Imagine a scene such as this…
A daytime talk show with 4 male co-hosts, average age of about 45, sitting before a live studio audience. The audience is 95% men with an average age of maybe 55. The audience is excited, clapping, laughing and squirming in their seats with near-teenage giddy anticipation. Clearly, something exciting is happening here at Generic Television Studios USA, but what could it be? On stage the co-hosts are as tickled as the audience regarding the impending show featuring one awesome guest.
To the roar of clapping, wolf whistles and general shrieking the much-anticipated guest of the day makes her entrance. It is young Miley Cyrus and the middle aged men in the audience and on the stage are going positively crazy with excitement. Some in the audience hold crudely made signs saying “Seniors for Cyrus” and “Work it Girl” and “Marry Me” while others simply wave their hairy arms trying to capture the attention of this teen sensation. The audience is squirming, wiggling in their seats, and droplets of hormonal fueled perspiration are forming around their hairline. Soon the shrieking intensifies…”We love you Miley!” and “Oh, you are sooo cute!” and “Can I take you home?”. Even the co-hosts are adjusting their ties and smiling nervously, unable to contain their enthusiasm for being just this close to a darling teenager. Their ensuing banter is nothing short of flirtatious and the co-hosts do what they can to stroke Miley’s hand and hair while trying to slip their arm around her waist.
What do you think of this picture I have painted? Pretty cool, huh? No, I didn’t think so either. I think it borders on some sicko pedophilia and, literally, the thought of it turns my stomach. Grown men treating a young girl in this manner? Ugh.
Yet, I was fortunate enough to witness a similar scene just yesterday as I sat down to watch The View when their featured guest was Justin Bieber. They and their audience acted towards him just as I have described above with the Miley Cyrus scenario. And no one seems to be thinking twice about it or thinking that it is grotesque. Except me, of course. Why is that?
Probably for the same reason that when a cute female teacher is caught in a sexcapade with a teen boy there are usually snickers all around and comments along the lines of “Wish my teachers in high school looked like that” or “Yeah, he’s one lucky fella”. Is that fair? No. It sure the hell is not. In fact, it is just one more way that gender equality in this country seems eons away. Just when you think we have finally gotten our act together as a society, little tidbits like this chip away at any perceived progress we may have made. A shame, I tell you. It is a damned shame and it should cease sooner rather than later.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
What's Your Problem?!
When you talk to people about their childhoods, as I am prone to doing since I am nosy like that, there are typically either a long or short list of complaints that they are quick to register. Maybe their father never said "I love you" or their mother was overbearing or a sibling was clearly the preferred Golden Child. Of course, some complaints are actually rather serious (read: abusive). For the purposes of this blog, that is not truly what I am talking about. I mean, just general bitching and moaning that they were ripped off by not having the ideal childhood. Or, what they presume is ideal.
I mention this because I recently interviewed my brother for a book I am writing about our father. This brother, who shall remain nameless for no real reason other than the fact that "remain nameless" sounds cool and mysterious, is the kind of guy that appears to be totally self-sufficient. Really together. Very much in control and wanting for nothing emotionally. One of those people that accepts whatever life has thrown at them and makes the best of it without looking back. No regrets, no repairs required.
So I was surprised when this Nameless Brother (still uber mysterious, no?) went on and on during our interview about how he had yearned for more attention, affection and positive reinforcement during his childhood. Even now, some 50 years later, these soft emotions and deep disappointment were so apparent. Believe me, we did not come from a neglectful home and he got, in terms of attention, pretty much about the same amount as any other kids in our upper middle class slice of suburbia.
But I don't want to talk about him....this is my blog, so let's bring this back around to me (see, we all crave attention). My own children, Brilliant Bradley and Perfect Paige, have had what I consider a super blessed childhood. Great vacations, constant encouragement, life in a safe subdivision, loads of opportunities, and fully supportive parents. Seriously, in the Championship Of Parenting, my husband and I have successfully landed in the top 10%.
Which leads me back around to my first thought -- childhood complaints. I can't help but wonder that when my kids are quizzed by some nosy friend, neighbor or other intrusive freak about their own childhood, what will they say? Since we all have mild to moderate (if we're lucky) complaints about what went down the first 18 years of our lives, what will these kids who share my DNA say? There must be something.....right? How about "My mother loved me too much" or "My dad provided excessive positive reinforcement" or "What, you think it is so great to be told that you are loved a dozen times per day". Maybe it will be like one of those job interviews where you are asked about your weaknesses and you are supposed to present them in such a way that they are actually strengths. "I am too honest" or "I tend to be a perfectionist". Side note: Seriously, do human resources professional actually believe that BS? What do they really think when people say that? Probably that they are hiding some serious personal flaw, like they plan to pilfer the company pens and steal their co-workers ham on rye sandwich from the communal staff fridge.
In one way I can peep into the future on this one. My kids are space nearly ten years apart, so in a few years I can quiz 18 year Brilliant Bradley about his childhood and then still have a few good years to fix whatever I have broken with Perfect Paige. Still, I think we are clean. You know why? Because amazing children make parenting easy.
I mention this because I recently interviewed my brother for a book I am writing about our father. This brother, who shall remain nameless for no real reason other than the fact that "remain nameless" sounds cool and mysterious, is the kind of guy that appears to be totally self-sufficient. Really together. Very much in control and wanting for nothing emotionally. One of those people that accepts whatever life has thrown at them and makes the best of it without looking back. No regrets, no repairs required.
So I was surprised when this Nameless Brother (still uber mysterious, no?) went on and on during our interview about how he had yearned for more attention, affection and positive reinforcement during his childhood. Even now, some 50 years later, these soft emotions and deep disappointment were so apparent. Believe me, we did not come from a neglectful home and he got, in terms of attention, pretty much about the same amount as any other kids in our upper middle class slice of suburbia.
But I don't want to talk about him....this is my blog, so let's bring this back around to me (see, we all crave attention). My own children, Brilliant Bradley and Perfect Paige, have had what I consider a super blessed childhood. Great vacations, constant encouragement, life in a safe subdivision, loads of opportunities, and fully supportive parents. Seriously, in the Championship Of Parenting, my husband and I have successfully landed in the top 10%.
