it were a truck full of Girl Scout cookies? I would never dream of stealing money that isn't mine, but I have to wonder if I would not be one of those people running around with arms full of cookie boxes screaming, "Hands off the shortbreads--they're mine!"

Since my conscience would never allow me to do this and the odds of a tractor trailer loaded with Girl Scout cookies crashing in front of my house are slim, I will have to be content to enjoy the sugary bounty while it lasts. Soon enough, the boxes will be emptied, the cupboards will be devoid of cookies for another year and semi-healthy eating habits will return to our household.

But all hope is not lost. I have devised a plan to make this fleeting season last a bit longer.

I have hidden the Thin Mints. They will have to torture the location out of me.

Looking For The Blessings In Disguise

2010-02-09T09:10:00.000-08:00

We started 2010 with high hopes for a better year after a rather traumatic 2009, but it appears we are off to a rocky start.

Last Saturday, Sean and I were sitting a stop light on our way home from his basketball game when an elderly man plowed into the back of our minivan, sending our van into the back of the vehicle stopped in front of us.

Fortunately, I was far enough away from the little Honda ahead of us (which contained a father and his young daughter) that the damage to the front of the van was not severe and the Honda barely had a scratch. The back of my van, however, had caved in and the car that hit us was totaled.

I called 911 and requested an ambulance at the scene because the elderly couple in the car that hit us were obviously injured. The woman in the passenger seat, who was blind, was screaming. She apparently was not wearing a seatbelt and her head hit the windshield. The gentleman seemed to be in better shape at first, but quickly bacame agitated. He said he was diabetic and could not remember the last time he had an insulin shot and complained of pain in his chest.

The police believe the man was going into shock due to low insulin levels. A witness said he was travelling about 35 miles per hour and never hit his brakes before crashing into us. As of the weekend, police were unable to talk to him because his condition was very unstable.

I have not heard any more about this couple but am keeping them in my prayers. The police indicated they would let me know if the gentleman did not make it and would send out a detective to speak to me as part of their investigation. I figure no news is good news.

As for me, my back took a good wrenching as a result of being thrown back and forth, but there are no vertebrate fractures or ruptured disks. The soreness should go away in a few days.

At first we thought Sean had escaped unscathed. He was seated in the middle of the van and his knees had hit the seat in front of him, but he had no pain or obvious injuries.

On Sunday night, he started complaining about pain in his left knee and could not put weight on his leg. I took him to his doctor on Monday morning, who said the knee was swollen but did not suspect any major damage. However, he ordered an x-ray just to be sure. Unfortunately, the x-ray revealed that Sean's left knee is fractured.

He is now on crutches with his knee wrapped in an ace bandage, but is pain-free as long as he keeps weight off of his leg. A visit to an orthopedic surgeon on Friday will let us know the next step.

As upsetting as it is to have my child injured, I am trying to remember how much worse it could have been. I try to make it a habit not to stop right on top of other vehicles and was about six feet behind the car in front of me. Had I been closer, the impact to the front of the van would have been more severe, seriously injuring not only both Sean and I but also the father and daughter in the Honda. It could have also sent that car into the one in front of it.

This is also the first time since I lost my job that I am actually glad not to be working outside my home. I can now take Sean to and from school instead of having him struggle to get on and off the school bus in crutches.

I think the best thing any of us can do in these situations is look for those little blessings in disguise and thank God that situations and circumstances were not different. It is truly amazing how some minor decision or small annoyance can turn out to make the biggest difference.

I suppose there is some truth to the saying that everything happens for a reason. God truly does work in mysterious ways sometimes.

Turn On The Lights And Break Out The Prozac--Winter Is Here!

2010-01-26T08:54:00.000-08:00

According to a news report I heard this morning, yesterday--the last Monday in January--is the most depressing day of the year.

I find it hard to believe that a Monday in January could be more depressing than April 15th or opening day of the Detroit Lions football season, but that's just my opinion.

According to the news, not only are the days still relatively short, but the Christmas decorations are put away and the holiday bills have begun to arrive. Those facts coupled with a long stretch of winter still ahead of us apparently increase depression.

There is probably some truth in this. If I don't have the windows uncovered to let in what little daylight there seems to be and keep myself occupied, I find myself wanting to eat an entire box of chocolates while drinking a bottle of wine as I lay in bed reading "The Bell Jar." If alcohol, excess pounds and a Sylvia Platt novel aren't a cry for help, I don't know what is.

Studies have proven that those of us not exposing ourselves to enough light this time of year can suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). I can almost hear the electric meter spinning with all of the lights I have been keeping on lately.

I may owe my soul to the electric company, but I figure it is better than being a candidate for psychotherapy. Or perhaps "a better candidate" would be a more accurate description.

I should probably turn on more lights--I feel a chocolate craving coming on. Guess I should also cancel the DVR recording of "Ordinary People."

Politics As Usual, Unfortunately

2010-01-12T11:37:00.000-08:00

If I see one more image of Harry Reid on television or hear his name mentioned on any news program, I am going to throw something at my television.

The news media has latched on to the latest political faux pas and, naturally, is rehashing it ad nauseam.

I get what old Harry was trying to say. He was stating that most white Americans would prefer to vote for an African American candidate who looks and sounds more like them.

Of course, he could have stated this in a more delicate way, but politicians always need to learn from the "Open Mouth, Insert Foot" School of Political Science. He also could have kept his mouth shut, which politicians never seem to learn.

Instead, we have the annual media circus parading through Washington and politicians on both sides tripping over themselves to demand resignations and assess blame.

As I see it, the only purpose this serves is to keep people from wanting to enter the political arena. In every political race--no matter if it is local or national--it seems less time is spent explaining how a candidate would fix problems in favor of seeing how much dirt they can dig up on their opponent.

Who wants to run for office when some researcher may discover that your great grandmother's uncle's sister-in-law's cousin twice removed once loaned a cup of sugar to a neighbor whose father's stepmother's nephew's dry cleaner had ties with the Mafia? Obviously, this candidate has organized crime connections. At least his shirts might if they were labeled "dry clean only."

The only thing the current political climate is good for is discouraging people who may actually be able to solve some of our most pressing problems from serving their communities. People with integrity and intelligence now fear putting themselves in the spotlight, and that is the true political disgrace.

As for me, I would never in a million years run for political office. The opposing party would sick PETA on me. I accidentally ran over a squirrel a few weeks ago.

Channelling Martha

2009-12-15T10:47:00.000-08:00

It is that time of year when cookies are baking, lights are up, gifts are being wrapped, and we are all trying to outdo ourselves.

I am always perplexed that, during this busy time of year, we are determined to cram more and more projects into our already busy schedule. In between the Christmas programs and recitals, the shopping and wrapping and sending cards to everyone who ever crossed our paths, we are determined to make that homemade potpourri or bake that cheesecake with 16 different ingredients.

I finally understand why. We have been brainwashed by Martha Stewart.

We are surrounded by Martha Stewart products in at least three different national chain stores. She has had two Christmas specials on Fine Living Network. She must have at least six different magazines published under her name, not to mention countless books.

My Martha moment came several years ago when I saw a picture of oranges decorated with cloves placed in a bowl full of evergreen sprigs and pinecones. I was hooked.

I now have to do these every year or face Martha's wrath that I am not doing everything to provide my family with the perfect Christmas. Not that I have a prayer of Martha showing up on my doorstep. But some little voice inside me would accuse me of being such a disappointment to the proverbial goddess of all things domestic.

But I am doing my best to break free. I stopped making homemade gift tags a few years ago and now use store-bought varieties (the horror of it all). One year I did actually make embossed Christmas cards, but it took me so long I thought I would not get them mailed until Easter.

Sadly, however, I will never be totally free of her influence. I have made eight different kinds of cookies. I spent two days making marzipan. And those clove oranges do look lovely on my coffee table.

Martha would be so proud.

Thankful For My Sanity

2009-11-24T10:00:00.000-08:00

With Thanksgiving only days away, this is the time of year to pause and take stock of all we must be grateful for in our lives.

I am thankful for my family, a roof over my head and food on the table. I am thankful that Penn State beat Michigan in football this year. And I am most thankful that I still have my sanity because my 12-year-old is driving me insane.

He has apparenly decided to go for the title of class clown in middle school and has been acting up in class. He received an after-school detention last week for misbehaving for a substitute teacher.

Apparently, he has no problem doing homework or worksheets in school, but remembering to turn them in is another issue. He has been turning them in late (for only half credit) if he hands them in at all. He scrambled at the end of the last marking period to bring several grades up to a C. But he seems to think that since he got Cs and Bs on his report card instead of Ds or Fs, that this perfectly acceptable.

If this is not bad enough, his attitude in general leaves much to be desired. We are likely to get a smart answer or an argument over the slightest little thing these days.

We as his parents and his teachers know he is capable of a much better performance, so this is not acceptable in our household. It has resulted in the loss his much-beloved video games. Although this has encouraged a slight--and I do mean slight--improvement, more drastic measures are needed.

We have decided that since he wants a cell phone badly, he will receive one only if he makes the honor roll for the rest of the school year. However, instead of accepting it and working toward the goal, Sean prefers to go for the loopholes.

"What if I get all As and Bs and one C-plus," he asked recently.

"It doesn't count if it's not As and Bs," I said.

"But it's close!"

"Not part of the deal."

"Okay, but what if I got all As and just that one C-plus. Does it count?"

This child is wasting his talents in middle school. He should be in the Middle East negotiating a peace settlement.

I am hoping that wisdom and knowledge will descend from the heavens and settle on his stubborn little head. In the meantime, I have been forced to be the video game police and the locker and backpack monitor conducting weekly inspections for missing school papers.

I have been assured by friends and family who have been through this stage with their sons that Sean will eventually outgrow this and become more serious and cooperative. This, too, shall pass.

In the meantime, I will keep praying for wisdom and strength in the hope that strange people in little white coats will not need to cart me away in a straight jacket. And eating lots of chocolate to diffuse all that stress.

Thank God for the power of prayer--and big bags of Hershey kisses.

A Lesson Learned Too Soon

2009-11-03T09:57:00.000-08:00

When we think back on 2009, I think we will recall this as the year of losses. We have lost jobs, pets, beloved family members, and--more recently--a dear friend.

One of Shannon's best friends, Autumn Sova, died October 7th at the age of 14. She had been at the University of Michigan hospital awaiting surgery for an aortic aneurysm when she passed away.