Which leads me back around to my first thought -- childhood complaints. I can't help but wonder that when my kids are quizzed by some nosy friend, neighbor or other intrusive freak about their own childhood, what will they say? Since we all have mild to moderate (if we're lucky) complaints about what went down the first 18 years of our lives, what will these kids who share my DNA say? There must be something.....right? How about "My mother loved me too much" or "My dad provided excessive positive reinforcement" or "What, you think it is so great to be told that you are loved a dozen times per day". Maybe it will be like one of those job interviews where you are asked about your weaknesses and you are supposed to present them in such a way that they are actually strengths. "I am too honest" or "I tend to be a perfectionist". Side note: Seriously, do human resources professional actually believe that BS? What do they really think when people say that? Probably that they are hiding some serious personal flaw, like they plan to pilfer the company pens and steal their co-workers ham on rye sandwich from the communal staff fridge.
In one way I can peep into the future on this one. My kids are space nearly ten years apart, so in a few years I can quiz 18 year Brilliant Bradley about his childhood and then still have a few good years to fix whatever I have broken with Perfect Paige. Still, I think we are clean. You know why? Because amazing children make parenting easy.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
We Meet Again
Am I the worst blogger in the world? Well, maybe not. I mean, I am not filling this site with homphobic rants (let's leave that to Tracy Morgan), personal attacks on my exes (so not worth my time) or sappy little odes to my children (okay, I am occasionally guilty of that indulgence). I am a Bad Blogger because I am a neglectful blogger. This was to be a chronicle of my amazing life. It was to an open diary that you can peep into and share my joys with me. And here it sits...neglected, dormant, empty and pitiful for lo these many months. Or has it been years? Scroll down and verify for yourself. What am I, your mother? Pull your own weight on this blog.
I will not bore you via getting caught up on the highs and lows of our life here in suburban Chicago. There has been parenting challenges, marital bliss with a side of toe-to-toe disputes, awesome vacations and dismal health issues. There has been the blossoming of children, extended family, lines of business and personal growth. Oh, yes, we have all been to that Zen place by now -- Scott heads there via Budweiser, Bradley by way of guitar genius, Paige is All Zen All The Time and I achieved spiritual and undying peace by writing. Okay, that is a lie. I get paid to write and I happen to like it. Most of the time. Writing 500 words about how great silk flowers are or 750 words about 3D televisions can be mind-numbing. The dance to the bank? Uber gratifying. Do you enjoy your job 100% of the time? Smiling around the water cooler, skipping to your office, singing as you type, mold, design, fix, or whatever? Nope, me neither.
So enough about me and my neglectful habits. Would it surprise you that I also fail to dilligently floss, haven't cleaned out my freezer since the democrats held the House, and have three Christmas items that have yet to make it to the basement? It seems that you and I are fairly similar, no? Because I neglect so much of my life and control so little of it, I vow here and now to commit to this blog. I want you to come back, I want you to be amused (laugh with me, laugh at me, laugh near me) and I want to get back to writing for me....well, also for those folks that pay the bills as well, but mostly it is all about ME.
I will not bore you via getting caught up on the highs and lows of our life here in suburban Chicago. There has been parenting challenges, marital bliss with a side of toe-to-toe disputes, awesome vacations and dismal health issues. There has been the blossoming of children, extended family, lines of business and personal growth. Oh, yes, we have all been to that Zen place by now -- Scott heads there via Budweiser, Bradley by way of guitar genius, Paige is All Zen All The Time and I achieved spiritual and undying peace by writing. Okay, that is a lie. I get paid to write and I happen to like it. Most of the time. Writing 500 words about how great silk flowers are or 750 words about 3D televisions can be mind-numbing. The dance to the bank? Uber gratifying. Do you enjoy your job 100% of the time? Smiling around the water cooler, skipping to your office, singing as you type, mold, design, fix, or whatever? Nope, me neither.
So enough about me and my neglectful habits. Would it surprise you that I also fail to dilligently floss, haven't cleaned out my freezer since the democrats held the House, and have three Christmas items that have yet to make it to the basement? It seems that you and I are fairly similar, no? Because I neglect so much of my life and control so little of it, I vow here and now to commit to this blog. I want you to come back, I want you to be amused (laugh with me, laugh at me, laugh near me) and I want to get back to writing for me....well, also for those folks that pay the bills as well, but mostly it is all about ME.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Help, I've Fallen And....I'm Pretty Sure I Can Get Up
I have no idea how I came to be in this deep, dark place. My life had been so blessed and I had been seemingly so in control. Now I have drifted into a place that is so murky, so without hope and I feel little control over this demon living within. Yes, I have fallen face first into a bag of Trader Joe’s Kettle Corn and I am clawing my way out.
How did this happen to me? It started so innocently, with a few handfuls of the sweetly salty morsels to accompany a bit of Dr. Phil. Lost in the drama unfolding on television, several more fistfuls are driven into my salivating mouth. Come commercial time, the bag is now 80% gone. I ponder finding a Chip Clip to seal the bag, but who wants the remnants of this disaster? Plus, shame falls around me and I sincerely want all evidence of this completely out of control moment to vanish. Shaking the final bit of delectable dust into my mouth, the bag is quickly crumpled into it’s smallest possible form and shoved deep into the kitchen garbage can.
No control. That is the only way to describe it. This was a ground breaking moment for me and I knew that without control in this corner of my life, I was certain to lose it in other areas as well. Next thing you know the kids will have no clean clothes, the cable will be shut off, the dog will never make it to the groomers and poor Scott will suffer having a fridge barren of Budweiser.
I have been thin all my life. I was the kind of girl that you hated, the one that could eat with abandon and exercise was a foreign term. Yes with these habits, and at 5’7”, I was around 110 through my late teens, 115 in my twenties and 125 in my thirties. I was usually a size 6 or 8, but had occasional size 4 moments when life was particularly hectic. The most I ever weighed was 165 when I was nine months pregnant and retaining gallons of water due to preeclampsia. I still remember the horror of looking at that number in the doctor’s office. The fact that the weight gain was due to a serious medical condition took back seat to concern over that much-too-large number.
Once I hit forty my body changed in ways I never could have imagined, with weight gain being just one component of the roller coaster ride (my very patient husband can fill you in on some of the other peri-menopausal joys). Each year I would pack on five or six mystery pounds, thus forcing me to buy a new wardrobe every season. It was befuddling to me, as I knew that none of my habits had changed. It was just this damn body I was stuck in, one that no longer felt like my own.
I vowed that the Kettle Corn incident would be the last out of control moment of my life. Not only was I increasingly not happy with how I looked, I was not pleased with the way I felt about myself as a person. Grown women should not hand over their power to a bag of snack foods…or chocolate…or cheesecake. Further, what sort of example am I setting for my children?
So this was my break through moment. Yes, it happened very (very!) recently, thus my journey has just begun. The first step of my path was realizing that what I had done historically was not working for me and what I needed was to change direction in my life. I didn’t yet know if that meant Weight Watchers or aerobics or even taping my mouth shut. But, a change was in order and I have now committed myself to a lifestyle change. Won’t you join me, even as a spectator, on this voyage?
How did this happen to me? It started so innocently, with a few handfuls of the sweetly salty morsels to accompany a bit of Dr. Phil. Lost in the drama unfolding on television, several more fistfuls are driven into my salivating mouth. Come commercial time, the bag is now 80% gone. I ponder finding a Chip Clip to seal the bag, but who wants the remnants of this disaster? Plus, shame falls around me and I sincerely want all evidence of this completely out of control moment to vanish. Shaking the final bit of delectable dust into my mouth, the bag is quickly crumpled into it’s smallest possible form and shoved deep into the kitchen garbage can.
No control. That is the only way to describe it. This was a ground breaking moment for me and I knew that without control in this corner of my life, I was certain to lose it in other areas as well. Next thing you know the kids will have no clean clothes, the cable will be shut off, the dog will never make it to the groomers and poor Scott will suffer having a fridge barren of Budweiser.
I have been thin all my life. I was the kind of girl that you hated, the one that could eat with abandon and exercise was a foreign term. Yes with these habits, and at 5’7”, I was around 110 through my late teens, 115 in my twenties and 125 in my thirties. I was usually a size 6 or 8, but had occasional size 4 moments when life was particularly hectic. The most I ever weighed was 165 when I was nine months pregnant and retaining gallons of water due to preeclampsia. I still remember the horror of looking at that number in the doctor’s office. The fact that the weight gain was due to a serious medical condition took back seat to concern over that much-too-large number.
Once I hit forty my body changed in ways I never could have imagined, with weight gain being just one component of the roller coaster ride (my very patient husband can fill you in on some of the other peri-menopausal joys). Each year I would pack on five or six mystery pounds, thus forcing me to buy a new wardrobe every season. It was befuddling to me, as I knew that none of my habits had changed. It was just this damn body I was stuck in, one that no longer felt like my own.
I vowed that the Kettle Corn incident would be the last out of control moment of my life. Not only was I increasingly not happy with how I looked, I was not pleased with the way I felt about myself as a person. Grown women should not hand over their power to a bag of snack foods…or chocolate…or cheesecake. Further, what sort of example am I setting for my children?
So this was my break through moment. Yes, it happened very (very!) recently, thus my journey has just begun. The first step of my path was realizing that what I had done historically was not working for me and what I needed was to change direction in my life. I didn’t yet know if that meant Weight Watchers or aerobics or even taping my mouth shut. But, a change was in order and I have now committed myself to a lifestyle change. Won’t you join me, even as a spectator, on this voyage?
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Jon & Kate Plus 8 = Addictive TV
Last night at 8:00 I coerced my family to huddle ‘round the television with me and watch with great interest the newest episodes of “Jon & Kate Plus 8”. Six year old Paige willingly joined in, but sixteen year old Bradley and 40-something Scott were less than enthusiastic. After a series of my “Didn’t I watch the hockey play-offs?” and “I watched the top 100 heavy metal song show with you!” remarks they complied and sunk deep into their respective chairs. I could feel the glares upon me, but pressed on like any voyeuristic soldier.
I adore this show. Now, more than ever, I am completely enthralled. I started kinda-sorta watching a few years back at it’s inception, intrigued by the magnitude of their family and how they seemed to pull it all together. I think any parent struggling to toilet train one child or coping with one picky eater is interested in how parents of multiples handle dealing with these issues in bulk.
Plus, it was rather amusing the sort of verbal jousting they engaged in and how despite it all they seemed to have genuine affection for each other. Jon’s rolling eyes, Kate’s mocking attitude, their secretive defiance of each other….all so engaging. Oh, and of course those too cute kids. Cute as a button, all eight of them.
So I would watch this reality show now and again if I happened to stumble upon it, hoping to glean a helpful parenting tidbit or two. I learned, for instance, to stop catering to my own Picky Paige and just serve her what we are having for dinner (parents of multiples just don’t have the time or energy to run a Denny’s out of their kitchen). Paige has yet to starve herself, thank goodness, and has even learned to love mushrooms.
Then the drama hit. Allegations of affairs, infighting, separation and painful coexistence were all the talk and suddenly my passive interest in the show rose to a new level and my interest was quite captured. It was like peering into the window of your perfect neighbors and having an All Access Pass to their pain. It isn’t joy or amusement that I feel at watching all of this transpire - more like simply odd curiosity. The first episode of the season last week had record viewership, everyone wanting to see…would they sit together on the couch, would they address the rumors, would they admit to being in a failing marriage?
So we watched. And waited. And mostly was delivered what we expected, leaving little to speculation. By appearances, we are watching the beginning or middle of a dying relationship. It is with sickening fascination that we watch, but we watch all the same. Perhaps to feel better about our own thriving marriage, possibly to feel superior to this Oh-So-Perfect Kate, maybe just to align ourselves to one of the parties. To me it all feels just plain sad. Yet, there I sit with my family insisting that we click over to TLC, compelled to see what is next for this family.
I now find myself also seeking out reruns of “Jon & Kate Plus 8”, hoping to decode old episodes to see if there are clues to what is presently happening. As my husband will tell you, I have a need to overanalyze things and try to get to the genesis of all things troublesome. Oh, yeah ~ Scott is one lucky guy! I would like to think that I am putting my Psych degree to good use.