The aneurysm was discovered about a week earlier when Autumn had pains in her ribs. An x-ray revealed what doctors thought was a cyst on her rib cage, but an MRI proved the situation to be much more critical. She was in the hospital for about a week while the doctors waited for the inflammation in her aorta to subside. On the night of October 7th, Autumn told her mother she did not feel well and immediately began having seizures. Doctors tried for an hour to revive her, but the aneurysm had burst and she was gone.

Losing someone who spent so much time at our home has been difficult on all of us. Autumn's funeral was the toughest service I have ever had to get through. No one should have to bury a 14-year-old.

No one is having a tougher time than Shannon. The loss of a friend with whom she ate lunch at school almost daily and shared dreams and confidences has been just heartbreaking for her. Although doing better in the weeks following the funeral, the slightest reminder of Autumn will still cause her to burst into tears.

We have spent a lot of time talking about how Autumn would want Shannon to remember her, and how a person so full of spunk and laughter would not want anyone to be sad when they thought of her. We talk about living her life in a way that would make her friend proud.

We also talk a lot about holding dear to the people we care about in our lives--especially friends. I have always told her to choose her friends carefully and to surround herself with people who make her feel positive and good about herself. I did not think we would have to have a discussion this early on how to go on when those people are unexpectedly taken from your life.

Even though it is early in life for Shannon to learn a lesson this harsh, I hope she will take from it the importance of not taking anyone ffor granted. It's a lesson that we all need to be reminded of occassionally. None of knows how long those dear to us will be on the earth. Make sure they know how much they bring into our lives, and don't miss an opportunity to bring something special into theirs.

We will miss you, Autumn.

A Sad Farewell

2009-10-06T09:22:00.000-07:00

Much sadness has hung over our house in the last couple of weeks as we have lost an adopted member of our family.

Stormy, or "Mamma Kitty" as we sometimes called her, passed away on September 24th. She was the mother of our much beloved litter of kittens born last spring.

With her kittens weaned, Stormy had once again gone into heat. We were confining her to the house, but at times she was determined to escape and seek some male companionship, if you get my drift.

Not wanting the responsibility of more kittens, we made an appointment with the vet to have her spayed.

She made it though the surgery perfectly. I was able to see her in the recovery room as she was coming out of the anesthesia. I left with the assurance that I could take her home the next day.

Instead, I got a call from the vet that following morning. Sometime during the night, Stormy passed away.

This was a blow to all of us since she had made it through surgery fine and was a relatively young cat--around five or six years old by the vet's estimate. Although the cause of death cannot be found accurately without a necropsy, the vet thinks it was one of two situations. She may have had a congenital heart defect, and her damaged heart could not handle the strain of the surgery and anesthesia. His second theory was a possible aneurysm or stroke--one of her pupils was completely dialated, which is usually a sign of brain trauma.

We all took it hard, but Sean took it the hardest. He had become very attached to this gentle little cat, and insisted we go to the vet's office to retrieve her. Athough it probably would have been less traumatic to let the vet take care of her, we buried her in the backyard and said a little prayer over her grave. This probably gave both kids the sense of closure that they needed.

I, of course, felt a tremendous sense of guilt at being the one to leave her at the vet's office to die alone. But I keep telling myself it was the responsible thing to do, and that she will be forever grateful for all we did for her. I hope that soon I will believe that.

Saying goodbye to an animal that has become part of your family is never easy. But we will try to remember all that Stormy was and all she brought to our family. We will remember her for her bravery as she faced the winter with only the shelter of our front porch after she was cruelly abandoned. We will always recall her unusual meow and her beautiful grey and cream-colored fur. We admire how devoted she was in caring for her tiny kittens. And we vow that they will all have loving, safe homes.

Goodbye, Stormy.

The Keeper Of All Things

2009-09-22T09:35:00.000-07:00

As a woman, I hold many titles: wife, mother, homemaker, chauffer, unemployment statistic. But none of these holds as much prestige as my newest title--The Keeper of All Things.

I have awarded myself this very royal designation since I am apparently expected to know where all things are located in our household at all times.

Several times a day I am asked "Have you seen my (fill in the blank)?" or "Do you know where the (fill in your own lost item) is?" Even if I cannot claim ownership of most of these objects, I am supposed to have some sort of female radar that can automatically locate other people's misplaced things.

Yesterday the hubby calls from work and says that since I am not doing anything, I need to locate the missing power cord that connects to our digital camera.

First of all, "not doing anything" consisted of tending to a sick child home from school, taking my online computer class and completing an assignment, making spaghetti sauce from the overbundance of tomatoes in the vegetable garden and cleaning out a bedroom closet. But that is a topic for another blog.

I would not know what this cord looked like if it jumped out of a dark corner and bit me in the leg. So I asked for a description. I got "a cord with a little slot thingy at the end."

That helps tremendously.

I then asked where he last saw it so I could narrow down the search area. The last time Cliff remembers having it was during my sister's wedding. In June. In Pennsylvania.

Do I use my psychic powers or the time machine to locate this one?

I took the time to search the house and gather any unidentified cords. Some of these are probably from electronics that we got rid of 10 years ago. Unfortunately, none was the appropriate cord with the slot thingy at the end. He was a bit annoyed that I did not find it, but let's not mention the fact that he was the one that either lost it or did not properly put it away.

I suppose I brought this on myself because I have always been the one to pick things up and deposit them in their proper places. I have tried to teach my children to be responsible for their own things. Generally it has worked--they are very good at keeping track of their possessions. Shared items like scissors or tape, however, often need to be tracked down.

Unfortunately, the strategy of "everything in its place" is sometimes lost on my husband. I am probably the only person I know who has to check the garage for dirty clothes and dishes. I once found the cordless telephone in the refrigerator. He accidently walked out of the house with a television remote control. That was in 1991. We are still looking for it.

Rather than be annoyed, I am going to relish my new title and position. After all, it means my family considers me to organized and capable. I will continue to pursue the noble art of locating lost objects with grace and decorum.

I'm going to fashion myself a crown out of those orphaned power cords. And that lost remote can be my scepter. If I ever find it.

Fall Is In The Air!

2009-09-08T10:26:00.000-07:00

The leaves on the walnut tree are turning yellow and falling on the lawn. The pool has been closed up for another season. And the pitter-patter of medium-sized feet is silenced because the kids have returned to school.

Fall is definitely in the air!

Even the dog can sense it. The house is so quiet he has slept for three hours straight. He hasn't had that much peace since May.

It always takes me awhile to get used to the silence after having the kids home all summer. It is strange to be able to leave my office door open again since I don't have to compete with the sounds of video games, phone conversations or the occasional disagreement between siblings.

Most people look at January as a new beginning. September is like that for me. Now is the time to tackle new projects before the holidays or do that task I have been putting off with the children under foot.

This year also marks a new beginning in the sense that I need to decide what the next step will be for me. Because the job market leaves much to be desired, I need to make a decision whether or not to keep looking or return to school for that master's degree I have always wanted to earn.

But like summer, fall's beauty is fleeting. I need to make sure I take the time to enjoy the beautiful leaves, the warm autumn days and the cool nights. Of course, this must be done in between running kids to ballet, scouts and music lessons since all of these activities have also begun.

Maybe I will find a pile of leaves and jump in them, or locate a pumpkin patch to sit in. Of course, a forty-something woman doing these things will certainly garner some looks and possible questions of her sanity.

Guess I'll just take some walks with the dog and enjoy the weather. At least then no farmers will call the police about some weird woman sitting in the middle of their pumpkin field.

The End Of An Era

2009-08-11T11:12:00.001-07:00

It seems not even churches are safe in this economy, and my childhood parish has unfortunately been one of the casualties.

The church in which I made my first communion, confirmation, got married and had my daughter baptized closed its doors last month, along with several others in my hometown. St. Casimir's Roman Catholic Church is no more.

Johnstown, Pennsylvania has been a depressed area for over 30 years since the decline of the U.S. steel industry. The area has never recovered, and young people who cannot find work in Johsntown simply do not stay. With no influx of young blood, membership in these churches has declined for years. West End Catholic, my elementary school which was a conglomerate of many of these churches, closed several years ago. Now most of the churches have also been forced out of existence.

These churches were built in the early part of the 20th century and were not the stark, modern houses of woship you see today. Elaborate marble columns, intricate statues and altars, and elegant stained glass windows defined their architecture.

The most amazing aspect is that they were built free of debt, mainly by the hands of the parishioners themselves. How these simple immigrants from Poland, Ireland, or Slovakia (as each ethnic group then had their own church) were able to construct something so magnificent when many of them could barely support their families is astounding.

What will happen to these beautiful structures remains a mystery. The memories held within their walls--thousands of celebrations of birth and marriage, and commemorations of a life well-lived after death--make them more than just stone structures.

They are the entire history of families. They deserve to be more than a pile of bricks.

The Sounds of Silence

2009-07-28T10:32:00.000-07:00

It is the middle of summer and my house, unlike most of those with school-age children, is silent.

Both of my children are away this week. Sean is up in Alger, MI for six days at Boy Scout Camp. Shannon is in the Upper Penninsula at Michigan Tech studying astronomy for a week.

Now that baseball is over and Shannon is not starting driver's ed until next month, this is a time when we would normally to go to the beach or the movies and spend some quality time enjoying the warm weather. Going to the beach or the movies by yourself just isn't as much fun.

I suppose I should enjoy this mid-summer break, but it is eerily quiet with no one blaring music and video games or bickering over whose turn it is to watch television. I am really starting to miss the noise and chaos.

I suppose this is a foreshadowing of what is to come when both are grown and out of the house. Everything is quiet. Everything is staying clean. Cliff did offer to mess up a few rooms so that I won't go into withdrawal from having no one to pick up after. However, you just have to look in our bedroom at his clothes strewn everywhere to realize I don't have to worry about that.

I am going to take advantage of the quiet to get a few projects done and spend some quality time with the hubby in the evening. We had a nice, quiet walk with the dog last night and could actually watch a television show that we picked. We also did not have to badger any children about bedtimes.

In a few days everything will be back to our normal summer schedule, and in a month we will be getting ready for back-to-school time. Regardless of the noise, bickering and craziness that comes with having children in a home, I am going to enjoy it. It won't be long until the sound of silence is a permanent fixture in our house.

A Hard Lesson To Learn

2009-07-14T12:52:00.000-07:00

As I was driving home from the dog groomers on Saturday morning, I witnessed a horrible sight that I hope I never see again.

As I passed an intersection, there was a pickup truck at the stop sign waiting to turn left. Hanging from the side of the pickup truck's bed was a dog strangling to death with a leash around its neck.

The dog, a springer spaniel, had either jumped or fallen from the bed of the truck. The owners had apparently attached a leash to the collars of their two dogs in the back of the truck in an effort to keep them restrained.