I know that there is a whole other side to this drama that the cameras will never capture. I know that I would never sign up for this and have my guts on display for all the world to examine. I know that the eight kids are sure to suffer in the midst of all this and certain to harbor some resentment when they are old enough to process this nonsense.
I also know that I will tune in again next week. If the producer’s goal was to hook us helpless viewers with the dangling carrot of a deteriorating marriage…mission accomplished. Ah, we are such suckers.
I adore this show. Now, more than ever, I am completely enthralled. I started kinda-sorta watching a few years back at it’s inception, intrigued by the magnitude of their family and how they seemed to pull it all together. I think any parent struggling to toilet train one child or coping with one picky eater is interested in how parents of multiples handle dealing with these issues in bulk.
Plus, it was rather amusing the sort of verbal jousting they engaged in and how despite it all they seemed to have genuine affection for each other. Jon’s rolling eyes, Kate’s mocking attitude, their secretive defiance of each other….all so engaging. Oh, and of course those too cute kids. Cute as a button, all eight of them.
So I would watch this reality show now and again if I happened to stumble upon it, hoping to glean a helpful parenting tidbit or two. I learned, for instance, to stop catering to my own Picky Paige and just serve her what we are having for dinner (parents of multiples just don’t have the time or energy to run a Denny’s out of their kitchen). Paige has yet to starve herself, thank goodness, and has even learned to love mushrooms.
Then the drama hit. Allegations of affairs, infighting, separation and painful coexistence were all the talk and suddenly my passive interest in the show rose to a new level and my interest was quite captured. It was like peering into the window of your perfect neighbors and having an All Access Pass to their pain. It isn’t joy or amusement that I feel at watching all of this transpire - more like simply odd curiosity. The first episode of the season last week had record viewership, everyone wanting to see…would they sit together on the couch, would they address the rumors, would they admit to being in a failing marriage?
So we watched. And waited. And mostly was delivered what we expected, leaving little to speculation. By appearances, we are watching the beginning or middle of a dying relationship. It is with sickening fascination that we watch, but we watch all the same. Perhaps to feel better about our own thriving marriage, possibly to feel superior to this Oh-So-Perfect Kate, maybe just to align ourselves to one of the parties. To me it all feels just plain sad. Yet, there I sit with my family insisting that we click over to TLC, compelled to see what is next for this family.
I now find myself also seeking out reruns of “Jon & Kate Plus 8”, hoping to decode old episodes to see if there are clues to what is presently happening. As my husband will tell you, I have a need to overanalyze things and try to get to the genesis of all things troublesome. Oh, yeah ~ Scott is one lucky guy! I would like to think that I am putting my Psych degree to good use.
I know that there is a whole other side to this drama that the cameras will never capture. I know that I would never sign up for this and have my guts on display for all the world to examine. I know that the eight kids are sure to suffer in the midst of all this and certain to harbor some resentment when they are old enough to process this nonsense.
I also know that I will tune in again next week. If the producer’s goal was to hook us helpless viewers with the dangling carrot of a deteriorating marriage…mission accomplished. Ah, we are such suckers.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Middle Ground
Whew…I just signed off of a heated political debate via Facebook and I am thoroughly exhausted. It wasn’t so much a debate as it was a unrelenting attack on my liberal positions. I should have known better than to step into conservative territory, but since Paige doesn’t need to be picked up from Kindergarten for a few more hours I had some time to kill. Laundry and freelance writing be damned, I was fully engaged in this.
It all started with a discussion about whether the concept of “middle ground” on political topics exist. This is, of course, in light of President Obama’s recent speech at Notre Dame wherein he encouraged the recent graduates to seek middle ground as it relates to heated political topics.
I am of the mindset that middle ground does exist. My dear debating opponents, it seems, did not. In fact, one threw out the comment, “Middle ground? What is that, like half an abortion?”. Naturally, visions of those propaganda images featuring bloodied partially aborted fetuses flashed through the minds eye of all debate participants and future debate was sullied. Seemed like a fairly low blow, as well as off topic, but I let that one slide. My concept of middle ground as it pertains to abortion was more along the lines of an agreed ban on late term abortions or increasing sex education funding as a way to lessen the current abortion rate. Did anyone hear me? I think not.
The debate got nastier from there and I respectfully bowed out. My opponents may very well have seen that as a sign of weakness or a “Ha! Gotcha! What now, liberal?” moment. For my part, I always have a sense for when a debate is fruitful versus hostile and know when to say when. Self-preservation, my friends, and I am not about to let additional personal attacks ruin an otherwise sunny and productive day.
However, I sincerely resent the diminishing mass of conservatives viewing us liberals as the sadly misguided, poor uninformed, desperately-needing-to-see-the light fools. Most liberals I know have come to their position by educating themselves and engaging in due diligence when it comes to controversial topics. In this case, prayer just isn’t gonna cut it.
Further, most liberals have a real understanding of the positions of conservatives while at the same time vehemently disagreeing and holding their ground. Conservatives, on the other hand, see the opposing viewpoint as simply wrong and the person holding said position just needs to be enlightened. No, thank you. Really…no thank you.
Oh, and the benevolent offers to pray for my soul as well? I’m good. But those children suffering abuse at the hands of their caretakers or soldiers on the front lines in Iraq or angst laden teenagers contemplating suicide? Kindly send your prayers their way.
It all started with a discussion about whether the concept of “middle ground” on political topics exist. This is, of course, in light of President Obama’s recent speech at Notre Dame wherein he encouraged the recent graduates to seek middle ground as it relates to heated political topics.
I am of the mindset that middle ground does exist. My dear debating opponents, it seems, did not. In fact, one threw out the comment, “Middle ground? What is that, like half an abortion?”. Naturally, visions of those propaganda images featuring bloodied partially aborted fetuses flashed through the minds eye of all debate participants and future debate was sullied. Seemed like a fairly low blow, as well as off topic, but I let that one slide. My concept of middle ground as it pertains to abortion was more along the lines of an agreed ban on late term abortions or increasing sex education funding as a way to lessen the current abortion rate. Did anyone hear me? I think not.