As I passed the interesection, a man in a car behind the pickup raced over and lifted up the dog. He had apparently been trying to get the owners' attention for two miles.

I immediately turned around and parked at a nearby conveinience store. My veterinarian lived only a short distance away and, as a large animal vet, is willing to make some housecalls. I thought if there was any hope of saving this dog, he may be willing to come to the scene.

Fortunately, the woman who owned the dog is a nurse and was giving her dog CPR as I arrived. The dog began breathing on his own and regained consciousness.

The poor thing had some very serious scrapes and lacerations on his flanks from being dragged, and brain damage is certainly a possibility from being oxygen-deprived. But the ending of this story could be much worse.

It took me hours to get the image of that poor dog hanging by its neck out of my mind. I was actually shaking when I got home with my own beloved dog.

I always cringe at the sight of dogs in the back of pickup trucks. If the driver slams on the brakes, those poor animals will go flying out of the back. I have always said I would never put a dog any place in a vehicle I would not put a child.

Although these people made some attempt to make sure their dogs were safe, these efforts were obviously misguided by having too long a leash and restraining them around the neck. Even if the dog had been in a harness, he probably still would have suffered road rash.

I hope that anyone who witnessed that awful incident or reads this will think twice before placing a dog in the back of a pickup truck. It is a harsh way to learn a lesson, for both the owner and the dog.

Summertime, And The Living Is Crazy

2009-06-30T10:53:00.000-07:00

Summertime brings to mind long, lazy days spent idling in the sunshine. So why is I am racing around like a chicken with no head and feel like I have been run over by a bus?

In the past three weeks since school has been out, not a day has gone by that someone did not need to be somewhere. Baseball games are in full swing. We have a bunch of doctor and dental appointments scheduled. We are helping out at a local pet shelter taking care of the cats and worked at our church's vacation bible school all last week. I am training for an 8 kilometer walk later this summer and meet with a training group once a week. To top it all off, I hosted a baby shower for my niece at my house last weekend.

I get out of breath just remembering all of that.

It seemed when I was a child, summer was for nothing but goofing off. Kids went outside in the morning, were called in for lunch and dinner, and basically ran around the neighborhood all day until it got dark. Mothers might be inside for awhile doing housework but always seemed to find time to have long chats with neighbors over the fence or while sitting on the front porch. Dads could be found swinging in a hammock in the evenings.

Now, it seems the only time I see my neighbors is when they are out mowing their lawns. The few kids in my neighborhood are in day care, summer programs or seem to be out of state visiting their non-custodial parent. How has life changed so drastsically in thirty-some years?

It seems that as technology has picked up the pace, our lives have followed suit. I am more likely to chat with someone via email than over the backyard fence. Kids need to be kept busy at all times so they don't fall behind. Summer has lost some of its most important aspect: lazy indulgence.

Now that many of our obligations have been fulfilled and baseball is nearly done, I am determined to allow some laziness into our schedule. I will float in a lounge chair in the pool. I will spend some time in the hammock with a book. I will quit nagging the kids about chores, music practice and workbooks and just let them be kids.

The first thing I will do is indulge in a long, long nap. Soon. But right now, Sean needs to go to baseball practice, Shannon has an orthodontist appointment and the cat just threw up a hairball.

Wedding Bells and Falling Tables

2009-06-16T10:33:00.000-07:00

My sister Lynn got married last weekend. It was a beautiful day, a lovely ceremony, and an enjoyable wedding reception.

I am concerned about one thing, however. No one broke a table.

You have to go back through our family history of weddings to understand what I am talking about. At my wedding twenty years ago, my brother Kevin and his friend Ron were leaning against one of the tables as the reception was winding down. The legs gave out and the entire table collapsed. Ron and Kevin ended up on their backs, but somehow neither spilled a drop of the beer they were holding.

When my brother Jeff was married three years ago, my siblings and I once again found ourselves at the end of another wedding reception packing away decorations and helping to clean up. My brother and his new wife Tanya were still there, along with Tanya's brother. As all of the chairs were already put away, Tanya's brother decided to take a rest by sitting on one of the tables. As fate would have it, the table collapsed.

We have decided that this has become a family omen that decides the future of the bride and groom: If a table breaks, the marriage will last. The Jewish people break wine glasses at weddings for good luck. The Sorchilla family breaks tables.

Needless to say, we are a bit concerned that no tables came crashing to the ground. However, a few minor incidents may make up for this. When my sister Lynn bent over to pick up our three-year-old nephew, the zipper on her wedding gown split. Fortunately her wedding coordinator was able to run to Joann Fabrics. Her dress was held up for the rest of the evening with elastic and safety pins.

Later on, while my cousin Donna was heading down the hallway toward the restrooms, the glue on the sole of her shoe gave way, and the bottom of her shoe was almost completely off. Luckily she had pair of shoes in her car stashed away for when her feet got tired.

So even though no tables came crashing down, we are hoping that a couple of minor wardrobe malfunctions make up for it.

But, just in case, I am going to make the newlyweds a table out of popsicle sticks and have them smash it on their first anniversary. Why tempt fate.

Best wishes, John and Lynn!

Summer Is In The Air--Along With The Sound of Bickering

2009-06-09T09:58:00.000-07:00

School is out as of last Friday, and the summer vacation stretches before us. As I listen to my children argue in the next room, one thing comes to mind:

It's going to be a very, very long summer.

Normally I am working several days a week, which gives me a bit of a break and gives my kids a chance to develop a little bit of independence. As the house has always been standing when I got home and both kids were unscathed, I assume everything went well. I even suspect they get along better when I am not there to play referee.

This summer, however, I am facing the prospect of being home all of the time. It has only been four days since school ended and my patience is already being tested.

But all is not lost. Sean will be attending scout camp and Shannon taking an astronomy class at Michigan Tech University, both during the last week of July. We also have two long weekends planned, one with my family in Pennsylvania to attend my sister's wedding and another at a local campground for Cliff's family reunion.

Sean is also playing on a summer baseball league, and Shannon will likely be attending a weekly cheer camp later in the summer. I am also planning to expand their list of daily chores, which will go a long way in alleviating boredom and will be expanded even further if I get any complaints.

And I am researching inexpensive options to keep them off the sofa and away from the television, computer and video games. For some reason, the more time they spend in front of media, the more cranky they seem to be with each other. Outings to local beaches, free classes put on by a local nature center, trips to the library and free concerts and movies in our local parks should help. Also, we are lucky enough to have a drive-in movie theater, minature golf course, and other cheap forms of entertainment at our disposal.

Hopefully, these strategies will keep some semblance of peace and order in our house. If it doesn't, perhaps I can find a summer camps for mothers about to lose their marbles to send myself to for a week.

A Box Full Of Pure Cuteness

2009-05-26T09:02:00.000-07:00

We have a new addition to our house. Actually, six of them.

Last winter a cat started living on our front porch. We felt sorry for her since the winter was a harsh one and the porch provides very little protection from the elements. So naturally, I made her an insulated kitty house out of one of our kitty carriers and an old blanket and started feeding her.

We tried to find her owner but discovered from a neighbor that she showed up last fall in his yard with two other male cats--a gray one that looked just like her and and an orange tabby. The gray male was sadly killed in the road a couple of months ago. The neighbor kept the orange tabby, which is now living in his garage.

As spring approached, we realized that the female kitty was soon to be a momma kitty. Not wanting her to have her babies in the still below-freezing outdoors, we moved her into the utility room of our basement, much to my husband's chagrin and the disdain of our other cats. But cats don't count in the voting, and my husband is outnumbered by the kids and me. Democracy rules.

One morning about a month ago, I peeked in on the kitty--whom we dubbed "Stormy" since her fur is the color of storm clouds--to find her lying in her box as usual. Only this time, she was surrounded by five tiny balls of fur--one black, one black and orange, one grey and two orange tabbies.

It took awhile, but we finally figured out we had two females and three males. Of course, Shannon and Sean could not resist naming them. The gray female is Mystery. The black and orange female is Destiny. The black male is Midnight. The playful orange tabby is Zeke (the only one Sean got to name), and they shy orange tabby is Shylo.

As cute as they all are, nine cats in one household is a little extreme. We don't want neighbors gossiping about the "cat people" down the road. I am always appalled at the reports of the humane society raiding the homes of people with fifty wild cats running around. So, when the kittens are weaned, momma and babies will all be going to a local no-kill shelter as soon as they have the space.

It will certainly be difficult to see them go. Your mood cannot help but improve when you watch five balls of fuzz wrestling with each other and chasing around a small toy. And there is something sentimental and serene about watching a mother nurse her babies. I think it brings back memories of nursing my own.

But these cats will be at the shelter until they find homes, and the people who run the Adopt-a-Pet facility are meticulous about the homes to which they go. I have no doubt they will all have wonderful, pampered lives.

Besides, it has been good for my kids to see newborn kittens grow and take on the responsibility of caring for them. It has even inspired Shannon to volunteer. She will be working at Adopt-a-Pet this summer helping to care for the animals. It will be a good learning experience since she is considering studying veterinary science in college.

Still, I will miss the five little fuzzballs and their momma. It won't be the same when I can't take a sanity break by opening a door and letting a bunch of kittens vie for my attention.

In fact, I think I will go step in there right now. I am feeling the need for a dose of cuteness.

Boys Will Be Boys--Much To Their Mother's Chagrin

2009-05-19T10:12:00.000-07:00

I am less one child this week as my son left this morning on his fifth grade trip to Mackinac Island near the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I see this as a mixed blessing.

On one hand, I think the break will be good for both of us as he has been testing my patience lately. I decided during the last marking period to give him a little leeway instead of hovering over his schoolwork and constantly checking his grades. He will be going into middle school in the fall, and since no teachers will be accepting late assignments or allowing him to make up a low grade on a paper, I felt he needed a taste of the real world to come.

This resulted in a D in math. Apparently he did not bother to turn in two assignments, which dropped his grade significantly. This not only resulted in him missing the honor roll for the first time in 18 months, but he also lost his XBox 360 and has the threat of summer school hanging over his head if the grade is not brought up in this last marking period.

On top of the grade fiasco, he has basically been dismantling the house piece by piece in the last two weeks. He broke a glass while haphazardly loading the dishwasher. He broke a door on one of the kitchen cabinets roughhousing with his dad. He broke the leg on our game table. He yanked a towel bar off the back of the bathroom door. Of course, all of this has been "by accident." Also, someone broke the portable heater in my office. No one will admit to doing it, but I think I can name the culprit in one guess.

In my currently unemployed state, these damages are more than just a nuisance. But at least he was putting dishes in the dishwasher and actually hanging up towels! That is generally more than I can get his father to do.

But he is, after all, my baby. And his absence leaves a little bit of emptiness in the house. It is a lot quieter without all that boy energy in the air.

I also worry about how he is doing. Not that I am all that concerned about safety. He is being chaperoned by a very trustworthy father of one of his classmates. I worry more that I am not there to remind him of the little things I monitor each day, such as brushing teeth, combing hair and putting on deodorant. Hopefully, this father is not in charge of three 11-year-old boys who neglect to apply deodorant every day.

Fortunately, this absence will be a short one. He will be back on Thursday evening full of tales of the experiences he just had. And life will return to its normal state of organized chaos.

So I just have to remind myself when the quiet gets too overbearing that this situation is temporary. The silence will soon be replaced by the sounds of a loud pre-teen voice, running feet, and my daughter complaining about how annoying her brother can be. Not to mention the sound of glass breaking as footballs are lobbed throughout the house "by accident."

Help Wanted--Find Me A Decent Job!

2009-05-12T09:27:00.000-07:00

In the world of the unemployed, job hunting is a daily necessity. Quite frankly, I am finding it downright humiliating.

With so many people competing for so few jobs, I find myself looking at employment opportunities I probably never would have thought of pursuing in the past. I just finished writing a cover letter trying to convince some vet why I might be a good receptionist/kennel assistant.

The receptionist part does not worry me, but the "kennel assistant" is a little questionable. That could cover anything from feeding dogs who are recovering from surgeries to wrestling rabid beasts who would like nothing more than to tear off a limb.

That is the problem I am finding with many of these job descriptions. They are simply too vague. Here are some examples of want ads I have found:

Appointment Setters -I assume this means calling people at dinner time and pestering them to buy anything from a water filter to a time share in a Louisiana swamp.

Motivational Instructors - this one screams "Set up a pyramid scheme by peddling our products and annoy your friends and family into joining you!"

Help Wanted in Our Pollution Control Department - You are a glorified janitor. Is there somehing wrong with just saying "janitor?"

100 Workers Needed to Assemble Crafts! $480 Per Week! - What they don't tell you is they refuse to pay you because the string on the puppet you assembled is .002 mm too short.

Yes, it is definitely slim pickings out there. Although there do seem a lot of jobs for truck drivers. Could you see short little me driving a big rig? I almost have to stand up in my seat in order to see behind me when I back up the minivan.

But I refuse to get discouraged. I will just continue to plug away, scanning the internet and the newspaper ads. Somewhere, there has to be a good fit.

Think I could pass for an experienced rock and roll promoter?

Have You Disinfected Today?

2009-05-05T09:00:00.000-07:00

It is bad enough that we are dealing with record home forclosures, job loss rates that are the highest in decades, and people have lost their shirts because of questionable banking practices. Now it seems that a flu pandemic is lurking on the horizon.

I can't remember--is plague and pestilence the First Horseman of the Apocalypse, or the Second?

My 11-year-old son is a worrier, and it has taken some convincing to persuade him that we are not going to drop dead from swine flu at any time. In fact, when I was acting a little down last week in the wake of my job loss, Sean was absolutely convinced that I had it.

Not that it is to be taken lightly. This is a strain of the same flu that killed millions worldwide in 1918. My own great grandfather was a casualty of that epidemic, leaving my great grandmother a widow with four children and one on the way.

Modern medicine, however, has come a long way since then. We also have to remember that medical care in the United States is more sophisticated and more widely available than in Mexico, where the flu originated and most of the deaths have taken place.

So we will proceed with caution. I am encouraging everyone in my family to wash their hands and use hand sanitizer so often that all the germs in our house are starting to wave little white flags. Hopefully it won't get to the point where we will have to walk around in surgical masks and be unable to shake hands with the people next to us during mass, but we will cross that bridge if we come to it.

But if I see a guy in long flowing robes galloping down my road on a white horse, I'm not sticking around to see where he's heading.

Welcome Me To The Ranks Of The Unemployed

2009-04-28T11:03:00.000-07:00

It appears I have joined a club to which no one wants to belong: the National Association of My Job Is Gone.

I am not actually all that upset that I lost my job. The newspaper for which I worked has been in trouble and was recently sold, and I knew this was a possibility. It is the manner of my dismissal that is upsetting.

I received an email yesterday morning saying thank you but your services are no longer needed. That's it. No phone call. No notice.

The new owners claim they will be doing my job themselves to save money. However, when I went around to my the businesses I worked with to tell them I would no longer be with the company, I found out that a woman who claims to be a friend of the owners is now doing my job. And it gets worse. When the business owners would ask where I was, she told them she was "just helping Kris out this week"

Not only do these new owners not have the courage to face me, but they are also too cowardly to admit what they did.

The real rub is that for the first three months this newspaper was in existence, I worked for basically no pay. I got no reimbursement for gas or mileage as I visited businesses soliciting ads or distribution points. I created and printed ad packets, an expense which came out of my pocket. I actually lost money doing this job for the first few months.

The one good thing that has come out of all this is, during past year, I have had a chance to meet and work with some wonderful people in this area. In fact, some have been so outraged at the way I have been treated that they now refuse to do business with this newspaper. The saying "you reap what you sow" is certainly proving to be true.

I am now trying to decide what the next step will be. I have always been a believer in the saying that when God closes one door, he opens another. I have a Mary Kay business that I could certainly work to expand. Also, I have always toyed with the idea of going back to school to get a master's degree. Perhaps that is the door that God is holding open now.

Whatever happens, the sympathy, support and encouragement I have received has been overwhelming. I may have no income right now, but I feel like a millionaire.

Break Out The Windex! Spring Is Here!

2009-04-21T08:57:00.000-07:00

For me, the warming of the air and the greening of the grass this time of year mean one thing--it's time to go into a cleaning frenzy.

There is something theraputic about sweeping out the dust and cobwebs of winter, opening the long closed-up windows to let in some fresh air, and scrubbing, dusting, sweeping and vacuumming until I collapse. Nothing says spring like dishpan hands and sheer exhaustion.

I think I get this spring cleaning bug from my mother. She was not much of a housekeeper, and with five kids cooped up inside all winter, you can imagine what the house looked like come April. But just before Easter every year, she would grab a shovel and clear off all of the mail, school papers and assorted garbage that accumulated on every surface of the house. Okay, so I exaggerate about the shovel. But a backhoe sure would have come in handy.

I'll be the first to admit that I am a neatnik. I think this comes from growing up in a house that regularly looked like Hurricane Katrina came though. So it is not enough for me to just do the inside of the house. I have to move into the garage as well, and this year I have decided to tackle the attic.

The garage and attic are generally my husband's domain. But when you live with someone whose idea of putting something away is to throw it on the floor until your wife gets sick of looking at it, your ideas of cleanliness tend to clash.

So last week I went through the garage, threw away all empty containers, put everything back in its place on the shelves and wiped a year's worth of crud off the surfaces.

Now I am working on the attic, better known as The Place Where Unwanted Household Items and Electrical Paraphernalia From My Husband's Business Come To Die. I have found--among many interesting things--eight plastic sleds (we have two kids), a empty box from some floor mats my husband bought four years ago, and a set of tires.

The tires in the attic are odd, but the eight sleds are downright strange. Are we smuggling polar bears to a safer climate or harboring Eskimo refugees up there?

As this is by far the biggest job on my spring cleaning list, it is going to take awhile. But by the time I am finished, I am confident I will have a neat, organized attic and a nice pile of donations for some charity. And it will be well worth the effort not to have to climb over piles of garbage to get to the Christmas decorations come December.

So I will continue to plug away at the mess and ponder why we keep remnants of a carpet we tore out five years ago in storage. And if I find Jimmy Hoffa hiding under the rolls of electrical wire, I'll let you know.

Easter At Our House--Marshmallow Peeps and Pepto Bismal

2009-04-14T10:34:00.000-07:00

The Christian world celebrated the resurrection of our Lord this past Sunday. Unfortunately, I was not one of them. I spent the entire day on the couch with a stomach bug.

My family's Easter dinner consisted of glazed ham, potatoes with cheddar and sour cream, Caesar salad and Hawaiian sweet rolls. Mine consisted of saltines, jello and ginger ale.

I tend to be very much a type A personality and have a hard time sitting still, especially when there are holidays involved. My husbands swears that the best way to torture me would be to tie me to a chair for awhile. To me, there is nothing more depressing than working so hard planning and preparing for a holiday and then being forced to watch from the sidelines. All the baking, spring cleaning, shopping and choir practices seemed to be for nothing.

But as I watched my family, I realized this was not the case. The kids loved all the thought I put into their Easter baskets, which as any parent of a teen and pre-teen knows can be a real challenge when you try to avoid a lot of candy. My husband enjoyed the Easter dinner I planned even though he had to make most of it.

I also think that God knows what he is doing at times when he forces us to slow down. I had been cleaning frantically because we were anticipating that my brother and his wife would spend the weekend with us. We found out Tuesday before Easter that they were unable to make it. Had they come, I would have been too sick to enjoy their visit.

Being forced to sit in one place also allowed me to catch up on several days' worth of newspapers, organize the family calendar, finally sew the new boy scout troop numbers on my son's uniform and just simply look outside at the beautiful sunshine and mentally plan my gardens. All things I did not have time to get to because I was just too busy.

I also spent a lot of time with my husband and children just coming in to sit and chat for a few minutes, the dog bringing me toy to throw, and a cat or two curling up with me as I read.

So perhaps a sick day isn't so much of an inconvenience as a time to remember what is really important in life: slowing down enough to enjoy it. Hopefully, it won't take another sick day before I stop and smell jelly beans.

Happy Easter From Our Winter Wonderland

2009-04-07T10:33:00.000-07:00

Mother Nature gave us a lovely Easter surprise early Monday morning here in Michigan--six inches of snow.

The past two Easters here have been white. It is starting to become part of our Michigan Easter traditions: baskets of colored eggs, jelly beans, marshmallow peeps, and winter boots and parkas. I am certain the Easter bunny is consulting with Santa Claus about borrowing his sled so that he can get around Michigan to make his deliveries.

I think manufacturers of snow removal equipment should start making them in spring colors. They would make a killing here. "Forget the Easter baskets this year, Marj! Let's buy us a lavender snow blower!"

Our only consolation is that the temperature later in the week will be in the high 40 degree range. With any luck, this will all melt. Let's face it--indoor egg hunts just aren't as much fun. How many eggs can you hide under a table or on a windowsill? It gets to a point where the kids can sit on the couch and point to the six places you are forced to hide the eggs year after year in the living room.