The debate got nastier from there and I respectfully bowed out. My opponents may very well have seen that as a sign of weakness or a “Ha! Gotcha! What now, liberal?” moment. For my part, I always have a sense for when a debate is fruitful versus hostile and know when to say when. Self-preservation, my friends, and I am not about to let additional personal attacks ruin an otherwise sunny and productive day.
However, I sincerely resent the diminishing mass of conservatives viewing us liberals as the sadly misguided, poor uninformed, desperately-needing-to-see-the light fools. Most liberals I know have come to their position by educating themselves and engaging in due diligence when it comes to controversial topics. In this case, prayer just isn’t gonna cut it.
Further, most liberals have a real understanding of the positions of conservatives while at the same time vehemently disagreeing and holding their ground. Conservatives, on the other hand, see the opposing viewpoint as simply wrong and the person holding said position just needs to be enlightened. No, thank you. Really…no thank you.
Oh, and the benevolent offers to pray for my soul as well? I’m good. But those children suffering abuse at the hands of their caretakers or soldiers on the front lines in Iraq or angst laden teenagers contemplating suicide? Kindly send your prayers their way.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Believe it ~ You Can Go Home Again
Not long ago I was back in my hometown Arlington Heights, Illinois and, as always, just being there stirred up wonderful memories and feelings. I was there to take my mother-in-law, Audrey, in for a routine colonoscopy and had some time to kill between the drop off and the pick up. I took the opportunity not to do something productive as I usually would, like clean Audrey’s bathrooms or walk her dogs. I decided to be completely indulgent and take my own personal stroll down memory lane. Because I have been best friends with my husband, Scott, since age 12 many of these are memories that we share as a couple, making them all the sweeter.
I started off at Arlington High School, driving on both the Ridge Avenue and Walnut Avenue sides of the campus. I remembered “borrowing” my brother’s white Vega when I was 14 (okay, I stole it while he was hung over) and driving by the school, certain that everyone would see what hot stuff I was. I remembered walking the nearly 1 ½ miles to campus one warm 1980 fall day wearing spike heeled clogs, sure that my feet were bleeding beneath me, but more sure that fashion always took precedence over comfort. I remembered going to the very top bleachers of the Grace Gym and making out with my boyfriend when I should have been on the lower level of the school at lunch. To this day I remember the halls of that school as though I passed through them just yesterday.
My journey through Arlington Heights progressed to downtown, which I just barely recognize anymore. What used to be a sleepy Chicago suburb is now home to soaring condos and chichi bistros. The folks walking the streets downtown are no longer families with 3 or 4 or 5 kids heading to Hagenbrings for new spring clothing, but rather ambitious young professionals and the occasional gay couple. There remains only snippets of my old world, like the Dunton House restaurant or the amazing community library. I paused in front of each grand establishment, allowing the memories to wash over me.
I trekked back to my childhood home on Dunton Avenue and on my way saw where large McMansions have replaced many of the smaller 3 bedroom/2 bath homes. I saw houses where I went to parties and parks where we went to drink Southern Comfort we had swiped from our parent’s basement bar. I saw the elementary school where I threw up in the hallway in 5th grade and just knew my life was over at that moment. I drove by the junior high school where I first met Scott, clearly not knowing then that this skinny, smiling, goofy boy would one day be my beloved life partner. Finally on Dunton Avenue my childhood home looked smaller than I recalled, but the rush of love and nostalgia I felt at simply viewing it was indescribable. I resisted the urge to knock on the door and demand to be let in my home, but still can’t believe someone else has taken up residence in my house.
It was time to head back to Northwest Community Hospital, to retrieve Audrey and settle her back at her home with her two endlessly annoying and still-peeing-in-the-house poodles. Listening to what they now claim is the “oldies” station I made my way back south on Kennicott Avenue, still somewhat lost in 1972 (“Day After Day” by Badfinger”) or perhaps 1977 (“I’m In You” by Peter Frampton), or maybe it was 1981 (“Urgent” by Foreigner). I was all smiles, so giddy with memories that I couldn’t wait to rush back to my own home several suburbs to the west and coerce Scott to join me on this stroll down Memory Lane. Hubby is more of a “look to the future guy” rather than a “focus on the past man“, but we were gonna reminisce damnit!
Then, in the midst of my musing and driving I saw it. Right there, parked in the front of a tidy brick ranch house, was the exact car I learned to drive in. Same color (kind of copper/gold), same model (Caprice Classic) and same year (1978). It was as though the spirits were following me on this journey and simply to amuse themselves they dropped this auto in front of me. I was stunned to the point that I actually stopped my SUV, much to the annoyance of another mammoth SUV driver directly behind me, who promptly gave me the finger. I got chills just looking at this car, sure that it was a mighty sign from above. As I stared, my heart suddenly pounding, I saw it…
AV license plates. AV as in “Antique Vehicle”. AV?! Antique?! It was just yesterday, or maybe 10 years ago, 15 at the most that I learned to drive in that car. Right? Let’s see ~ ~ I am 45 years old and learned to drive at age 16, so that would be…umm….29 years ago. No!! It can’t be. Let me check that again ~ April 2009 minus October 1963 equals 45, minus spring 1979 equals…Antique Vehicle. It was like a cruel slap in the face, this aging vehicle staring back at me with it’s a.m. radio featuring WLS and it’s bench seats so perfect for canoodling on dates. I am snapped back to reality and the joys of routine mammograms and mortgages and child rearing. If I choose to now I can buy my own Southern Comfort and parks are now for swinging not swigging. Shoes are a comfortable necessity in this stage of my life and heels are reserved only for date night. I am the antique and my kids are not likely to dispute that.
Like the 1978 Caprice Classic I would like to think I have aged well. But you know what? With every passing year it matters less and less, because there is just no stopping the passage of time. Botox be damned and time marches forward. Those memories of Arlington Heights, though, are amazingly priceless. And the next time Audrey needs my taxi services the peeing poodles will just have to wait as this jaunt into my precious past has just begun.
I started off at Arlington High School, driving on both the Ridge Avenue and Walnut Avenue sides of the campus. I remembered “borrowing” my brother’s white Vega when I was 14 (okay, I stole it while he was hung over) and driving by the school, certain that everyone would see what hot stuff I was. I remembered walking the nearly 1 ½ miles to campus one warm 1980 fall day wearing spike heeled clogs, sure that my feet were bleeding beneath me, but more sure that fashion always took precedence over comfort. I remembered going to the very top bleachers of the Grace Gym and making out with my boyfriend when I should have been on the lower level of the school at lunch. To this day I remember the halls of that school as though I passed through them just yesterday.
My journey through Arlington Heights progressed to downtown, which I just barely recognize anymore. What used to be a sleepy Chicago suburb is now home to soaring condos and chichi bistros. The folks walking the streets downtown are no longer families with 3 or 4 or 5 kids heading to Hagenbrings for new spring clothing, but rather ambitious young professionals and the occasional gay couple. There remains only snippets of my old world, like the Dunton House restaurant or the amazing community library. I paused in front of each grand establishment, allowing the memories to wash over me.
I trekked back to my childhood home on Dunton Avenue and on my way saw where large McMansions have replaced many of the smaller 3 bedroom/2 bath homes. I saw houses where I went to parties and parks where we went to drink Southern Comfort we had swiped from our parent’s basement bar. I saw the elementary school where I threw up in the hallway in 5th grade and just knew my life was over at that moment. I drove by the junior high school where I first met Scott, clearly not knowing then that this skinny, smiling, goofy boy would one day be my beloved life partner. Finally on Dunton Avenue my childhood home looked smaller than I recalled, but the rush of love and nostalgia I felt at simply viewing it was indescribable. I resisted the urge to knock on the door and demand to be let in my home, but still can’t believe someone else has taken up residence in my house.
It was time to head back to Northwest Community Hospital, to retrieve Audrey and settle her back at her home with her two endlessly annoying and still-peeing-in-the-house poodles. Listening to what they now claim is the “oldies” station I made my way back south on Kennicott Avenue, still somewhat lost in 1972 (“Day After Day” by Badfinger”) or perhaps 1977 (“I’m In You” by Peter Frampton), or maybe it was 1981 (“Urgent” by Foreigner). I was all smiles, so giddy with memories that I couldn’t wait to rush back to my own home several suburbs to the west and coerce Scott to join me on this stroll down Memory Lane. Hubby is more of a “look to the future guy” rather than a “focus on the past man“, but we were gonna reminisce damnit!
Then, in the midst of my musing and driving I saw it. Right there, parked in the front of a tidy brick ranch house, was the exact car I learned to drive in. Same color (kind of copper/gold), same model (Caprice Classic) and same year (1978). It was as though the spirits were following me on this journey and simply to amuse themselves they dropped this auto in front of me. I was stunned to the point that I actually stopped my SUV, much to the annoyance of another mammoth SUV driver directly behind me, who promptly gave me the finger. I got chills just looking at this car, sure that it was a mighty sign from above. As I stared, my heart suddenly pounding, I saw it…
AV license plates. AV as in “Antique Vehicle”. AV?! Antique?! It was just yesterday, or maybe 10 years ago, 15 at the most that I learned to drive in that car. Right? Let’s see ~ ~ I am 45 years old and learned to drive at age 16, so that would be…umm….29 years ago. No!! It can’t be. Let me check that again ~ April 2009 minus October 1963 equals 45, minus spring 1979 equals…Antique Vehicle. It was like a cruel slap in the face, this aging vehicle staring back at me with it’s a.m. radio featuring WLS and it’s bench seats so perfect for canoodling on dates. I am snapped back to reality and the joys of routine mammograms and mortgages and child rearing. If I choose to now I can buy my own Southern Comfort and parks are now for swinging not swigging. Shoes are a comfortable necessity in this stage of my life and heels are reserved only for date night. I am the antique and my kids are not likely to dispute that.
Like the 1978 Caprice Classic I would like to think I have aged well. But you know what? With every passing year it matters less and less, because there is just no stopping the passage of time. Botox be damned and time marches forward. Those memories of Arlington Heights, though, are amazingly priceless. And the next time Audrey needs my taxi services the peeing poodles will just have to wait as this jaunt into my precious past has just begun.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Clipping Coupons Sucks...Or Does It?
Okay, Family, let’s economize! Come on, it will be fun ~ ~ BIG fun! I can practically hear the whoops, whistles & cheers.
I’ll admit, that’s not exactly how it all went down around here on Canyon Lane when I lost my job last May. There were tears (mine), concerned portfolio review (Scott) and general whining (kids). Since that moment 10 months ago we have sincerely rallied ’round and are making things really work. Our new life is different from our old life, but it is not inferior. Just….different. And as a courtesy to all of you, I am willing to let loose with some of our family secrets and hope that they will be of benefit to your own little world.
JUST WAIT
No, not as in “just wait ‘til your father gets home” or “just wait ‘til you have kids of your own” (not that those phrases never hit the walls of our home). More like, just wait to get your hair cut. Just wait to see that first run movie. Just wait until something goes on sale. Just wait to buy a new car. Several months ago we found ourselves just too busy to get the dog groomed and so we bathed and brushed her ourselves. It was no big deal and actually quite fun for the kids. Lightbulb!! If each of us (dog included) skipped just two hair cuts per year (waiting 2 months between cuts rather that our usual 6 weeks) we would save $300 in a year. Of course, this was an easy sell to our 16 year old budding rock star, Bradley, whose current mission is to cultivate a Peter Frampton-ish (circa 1976, of course) blond mane. Still, $300 is serious cash! Wait once a month until that first run movie hits HBO? Save another $600 per year! I’m liking this.
CUT BACK, DON’T CUT OUT
One of our special treats each weekend was for Scott & I to take Paige out for a big breakfast each Saturday after her gymnastics class. The tab wasn’t huge ($35 or so), but we decided to review this practice all the same. Our new tradition is to go out for breakfast only once per month and on the other Saturdays we hit this local donut shop that makes amazing homemade donuts that run us only $6.00 per dozen. This shift has resulted in a savings of about $1,000 over the course of the year. Again…liking this!