So we poor freezing souls here in the midwest will hold out hope that the sun will shine and green grass will be visible on Easter Sunday. But I am cleaning the snow boots just in case.

Happy Easter to all! And if you plan on visiting us here in Michigan, don't forget your snow shoes.

A Vast Household Conspiracy--Our Appliances Are Watching Us

2009-03-31T23:13:00.001-07:00

I am convinced I am about to uncover some major conspiracy that will shock every American household. Our appliances and electronics are plotting against us.

In the past few weeks, everything seems to have gone on the fritz. After I blogged a few weeks ago about problems with our photo printer, I took a copy of a photo up to the Geek Sqaud at Best Buy to see if they could help me figure out the problem. I was told it was probably the printer head gone bad and was advised to give the printer a proper burial.

This week, our computer decided to crash and now cannot load Windows. Yesterday, I once again made a visit to the Geek Squad and left them our computer. We are becoming best friends and will soon be going out for drinks and inviting each other to family functions.

Now my carpet steam cleaner is making noises that probably resesmble an elephant in labor. The cats run off and hide in terror every time I turn it on.

How is it that they all know to break down all at once and at the worst possible time? Last year, my oven and water conditioner went at the same time as our roof had to be replaced. Right now, Cliff's company is about to run out of work and the newspaper I work for is about to be sold, so neither of our jobs has a very stable future.

I am convinced our houses and everything in it talk to each other. They know exactly when a major expense or financial hardship is coming, and they take turns breaking down.

There was a movie back in the 1980s where appliances, cars, and anything else than ran on electrical impulses starting attacking people. I tell you this is coming! They are plotting against us and biding their time until they can take over the world!

The people in the movie were forced to take refuge on an island where there was no electricity. I would try to do this, but I would not survive two days without checking my email.

The dryer has just started making strange noises. I think it's plotting with the dishwasher. I need to go unplug a few things. The toaster looks like it wants to lead a coup.

A Tribute To One Amazing Woman

2009-03-24T09:04:00.000-07:00

It has been a difficult week at our house as our family has lost a beloved member. My grandmother, Elizabeth Sorchilla, passed away last week at the age of 96.

She never had much education, but you certainly couldn't put anything past her. Born in 1912, she was second oldest of we think ten children--no one is quite sure how many there were as some did not survive past infancy. Her mother recognized early on that she had strength and character. She would keep her home from school to help with her younger brothers and sisters. When the truancy officers would get after my great grandmother, she would send her to school for awhile but would inevitably keep her home again. She never made it past elementary school.

Her education was the world in which she lived. She grew up through World War I, survived the Great Depression, and was a young wife and mother during World War II. She raised her children through the prosperous '50s and the turbulent '60s. She watched her grandchildren grow up in the '70s and '80s, and was a great grandmother in the '90s. She was the 20th century personified.

Her generation was not raised to show affection through words, but she expressed it through actions. The wonderful family dinners on Sundays, generous gifts on special occasions, and taking a grandchild or two to visit relatives and stopping for ice cream on the way home were the ways she showed love for her family.

She was also raised to believe the man was the head of the house, but we all knew differently. Once when my grandfather was fixing something in the basement, he hit his thumb with a hammer. A stream of obscenities rose up to the first floor. My grandmother marched over to the top of the stairs, yelled down, "If you don't stop that swearing I'm going to come down there and hit you over the head with that hammer!" and slammed the door. Not another word was heard from the basement.

Her faith in God was always unwavering. She would pray for everyone--family, friends, neighbors, people she heard about on the news. And she was honest to the core. My sister tells a story of going to the mall with my aunt and grandmother. My grandmother needed to purchase paper plates on one end of the mall, and my aunt was picking up her wedding gown at the other end. When my grandmother reached the bridal shop, she realized the she had walked out of the store without paying for the paper plates. She walked back to other end of the mall so fast that her younger companions could not keep up with her. To this day, my sister cannot believe that someone in their seventies could move that fast.

She was probably the most stubborn person I have ever known. If she did not want to do something, she was not going to budge. If she had an opinion, you knew it. But her determination would serve her well late in life. Widowed in 1987 and losing her eyesight to glaucoma, she refused to surrender her independence and remained in the house where she raised her family. And she stayed there until she entered the hospital shortly before she died.

I am convinced that the prospect of losing that precious independence was what led her to finally let go. Her worsening eyesight made it impossible for her to continue to live on her own, and plans were being made to place her in a nursing home. And she knew when the end was near. Her final words were ones that no one in the family had ever heard her say: "I love you all."

I am hoping I can learn some valuable lessons from this one amazing woman with this one amazing life. Find courage in whatever situation you are placed, stick to your guns, trust in the Lord, and let those you love know how you feel before it is too late.

We love you too, Grandma.

How Many 14-Year-Olds Does It Take Make You Lose Your Mind?

2009-03-17T09:02:00.001-07:00

I recently read a quote in a book that described 14-year-olds as emotionally four years old one minute and 30 the next. As a mother of a 14-year-old daughter, I would have to disagree. Emotionally two years old would be more accurate.

The last few days at our house have been full of drama for no apparent reason. A friend she chats with occasionally is no longer logging on to the computer. This has resulted in a full-blown emotional meltdown.

One minute she seems fine. The next minute she is crying. She won't talk about what's bothering her because "no one understands."

She came home upset from school one day last week because she claimed no one at her lunch table would talk to her that day. When I suggested she call one of these girls who is a good friend to find out if there is a problem, she looked at me as if lobsters were crawling out of my ears.

I had to remind her that I was not born a 40-something woman with a harried look on my face and bags under my eyes. As difficult as it is to believe, I was once fourteen as well. I don't think she believed me.

Apparently, at this age, it is easier to be upset than examine the root of a problem. The only saving grace is that these situations and moods seem to be fleeting. After a weekend full of trauma and crying jags, she is now fine.

I can remember going through similar trying times at that age. Although my mother was not willing to listen, I had a grandmother, an aunt and many good friends who weathered those storms with me.

At fourteen, I know now that hormones are changing and it is perfectly normal for mood swings and emotions to get out of control. What I can't understand is that you would want to go through such emotionally trying times alone when there are family and friends wanting to help. I would also be willing to let her talk to her doctor or even a good therapist if she feels she needs to.

I suppose we will just have to weather this emotional hurricane and hope she realizes that a sympathetic ear is always nearby. In the meantime, I'm not sure I will get through this phase without a good therapist of my own. And a glass of wine.

The Customer Is Usually Wrong

2009-03-03T10:04:00.001-08:00

What happened to the old saying "The customer is always right?"

A recent odyssey I had with Best Buy stores tells me that this saying no longer applies. My daughter bought a DVD (she saves allowance and babysitting money to buy DVDs of a certain television series), and found that one of the disks was missing when she opened the package.

Unfortunately, some time had elapsed between when she bought it and when she opened it. When I brought it back to Best Buy, I presented them with a crumpled-up, illegible receipt I found in her room for what I thought was the DVD. A computer scan of the receipt showed that it was the correct series but wrong season.

The customer service rep asked if it was possible to find the correct receipt. Anyone who has a teenager knows that, at times, Jimmy Hoffa could be buried somewhere in their room and you would never know it. I cannot get her to put a shirt in a hamper let alone put a receipt where anyone could find it.

The customer service rep refused to exchange it without a receipt because I could not "prove" it came from their store. Every DVD she buys from comes from their store because they have the best price, but that did not matter.

She suggested I contact the web site listed on the back of the package to see if I could get it replaced. When I did, I was basically told it was not their problem--the retailer has the obligation to stand by their product.

At this point, I did what any red-blooded American would do. I called the store manager and--excuse the expression--bitched. I was told to come back in the next day and they would exchange it, no problem.

Why did it have to take going to the top of the store's food chain, complaining loudly to the powers that be, and driving back and forth to the nearest Best Buy twice (30 minutes from my house) to get something done? Several years ago I returned a duplicate DVD that my son recieved as a birthday gift to Walmart with no more that a small bit of one of their price tags on the corner. I did not have any problems.

Are retailers getting stingy in this economy? Or perhaps they are falling into the trend that seems to permeate every aspect of our society--courtesy and cooperation are being overtaken by rudeness and laziness. A check of the store's records would have shown that I have a rewards card that lists most of the DVDs she has purchased.

I plan to complain to their corporate headquarters about this incident, but a small fish complaining to a big corporate whale will probably have little effect. Still, it is the little fish in the school that keeps the whale alive, and I intend to get out my harpoon on this one.

Ahoy, maties! Captain Ahab is on the hunt!

2009: A Technology Oddity

2009-02-24T10:06:00.000-08:00

Technology is supposed to make our lives easier. Frankly, it gives me a massive headache.

I admit I am a bit technologically-challenged. I got a new cell phone last fall and it still takes me two minutes to find a picture on it. My son and daughter can do this in less than ten seconds. I don't know how to download a photo on the computer. I did a happy dance when I figured out how to use the DVR function on the television.

My real challenge is when something malfunctions. I have a printer that I use to print out photos for scrapbooking. Suddenly, every photo it spits out looks like there is a two-year-old inside it filling in lines with a set of basic-color crayons.

I have run an ink flow check. I have run a paper check. I have run a check on the program settings. I have run an FBI background check. My photos are still coming out looking like a page from a Dr. Suess book.

I have spent probably three hours online with the Epson troubleshooting website. I have wasted numerous sheets of paper, loads of ink, and hours of time.

Perhaps it is time to move on to the next diagnostic step:

1. Disconnect power cord
2. Disconnect printer cable from computer
3. Chuck printer out of window into path of an oncoming semi-truck

I am starting to miss the days when I dropped off a roll of film at the drug store and it magically appeared as pictures a few days later. Perhaps many would accuse me of living in the "stone age" for not enthusiastically embracing technology. Frankly, I would rather wrestle a sabre-tooth tiger with nothing but a wooden club to defend myself than spend one more minute psychoanalyzing a photo printer.

Gotta go. I hear a semi-truck approaching.

Let a Sleeping Bear of a Husband Lie

2009-02-17T10:18:00.000-08:00

I made a huge mistake last night--I woke my husband out of a dead sleep.

Cliff has always been a very solid sleeper and has never been pleasant to wake up. I found that if it is necessary to wake him, it is best to just poke him with a 20-foot pole and run like the dickens out of the room.

Last night when I got home from my exercise class, he was parked right in front of the garage, completely blocking it. Since I could not get my vehicle in, I thought I should ask if he was starting a project and did not want me parking in the garage tonight.

When I got in the house, he was sound asleep. Since I did not have a 20 foot pole nearby, I had to wake him by calling his name several times (from a safe distance, of course).

He was actually in a pretty fair mood when he woke up and said he was planning to clean out his company van but fell asleep on the couch. Because it was already 8:30, he indicated he would move his van and pull mine into the garage.

I figured I had gotten off easy until I walked back into the room five minutes later. Cliff was once again sprawled on the couch fast asleep.

Not wanting to push my luck, I decided to let him sleep and handle the situation myself. I picked up his coat to look for his keys. He immediately jumped off the sofa, told me I was impatient and used some words I cannot repeat in this blog.

Was I upset? Of course. Is it worth dwelling on? Probably not. I know how he is when he wakes up from a dead sleep, and he probably does not even remember the entire incident.

The next time, I will definitely let a sleeping bear lie. And if he yells at me the next day for touching his stuff, I will not get angry. I will simply let the air out of one his tires. (Kidding--maybe.)

From Baby Steps to Stepping Out

2009-02-10T09:07:00.000-08:00

My 14-year old daughter reached a milestone last weekend--she attended her first formal dance in high school. As excited as I was for her, it left me pondering that question that all parents ask: How is time passing so quickly?

It seems like yesterday Shannon was playing dress-up to look like a princess. Today, she is looking like a princess stepping out to a ball.

It is funny how life occurs in circular patterns. Mothers of little girls love to dress them up in frills and bows. When our daughters reach the tween years, they would rather go out dressed in a potato sack than be seen in anything with ruffles and lace. Now we are once again shopping for beautiful dresses.

With her emerald green satin and sequined dress, wearing a pair of high heels and with her hair swept up on top of her head, Shannon looked so grown up it was frightening. Of course, five minutes later she is making a smart comment to her brother and rolling her eyes at something I said. Some things just don't change that quickly.

But I know this is a glance at what is to come. She is becoming a young woman preparing to step out on her own in a few years. Cinderella entering into her carriage to be carried away into the world.

For now, however, she had better be home before midnight or she will have much bigger problems than her carriage turning into a pumpkin.

Teachable Moments

2009-02-03T10:17:00.000-08:00

All of our children experience difficult moments and situtations from which we will not always be there to rescue them. The best we can hope for is to turn these moments into an opportunity to learn a valuable lesson.

Recently, my son was spending time at the home of a friend. This particular friend had several other boys there that my son does not really know. Sadly, these boys felt it necessary to exclude and make fun of him. And unfortnately, my son's friend decided to join in.

This of course led not only to hurt feelings, but also to a minor scuffle. My son left feeling very angry, upset and ready to let a long friendship go.

While discussing these events with Sean, I asked why he had not come to either me or the boys' parents for help. He said he wanted to handle it himself and thought that the bullying would only get worse if he involved adults. He was probably right.

I told him he had every right to be angry and never speak to this friend again. However, I thought a better approach would be to give his friend an opportunity to make things right. He could do this by contacting him and explaining how hurt he was that someone he thought was a good buddy would turn against him.

Next I asked Sean a very important question: What would you have done if the situation were reversed? If you had several boys over and they decided to gang up on your friend, what would you do? Without hesitation, Sean replied," I would tell them to stop. He is my friend and that is not cool."

Finally, I asked him to remember at that moment how it felt to be picked on. I want him to never forget those feelings of being left out and belittled when he sees it happening to another child.

It is up to him now whether the friendship continues or not. But I am hoping the lessons learned will last a lifetime.

Just Say "NO!" (Maybe)

2009-01-29T12:21:00.000-08:00

As women, we all know we take care of things. I take care of my family. I take care of the dog. I take care of the cats. I take care of our neighbor's cat who has taken up residence on our front porch.

I take care of the birds in our neighborhood by feeding them all year round. I think every bird within a two-mile radius now congregates daily in my back yard. I've even started buying dried corn cobs for the rabbit that lives in our yard after I saw him eating twigs the other day just to survive.

Recently, an elderly neighbor has started calling me asking for things. At first it was to bring her mail to her door. Then it was to put out her trash and recycling. Then it was for rides to the grocery store or the drug store. Yesterday she called to tell me that her phone was not working properly and that I needed to bring her some batteries immediately.

This recent request got me wondering. How exactly have I become the caretaker of the entire world?

I understand that our neighbor is 86 years old, lives alone and needs some help. What bothers me is that she has family living no more than 20 minutes away. She claims she cannot call on them because "everybody else works."

It is official. I don't work. I sit around all day eating bon bons, watching soap operas and reading trashy novels just waiting for someone to call me with something to do.

The problem is I have a hard time with one word - "No."

My son's teacher sent a form home a few weeks ago asking for volunteers for several class fundraisers. I signed up to not only work at our school's Darlin' Dance, but also to bake cookies and donate a door prize. On Sunday night, my son's teacher calls and says she doesn't have enough volunteers to work the Book Fair and could I possibly volunteer for a shift?

Of course I said yes. But it left me wondering where the other 19 parents in the class were that they couldn't give three hours of their time.

It is simply the curse of being a nice person. I have a hard time letting people down. My heart went out to the poor bunny eating twigs just to fill his stomach. I feel bad for a little old lady stuck in her house in this harsh weather.

But maybe the next time my son's teacher calls for me to volunteer, I will just say I have a previous engagement. Perhaps when my neighbor calls for a ride on a day I have to work, I will suggest she call our local transit authority that provides a shuttle service for senior citizens at a small price.

Then again, who I am kidding. I will still be the one sitting in a busload of over-stimulated children on their way back from a field trip and driving to the store for batteries in a foot of snow.

Pass the bon bons.

Inauguration Day: Pomp, Circumstance and Bobble-head Dolls

2009-01-20T11:44:00.000-08:00

We have just inaugurated the 44th President of the United States. And what good old American celebration would be complete without cheap, gaudy souvenirs to commemorate the occasion.

I was watching news coverage of the pre-inauguration festivities yesterday, and a reporter was talking about the variety of Barack Obama souvenirs that are on sale. She interviewed a guy that had already sold 1,500 Obama bobble-head dolls and had to order more.

Why is it that we feel compelled to honor any major event with t-shirts, hats and mugs? I can still remember some of the stuff people were selling as part of the United States Bicentennial Celebration back in 1976. What true blue, red-blooded American could properly observe our nation's 200th birthday without a pair of commemorative underpants.

Apparently this phenomenon is not limited to Americans. I recall watching the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson back when Prince Charles and Princess Diana were married. He was showing some of the souveniers on sale for that event. The one I will never forget was a t-shirt emblazoned with the words "The Morning After" on the front and showed the Prince and Princess sitting in bed with black eyes and missing teeth. And I thought we Americans had cornered the market on tackiness.

When Pope John Paul II passed away, I bought a commemorative issue of People that focused on his life and his papacy. On one page, there was a display of products that apparently were on sale when he was made pope. There was actually a bar of soap shaped like his head on a string called--you guessed it--Pope on a Rope. Somewhere, there is a soapmaker headed straight to hell.

As for me, I will celebrate this historic moment without buying shirts or spending $10 on a commemorative $1 bill with President Obama's face on it. I will, however, be doing an internet search later today to see if I can find an Obama Bobble-Head Doll.

Winning Isn't Everything, But You Darn Well Better Come In First!

2009-01-13T10:08:00.000-08:00

Last weekend, my son participated in his final Cub Scout Pinewood Derby. He will be moving into Boy Scouts in a few months.

His car actually made the finals in the Webelos Division. He ended up finishing in sixth place. The top four cars in each division move on to the district race. And was he ever disappointed.

Upset and angry might be a better description. He barely spoke a word to us on the way home. He only opened up when we bribed him with a McDonald's double cheeseburger. He said he was disappointed because he really wanted a trophy.

Now, my son's dresser contains plenty of trophies, three of which are from past Pinewood Derbies. Actually, last year was the first time ever that his car did not place. But he was fine with that, saying that other kids needed a chance to win a trophy.

So what changed since last year? Maybe it was because it was his final race. Perhaps it was because he based his car design on one that had come in first place several years earlier. Or maybe kids today are just used to rewards coming too easily.

When I was young, only the championship teams--whether it was football, little league or cheerleading--received trophies. When my son played flag football last fall, every child that participated got a trophy. My daugter has a bunch of cheerleading trophies in her room because every girl that performs in a competition gets one.

I have no problem with encouraging and rewarding children to boost their self-esteem and confidence. It seems that we are doing a great job teaching them to be good winners, but we are failing at teaching them to be good losers.

The world loves a winner. They applaud and idolize them. And the losers are often seen being mocked and trash-talked by the winning team. Watch any professional sports game and observe the interaction between the two teams. No wonder kids think there is so much shame in failing.

To my chagrin, my son did not congratulate one of the boys who placed in the race last Saturday. He just sulked away. Could I have forced him to offer those boys praise? Certainly, but it would not have been sincere.

Instead, we had a long talk when we got home. We discussed the importance of both winning and losing with grace. We discussed the fact that out of 24 cars in the Webelos division, his had come in sixth place. And he had done most of the work on it himself. He should be proud of that accomplishment. In the end, I think he felt much better about his performance that day.

As for me, I will be more careful to praise the effort rather than the result. Maybe if we concentrate less on trophies and awards, we can raise a generation that not only can congratulate the winners sincerely, but can also congratulate themselves on a job well done regardless of the outcome.

Starting the New Year With a Whimper and a Prayer

2009-01-06T08:51:00.000-08:00

It is the first full week of 2009. The holidays are over, the decorations are coming down, and I feel downright depressed.

I always feel down this time of year when the glitter and lights of the holiday season are gone. When my children would get upset as the tree came down, I used to remind them that this a brand new year full of possiblilities. I would cheer myself up wondering what good things the new year would bring.

With financial experts making dire predictions for 2009, however, looking forward in this year is like looking forward to a colonoscopy. In an effort to cheer myself up, I have decided to make some predictions of my own. So here goes:

-The pathetic Detroit Lions football team recovers from their dismal 0-16 season by actually winning a game. Unfortunately, officials are forced to call the game with 30 seconds left when the Four Horsemen of the Apocolypse ride onto the field, signalling that the world is ending.

-Disgusted by the lack of explanations and accounting from financial institutions which received bailout money in 2008, Congress calls a special session and demands that company CEOs come clean. These individuals respond to the inquiries by sticking out their tongues, waving their fingers by their ears and shouting explanations such as "Neener, neener, neener!" and "Jack, jack, no trade back!" Outraged, the American public responds with outcries of "Liar, liar, pants on fire!"