KEEP WHAT IS IMPORTANT
There are certain areas of spending that we have opted just not to touch, for various and personal reasons. For instance, Paige’s gymnastics and ballet classes. The joy and personal development that she realizes from these classes is well worth the cost. We will not, however, be adding any additional activities to her schedule and will limit her to just two for the near future. We also hold great value to travel and have not yet given up our one big vacation of the year. We do keep to a schedule and a budget, and the kids had an amazing time at Mount Rushmore this past summer. We have also maintained Date Night. Oh, and Scott’s Budweiser supply is not to be toyed with (or as he calls it “12 full ounces of cool, refreshing marital therapy”….he is kidding, right?).
PAY ATTENTION
Look around you and you can literally see your home eating up electricity and, thus, your hard earned dollars. Pay attention to what is going on around you and make changes where you can, such as:
--Open the dishwasher before the drying cycle begins & allow the dishes to air dry
--Turn off lights (duh)
--Don’t dry your clothes in the dryer until they are crackling with static, but rather take them out just a smidge short of full on dry
--Use your slow cooker rather than your oven
--Train the kids to take shorter showers (no kidding, Kayla once took a one hour shower)
Adjustments like this can save you about $800 per year or more.
GROW UP & PAY UP
Allow the older kids to pitch in for what they want. I say “allow” rather than “make” because I think you are giving children a great gift when you give them tools to help themselves and they can feel the supreme thrill of self-sufficiency. Want a new cell phone? Help pay the bill. Want a $75 pair of shoes, rather than the $35 ones I have selected? Then you can pay the $40 difference. I have watched in awe as the kids take great care with items that they have helped to purchase, while the stuff I buy gets tossed to the floor, stepped on & abused.
SPEAK UP
Now more than ever, there is no shame in watching carefully where your money goes. Talk to your friends and family, share your stories, and work together to weather this storm. Every week for the past several months someone I know has lost their job. This is absolutely not an exaggeration. Some of these people are near & dear to me (my brother) and some are simply casual or online acquaintances. Know what I have noticed across the board? No one panics. No one freaks out. No one loses their temper. Every one of these people seems to have almost made peace with their unemployment before it even happened. There are honest, forthright, and engaging conversations that have ensued. “If you know anyone looking for a Financial Analyst, give them my number”, “Do you know how to file for Unemployment?”, “Should I put this volunteer job on my resume?”, “I am feeling good today, thanks for listening” and “This may just be the best thing that ever happened to me”. Conversations you never would have dreamed of having ten years ago, such as concern about paying the bills, are as common now as nonsensical small talk about Brittany Spears or the newest Starbucks delight. I find this new and honest atmosphere so refreshing, don’t you?
Ya know, the tide will turn. I am sure of it. I think we have been too spoiled for too long and this is now the end of the road. Look at the blessings in your life and build from there. More importantly, know that you are not alone. And never will be.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Date Night Revisited
So, the Economic Recovery House Meeting/Scott + Sue Date Night of two weeks ago (yeah…so on top of this blog) was amazing.
The meeting was held in Batavia, Illinois on the second floor of an older, riverfront tavern. This wasn’t the closest meeting to us, geographically speaking, but it certainly posed the most intriguing invitation (read: alcohol was served). There was a relaxed, yet energizing mood pulsating about the room. The first order of business was a round of introductions. About 25 of us took a shot at standing in front of the mini-crowd and explaining what has brought us to the meeting. Most spoke out of fear ~ “I haven’t opened my 401K statement since last year”. “What if I can’t find a job when I graduate?”, “Business has been so slow lately”, “What are we leaving for my grandchildren?”, and more. The room contained more women than men and the average age was about 55. I guess I was expecting a younger crowd, but frankly I was just happy to see so many warm and welcoming faces. At my turn I spoke about how I was there for selfish reasons -- that so much of what is happening lately is hitting much too close to home, as my husband is self-employed, I am now unemployed, we have college-bound teenagers (plus a kindergartener) and we carry our own health insurance….quite the cocktail for economic uncertainty. Diane, a substitute teacher married to an accountant, whispered to me, “You know, years ago we just never spoke about these things! Finances were private and even if you weren’t faring well you kept it to yourself. That is all changing.”. So true, Diane.
After the round of introductions we were treated to two videos: one by President Barack Obama and one by Governor Tim Kaine. Both were inspiring, thought provoking and informative. Still, many more questions remain unanswered such as when will this crisis pass, what can we do individually to help and what does the proposed stimulus package mean to us?
Following the two videos we broke out into smaller groups of about 6 each and were instructed to discuss individual topics (e.g., the environment, Wall Street, health care) and come up with a plan as to how to help the Democratic Party (and, in turn, the community and nation as a whole). Our little group performed miserably with our assignment….D- for us. Honestly, we didn’t have any answers. At some point I wanted to holler over to the moderator, “Hey! If Washington does not have a clear path what makes you think we do?”. Alas, I did not and we moved on to chatting about what an arrogant ass Rush Limbaugh is or how anyone can take Ann Coulter seriously. It was great fun to be surrounded by like-minded folks who were as desperate for answers as we were.
While this non-traditional date night was fun for both Scott and I (dinner later at California Pizza Kitchen was lovely as well), it left us searching for more. We are unwilling to wait for this Economic Stimulus package to step in like a virtual super-hero & save all of us financially. We, like our cohorts at the tavern, want to know what we as individuals can do to get this all back on track. Do we shop local vendors? Do we rearrange our investment portfolio? Do we donate more to the local food pantry? What what what?!?!
We still have no answers and, as of today, no stimulus package ready to swoop in to save us all. If you have answers, kindly share with the rest of the class. Until then, we will anxiously await the next meeting (if we get invited again, refer to the aforementioned failed group project) and I will then share with you.
I promise ~ ~ the next blog will be so much more cheerful…even if I have to bore you with stories about my kids, dog & husband!
The meeting was held in Batavia, Illinois on the second floor of an older, riverfront tavern. This wasn’t the closest meeting to us, geographically speaking, but it certainly posed the most intriguing invitation (read: alcohol was served). There was a relaxed, yet energizing mood pulsating about the room. The first order of business was a round of introductions. About 25 of us took a shot at standing in front of the mini-crowd and explaining what has brought us to the meeting. Most spoke out of fear ~ “I haven’t opened my 401K statement since last year”. “What if I can’t find a job when I graduate?”, “Business has been so slow lately”, “What are we leaving for my grandchildren?”, and more. The room contained more women than men and the average age was about 55. I guess I was expecting a younger crowd, but frankly I was just happy to see so many warm and welcoming faces. At my turn I spoke about how I was there for selfish reasons -- that so much of what is happening lately is hitting much too close to home, as my husband is self-employed, I am now unemployed, we have college-bound teenagers (plus a kindergartener) and we carry our own health insurance….quite the cocktail for economic uncertainty. Diane, a substitute teacher married to an accountant, whispered to me, “You know, years ago we just never spoke about these things! Finances were private and even if you weren’t faring well you kept it to yourself. That is all changing.”. So true, Diane.
After the round of introductions we were treated to two videos: one by President Barack Obama and one by Governor Tim Kaine. Both were inspiring, thought provoking and informative. Still, many more questions remain unanswered such as when will this crisis pass, what can we do individually to help and what does the proposed stimulus package mean to us?
Following the two videos we broke out into smaller groups of about 6 each and were instructed to discuss individual topics (e.g., the environment, Wall Street, health care) and come up with a plan as to how to help the Democratic Party (and, in turn, the community and nation as a whole). Our little group performed miserably with our assignment….D- for us. Honestly, we didn’t have any answers. At some point I wanted to holler over to the moderator, “Hey! If Washington does not have a clear path what makes you think we do?”. Alas, I did not and we moved on to chatting about what an arrogant ass Rush Limbaugh is or how anyone can take Ann Coulter seriously. It was great fun to be surrounded by like-minded folks who were as desperate for answers as we were.
While this non-traditional date night was fun for both Scott and I (dinner later at California Pizza Kitchen was lovely as well), it left us searching for more. We are unwilling to wait for this Economic Stimulus package to step in like a virtual super-hero & save all of us financially. We, like our cohorts at the tavern, want to know what we as individuals can do to get this all back on track. Do we shop local vendors? Do we rearrange our investment portfolio? Do we donate more to the local food pantry? What what what?!?!
We still have no answers and, as of today, no stimulus package ready to swoop in to save us all. If you have answers, kindly share with the rest of the class. Until then, we will anxiously await the next meeting (if we get invited again, refer to the aforementioned failed group project) and I will then share with you.
I promise ~ ~ the next blog will be so much more cheerful…even if I have to bore you with stories about my kids, dog & husband!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Date Night
In a non-stop effort to Keep The Love Alive in our marriage, Scott and I take special pains to make sure that we have date night every few weeks or so. Sure, we usually end up talking about the kids or the business or other topics that marriage experts claim should be verboten during these romantic interludes, but that is just what our lives are all about these days. And frankly, just being out of the house and having dinner without hostile teenagers or a six year old diva who will melt at the very thought of Chez Restaurant not having pink crayons (Blue! Brown! An outrage -- Garcon, some assistance please!) is treat enough for the two of us. A little lingering, some hand holding, sharing a decadent dessert…..we live for these brief moments.
So this Friday will be date night once again for the two of us. Can I hear an AMEN?! This week, though, we are trying something different. No elegant restaurant, no R rated movie, no stroll through the park. This Friday we are going to….drum roll, please…to an “Economic Recovery House Meeting” as brought to us by the fine people at www.mybarackobama.com. I can not tell you how sincerely we are both looking forward to getting out, stretching our brains and really networking with other intellectuals (perhaps pseudo-intellectuals -- I‘ll let you know!). As the invitation email states, it is time for all us to all step up and do our part to turn around the economic situation in this country. We can not sit idly by and pray that our elected officials put into place what they so vehemently promised to us just a few short months ago. Now is the time to not only hold their collective feet to the fire, but also time that we become champions and activists for our own best interests. For the moment, and at least until we attend the meeting in two days, I am not 100% certain how that will play out in our day-to-day lives. What I can tell you with certainty, though, is that both Scott & I are no longer willing to simply be passengers on this train and now insist on being part of the solution.
Yes, this will be a completely different sort of date night for us. Somehow, though, I feel as though this sort of rallying spirit will make our marriage stronger. There is something magical when you are married about putting your collective heads together and share a common vision. It could be a financial vision, a religious purpose, a parenting choice or something much more complex. Doing so reminds you why you married this person and reassures you that you are never going it alone. Sometimes these visions are intrinsically the same and sometimes they merge through the process of negotiation and time.
Seriously, I don’t know what I would have done had I fallen in love with a Republican. Or worse still…and I shudder at this thought…someone apathetic.
To date night!!! {insert wine glasses clinking & Sinatra music}
So this Friday will be date night once again for the two of us. Can I hear an AMEN?! This week, though, we are trying something different. No elegant restaurant, no R rated movie, no stroll through the park. This Friday we are going to….drum roll, please…to an “Economic Recovery House Meeting” as brought to us by the fine people at www.mybarackobama.com. I can not tell you how sincerely we are both looking forward to getting out, stretching our brains and really networking with other intellectuals (perhaps pseudo-intellectuals -- I‘ll let you know!). As the invitation email states, it is time for all us to all step up and do our part to turn around the economic situation in this country. We can not sit idly by and pray that our elected officials put into place what they so vehemently promised to us just a few short months ago. Now is the time to not only hold their collective feet to the fire, but also time that we become champions and activists for our own best interests. For the moment, and at least until we attend the meeting in two days, I am not 100% certain how that will play out in our day-to-day lives. What I can tell you with certainty, though, is that both Scott & I are no longer willing to simply be passengers on this train and now insist on being part of the solution.
Yes, this will be a completely different sort of date night for us. Somehow, though, I feel as though this sort of rallying spirit will make our marriage stronger. There is something magical when you are married about putting your collective heads together and share a common vision. It could be a financial vision, a religious purpose, a parenting choice or something much more complex. Doing so reminds you why you married this person and reassures you that you are never going it alone. Sometimes these visions are intrinsically the same and sometimes they merge through the process of negotiation and time.
Seriously, I don’t know what I would have done had I fallen in love with a Republican. Or worse still…and I shudder at this thought…someone apathetic.
To date night!!! {insert wine glasses clinking & Sinatra music}
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