-Executives of the Big Three automakers are forced to give up their big salaries, free company vehicles and private jets as conditions of the bailout given by Congress. Furthermore, they are also required to shop at Walmart, get their hair cut at Fantastic Sam's and buy their cappuccinos from the vending machines at Speedway. The horror of it all.

-Barack Obama is sworn in as president and promptly announces he is going on a four-year vacation, declaring "There is absolutely no way I am ever going to clean up this mess anyway."

-Former Republican Vice Presidential Candidate Sarah Palin is given a cabinet position in the Obama administration. Her job is stand on the shores of the Alaska and keep an eye on those pesky Russians.

-George Bush and Dick Cheney leave office, and there is much rejoicing throughout the nation. Cheney occupies his time by taking Barack Obama, members of his administration and congressional leaders on hunting trips. Mysteriously, Obama, Joe Biden, Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid are all killed in a series of "hunting accidents."

-As a result, Hillary Clinton is named President of the United States. This leads to what doctors call a medical anamoly as conservatives everywhere drop dead from heart attacks and massive strokes, or simply have nervous breakdowns and babble uncontrollably.

-President Bush retires to his home in Texas and opens his presidential library. Strangely, the library contains only two books: Jeff Foxworthy's "You Know You're a Redneck If..." and "Presidency for Dummies." Sadly, the wrapper has never been taken off of the latter book.

Happy 2009 everyone! And may God help us.

Have Yourself a Hopeful Little Christmas

2008-12-16T10:51:00.000-08:00

This holiday season is proving to be a tough one. Last week, my husband's company laid off 75 percent of the people who work there. Many of his friends--most of whom have mortgages and families--are now out of work only two weeks before Christmas. We are cutting short a planned visit to family in Pennsylvania because he is worried about job security.

Christmas shopping has been a challenge since I managed to save only half of what I had in previous years in my bank's Christmas Club account. We have very few neighbors this year and a lot of empty houses around us.

With all of the uncertainty, I have been feeling a little down this holiday season. But today, I have decided I will look for the positives. So, here is a list of all of the things I am grateful for this Christmas:

1. Watching the Christmas light twinkle while the snow falls around them
2. Baking cookies for family and friends
3. Online shopping
4. A lit Christmas tree in a dark room.
5. Getting tears in my eyes as I watch my kids perform in their holiday recitals.
6. My small house that I can comfortably afford.
7. Remembering my Great Aunt Helen as I make nutrolls
8. Having a job when so many have lost theirs
9. Mistletoe, and the right person under it
10. Watching holiday movies after everyone else has gone to bed
11. Thinking of my grandmother as I set out her silver
12. Cats who know instinctively when you need them on your lap
13. A church aglow in candles and Christmas lights
14. Radio stations that play only holiday music
15. My family gathered around our advent wreath
16. Getting Christmas cards and letters from faraway friends
17. Cold, clear nights when you can see tons of stars
18. Reading aloud the gospel passage of the birth of Jesus on Christmas Eve
19. Stockings for each family member hung in front of the fireplace
20. A prayer answered

The economy seems like a giant Grinch sneaking down off the mountain and robbing all of us hapless Whos of our holiday happiness. Don't let it. Take time this holiday season to remember all the things in your life for which you are grateful.

And I dare you to say "hapless Whos of our holiday happiness" three times, fast.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Deck the Halls and All That Nonsense

2008-12-09T11:44:00.000-08:00

The holiday season is upon us, which means Christmas carols on the radio, Salvation Army bell-ringers outside department stores, and a stress accumulation powerful enough to launch the space shuttle into orbit.

Before you embark on a mad dash to Toys R Us and beat a fellow shopper senseless in a battle over the last Tickle Me Elmo, Brats doll other "hot toy" of the season, please take this survey to determine your stress level.

1. When I think of the holidays, I want to:
A. Cut down a live tree and sing Christmas Carols around a blazing fire
B. Count down the days until January
C. Strangle someone with a bough of holly

2. The line “a partridge in a pear tree” reminds me of
A. A song about the joy of giving during the holiday season
B. Some Christmas song that doesn’t make sense
C. Stuffed poultry served with a side of glazed fruit

3. Christmas shopping means
A. Enjoying the hustle and bustle of the holiday season
B. Going on the internet and avoiding all of those holiday lunatics
C. Resisting the urge to “go postal” in a local mall

4. You see a picture of oranges decorated with cloves in a magazine and think
A. They would make a lovely Christmas centerpiece
B. Some people have way too much time on their hands during the holidays
C. They would be something nice and squishy to lob at Christmas carolers when they ring your doorbell

Add up your score as follows: Each A - 3 points, each B - 2 points, and each C - 1 point each. Score yourself as follows:

10 to12 points - Martha Stewart loves you
7 to 9 points - Who spit in your eggnog?
4 to 6 points - Jacob Marley and Associates would like to schedule a conference with you around midnight, Mr. Scrooge

Now print out a copy of this survey, tear it into timy pieces, set it on fire and dance around it. Trust me, it will do wonders for your stress level.

The Male Brain--How Does It Work, and Does It Even Exist?

2008-12-02T09:06:00.000-08:00

In my 40-plus years on this earth, I'd like to think I have learned a thing or two along the way. Yesterday, I had a revelation.

Men are idiots.

We may have many great men in our lives. We may be married to a great guy. We may love men to death. This, however, does not disguise the fact that they act really, really stupid sometimes.

My husband is one of these really nice men. He is a good provider and an overall nice guy. However, he is a little selfish about leisure time. He makes sure he gets in a couple of hunting trips and three to five golf weekends every year. I, on the other hand, have not had a vacation or a weekend away with friends in over three years. Understandably, I find this inequality in leisure time a bit unfair.

He recently told me I had no reason to be upset. He claims that the two pilates classes I attend every week and the church choir practice I go to every Thursday evening are equivalent to his golf outings and hunting trips.

Now, how practicing hymns and sweating like a pig for 45 minutes are equivalent to drinking beer, playing cards, lounging around in clubhouses and chasing a little ball around on the grass, I have not yet figured out. But in the male mind, time out of the house is time off regardless of what you are doing. I suppose we should add the weekly trips to the grocery store into that leisure time total.

I know for a fact that no amount of reasoning is going to convince him otherwise. Once he gets an idea in his head, it sticks like gum to the bottom of your shoe. Yesterday, for example, he came home and wanted to know when I was going to get a full-time job. Now, the plan was for me to work part-time until both of our children are in high school. Since my son is only in the fifth grade, this is not an option I am considering for another three years.

I do, however, keep an eye on the classifieds and on-line job posting sites just in case something spectacular comes along. The economy being what it is, the only things offered lately are third shift caretaker jobs in nursing homes and something called "customer relations in our polution control department." I'm not sure I even want to speculate what that job entails.

That explanation was not good enough. He accused me of changing our game plan(?) and said that he is tired of working all these hours. He said I will just have to get another job and "adjust my expectations" as far as the housework goes. Translation: You go to work full time too, and when we come home I'll lounge around the house like I do now every evening and watch you work some more! Sounds like a marriage made in heaven.

I did tell him that if he is so desperate for me to get a better paying job, there are a few street corners in Detroit that I could probably work and make a bundle. He did not say anything. I am not sure if that is good or bad.

And so, the complex workings of the male mind continue to puzzle and amaze us. Perhaps amuse us would be a better word. If I were not married to this guy, I would find these musings and explanations downright funny. Since I am married to him, I am just plain annoyed.

See you on the street corner!

Family Holidays: Putting the Fun Back in Dysfunctional

2008-11-25T23:38:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is fast approaching. This endearing American holiday signifies the start of the holiday season and represents an event that inspires dread and fear in the hearts of many--family gatherings.

Over the years, my own family has hosted many memorable holiday get-togethers. And if you are imagining some warm family camaraderie like you would see on a rerun of "The Waltons," you have watched far too much television.

Every family has one member with strong views on politics, religion, race, etc. This person just has to get on his or her soap box during every family event. My brother Jeff is the token radical (and I do mean radical) Republican in our family who cannot resist taunting our more liberal family members. The problem is he gets so angry while trying to get his point across that his opinions become senseless. My personal favorite is his claim that "the Jews" were responsible for the bombing of the World Trade Center back in the 1980s. Considering who was just elected president a few weeks ago, I am really looking forward to this year's confrontation.

My brother is just one of my many interesting relatives that make holidays so special. I recall one Thanksgiving when my uncle made White Russians with strawberry vodka that were just a bit too strong. He probably had about three of them prior to dinner. By the time the turkey and trimmings were served, he was so intoxicated that he loaded up his plate with food, set it on the table, crawled into the next room and passed out on the floor. Dinner concluded with my mother asking someone to check on my uncle to make sure he was still breathing.

My brother Kevin is the family clown, so we always expect something entertaining from him. One holiday he had one beer too many, declared he was a rapper named "Ice Floe" and started making up a ridiculous rap song. Unfortunately, he lost is balanced and fell backward into a toy box. He didn't spill a drop of beer, however.

All these events have been memorable, but the crown jewel of holiday faux pas has to be when one of my siblings, who shall remain nameless, had a little too much to drink (are we detecting a pattern here?) and admitted to doing something that would have caught the attention of federal authorities. Even though this particular event happened nearly 20 years earlier, my mother was absolutely furious. I guess there are some things even the passage of time cannot soften for mothers.

As strange as this may sound, these things do not keep us from having a great time together. They just become part of the folklore that every family gathers and passes down through time. My children still enjoy hearing stories of my Uncle Jim, who passed away several years ago, even though they barely knew him. Their favorite is the story of how he got a shark fin and decided to swim underwater with it in a popular watering hole near his home. This is around the time when the movie "Jaws" was terrifying swimmers everywhere. People were actually screaming and pulling children out of the water as he swam by. And this was in a creek in the middle of Pennsylvania.

So as you gather together this holiday with your family, make sure you take the time to laugh and enjoy those family members. Gather stories and make memories to pass down, no matter how strange or bizarre they may seem at the time.

And if your children ever commit a federal offense, make sure they never tell you.

Out of the Mouth of Babes

2008-11-18T09:04:00.000-08:00

Last week, Cliff and I attended parent teacher conferences for the kids. They are both excellent students and we had no issues save one. Apparently, Sean said the word "s**t" on the playground earlier that day, and it was overheard by his teacher.

When we asked why he used that word, his response was, "Well, I meant to say 'crap.'" Yeah, that's much better.

Of course, we had the obligitory conversation about appropriate language. It is one that all parents have at one time or another after our child uses a word he picked up on the playground or, God forbid, from us.

I remember when Shannon was about two years old and my mother was playing a game with her and asking what sounds various animals made. When she asked her "What does Daddy say?", Shannon replied, "Dammit, dammit."

Thank goodness she did not say it front of one of her then 80-something great grandmothers. And thank goodness she only blamed her father.

All of us--and I know I am guilty--have occasionally let a mild swear word out when driving with the little ones in the back. Women tend to let an occasional "damn" slip out. Men, unfortunately, are often guilty of much worse trangsressions.

I am talking about the dreaded "f-bomb." When Shannon was about two, Cliff was speaking with a friend of his on the phone while she played nearby, and he let one fly. Let's just say if laser beams could have come out of my eyes, he would have been vaporized.

She did not repeat it. After two weeks, I figured we were safe. Then one evening while I was bathing her, she took her Big Bird tub toy, began pounding it against a cup and yelling "f***ing Big Bird!"

Naturally, part of me was horrified. However, being that "f***ing" is not generally an adjective you hear preceding the name Big Bird, I had to step out of the bathroom for a moment before I could talk to her.

Since my daughter is now in high school and my son has only a year to go before junior high, I am sure we are in for more language faux pas. It seems offensive language is the norm rather than the exception today. I am certain Sean's playground incident is not the only time foul language will slip out at the wrong place, at the wrong time, and in front of the person you least want to hear it.

Thank God my 96-year-old grandmother is now hard of hearing.

Men - Need I Say More?

2008-11-11T09:05:00.000-08:00

Today is Tuesday, when I normally work from home catching up on paperwork, Mary Kay orders and other duties in my home office. A few hours ago, my husband called and said he is having some dental problems, so could I make an appointment for him?

Now, he obviously has a phone and time to call me to make his appointment. But, being the good wife, I called the dentist's office. The conversation went something like this:

"Where is exactly is the pain he is experiencing?"

"I don't know."

"Is it localized?"

"I don't know."

"Did this pain just start?"

"I don't know"

I got the appointment and called him back to make sure it worked in his schedule. I left two messages on his cell phone. He finally calls me back and tells me that time slot won't work for him. So I call the office back and cancel.

This entire episode took about 45 minutes. It would have taken about five minutes for him to do it himself. So why didn't he?

I have decided that most men spend their entire lives being taken care of. They go from being taken care of by their mothers to being taken care of by their wives. They probably don't even realize it, but they like it that way. They want it that way. They see no reason to change.

When a woman gets married and becomes a wife and later a mother, her entire system of priorities change. She learns to put the needs of everyone else first and put herself last. Men never learn to do this. In general, they go on exactly as they did before the wife and children came into the picture.

Say your husband's friend "Frank" calls him up to go golfing. The process goes like this:

1. Put golf clubs in trunk.

2. Meet Frank at golf course.

Now say your friend "Mary" calls and wants to meet a restaurant with you and some other friends to catch up. Your process would go like this:

1. Make dinner so that no one will starve and you will not get repeated calls at restaurant saying "I'm hungry, when are you coming home?"

2. Supervise homework because husband will be sleeping on couch when he comes home rather than help daughter with geometry.

3. Call husband to make sure he will be home in time to transport children to and from activities.

4. Call mother-in-law to beg her to pick up children from activities as husband has made a pit stop at the driving range on the way home from work.

5. Drive kids to activities yourself

6. Look for something in your closet to wear that does not scream "I am a soccer mom."

7. Stop at gas station because your gas tank is empty from transporting children, and stop at ATM machine since you have given out all of your cash for lunch money tomorrow.

By the time you accomplish all of this, Mary and the girls left the restaurant half an hour ago. I imagine it is easier to get national security clearance than for a mother to plan an evening out.

I have made it a priority in my life not to allow the dependent man syndrome to continue. My own son helps with laundry, cooking, cleaning and pet care. He will grow up to do auto maintenance and yard work like his dad. I will be darned, however, if he will have any excuse for leaving laundry on the floor beside the hamper or dishes in the sink next to the dishwasher for his wife to pick up. Some girl is going to thank me someday.

And if he ever calls his wife at work and asks her to make an appointment for him because his tooth hurts, I will go over there and give him a smack-down.

It's Election Time! Praise the Lord and Pass the Antacids

2008-11-04T09:51:00.000-08:00

It is finally election day! By tomorrow at this time, we will know the results of one of the most interesting elections in a long time.

We will also be able to watch television, listen to the radio and open our mail without being bombarded with political statements. I have not been able to do any of these in months without feeling like I need to down a bunch of Tums and go outside to dig a fallout shelter from the chaos that will ensue if the wrong person is elected to the water commission.

Frankly, I don't know what I will do when I can finally answer my phone again. We have been screening calls for weeks to avoid all the pitches and automated phone messages from candidates, unions and political parties. My daily mail delivery will probably be cut in half without all of the political flyers. Do candidates really believe the the best way to reach voters is to kill trees and annoy people at dinnertime?

It seems some people have really gone over the edge with this election. I heard on the news that a woman handing out Halloween candy refused to give any to children whose parents were Barack Obama supporters. She claims she finds Obama "scary."

What I find frightening is a person who would take an enjoyable children's holiday and turn it into a political statement. What is most bizarre is that she aimed it at those who are not old enough to vote, yet alone understand all that is happening.

I am also perplexed by the consumer products out there in honor of the election. I was watching the Today show, and they showcased at least 25 products emblazoned with the images of the presidential candidates and their running mates. There are actually two cereals called "Obama-Os" and "Captain McCain." What I want to know is, would anyone actually eat these cereals and what is the daily fiber allowance in the Captain McCain?

They actually had Cabbage Patch Dolls for each of the candidates. If you are buying one of these for your child, you should also purchase gift certificates for the therapy sessions they will need as adults. I can see kids in 20 years telling their therapists, "I know my parents never loved me. Do you know what they got me for Christmas when I was eight? A Joe Biden doll!"

In the meantime, I will be investing in therapy sessions this Christmas for all my friends and family members who insist the country will turn to communism if Obama is elected. I will also give them to the ones building bomb shelters for the nuclear attack that will ensue after President McCain bombs the daylights out of Iran and North Korea.

Happy Election Day, everyone!

And, just think, we get to do this all over again in four years!

Can't Buy Me Love--Or Anything Else In This Economy

2008-10-24T06:26:00.000-07:00

It seems the current financial crisis is hitting all of us. We dread the arrival of out monthly statements from our Roth IRAs and annuity funds, from which we have lost thousands of dollars. For a working family, that money will be hard to replace.

But Cliff and I are not panicking. We are simply going to adjust our retirement goals. As of now, we figure we will be able to retire somewhere around, say, age 87.

Of course, we will still have to take on part-time jobs to pay off the loans we took out to get the kids through college since their mutual funds containing our education savings have also tanked. Given the state of the job market, we are not too concerned about having to learn new skills at that age. We figure the most we will have to remember is to ask "Do you want fries with that?" with every order.

I was listening to the radio last week when a women called to complain about her annuity fund holder, AIG. It seems she wanted to take out a loan on her money and AIG turned her down. All this was happening when the government was bailing out AIG's backside from financial ruin and the company sent employees on an expensive spa weekend at a resort to "brainstorm." Personally, I always brainstorm while getting manicures, pedicures and massages.

I can understand perfectly why AIG denied her loan. If they were to grant her access to her money, someone at AIG would have to go without a pedicure. Seriously, how selfish of this woman to want to use her own money to benefit her family when there are AIG employees running around with stiff necks and unpainted toenails. What is this world coming to?

With stocks plunging and financial institutions failing, I can understand now why so many people who lived through the Great Depression have such a deep mistrust of banks. The state of our economy makes a perfectly sane person want to take their hard-earned money and simply stuff it in a mattress. Of course, when your house is on fire and you are trying to force a king-size mattress through a window, you may want to rethink that strategy.

I for one will not be stuffing my mattress. Personally, I think a much safer option is to dig a hole in the backyard, put all of my savings into a mason jar, plop it into the ground and cover it up.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have a hole to dig.

I Am Woman Hear Me Snore (Frankly, I'm Exhausted)

2008-10-14T09:33:00.000-07:00

They told us we could have it all.

In college during the mid 1980's, my Women's Studies professors talked about how women were entering the job markets in droves. They were moving into fields tradtionally dominated by men. They were breaking glass ceilings. They were oveseeing corporate mergers by day and rocking the cradle by night. They were successfully merging their professional and personal lives and looking fabulous in the process.

And we were to follow in their footsteps.

Following graduation, I moved to Washington, DC determined to take take the world by storm. I found employment in the field I wanted, got married, changed jobs, changed cities several times, started my family and adjusted my career goals to give me more flexbility.

I now have a cosmetic consulting business and work in sales and distribution for a small newspaper (both part-time), do freelance writing when I can find it, and am the parent of two terrific kids involved in about 20,000 activities (okay, so I embelish a little). I do volunteer work, take care of a dog and three cats, take an occasional writing class, do pilates, compete in 5K walking races, and do my best to keep our house from appearing on one of those home makeover shows where people are living in piles of trash.

Yes, I do have it all. Now will someone please explain to me what I am supposed to do with it?

My Women's Studies professors never explained that I would wake up each morning with a to-do list longer than Santa's "nice" list at Christmas. They never told me I would have approximtely 15 minutes each morning to shower and put on makeup so that my teenage daughter could dominate my bathroom for the next 40 minutes. And they certainly could not fathom that my husband would come home from work and doze off in front of ESPN while I chauffer children to ballet, scouts, football, etc., make dinner, oversee homework and clean up the hairball the cat just threw up.

How do women do it? I have read books on the subject, talked to other women and thrown tantrums in the middle of my kitchen out of sheer frustration (didn't solve anything but it sure made me feel better for the moment).

I have only come up with one solution. Embrace your chaos.

Yelling at your chaos or the cause of it (i.e. husbands and children) does not impove it. Ignoring it makes it worse. Resolving to get rid of it and working like mad to do so will put you in a state hospital for the mentally unstable. The only thing to do is accept it, work with it and treat it like one of those annoying relatives that come for a one week stay and move into your guest room indefinitely.

So the next time my son tells me at 6:30 a.m. that he needs three dozen cookies that afternoon, I will just smile. When my husband calls at 5:30 p.m. to say that he has not left work yet and cannot get Sean to his 6:00 football practice while I am trying to get ready for a 6:30 girl scout leader meeting, I will just tell him to drive safely on his way home. And when my daughter once again has a cheerleading competition and a dance recital all on the same weekend, I will cope. I resolve to face daily stressful situations with dignity and a cool head--and keep the phone number of a local bakery on speed dial.

I will learn to let some things go. I will learn to live with my stress without letting it get to me. And who knows. Maybe someday I will even learn to love my chaos. Because it is mine.