Wednesday, June 15, 2016

14 Things I Learned from the Elementary and Middle School Years

I am the mother of a high school graduate.Woo hoo! You'll be shocked to learn that I did not weep during Ian's commemoration or graduation last week. I have this weird ability to stay relatively chill during experiences that make unemotional people cry. It's silly stuff like the sunrise that get me choked up.

I have heard from many people one person that I did a good job of raising my son, and therefore I figured I should share my wisdom so others can benefit.  I have broken the marketing/ communication rule that says you should never write from the negative perspective, but given my glass half empty tendencies, I've decided to do just that. Here are two lists of what not to do during both the elementary and middle school years.

Soon, I'll write specifically about senior year. It's deserving of its own post.

See what happens to moms who volunteer? It's not easy being green.

  1. Don’t put pressure on yourself to be elementary school super mom. You don’t need to be the homeroom parent. You don’t need to make food for class parties. You don’t need to lead craft activities. As my daughter would say, “You do you.” In my case, that meant donating bottled water. Or cash. 
  2. Don’t put pressure on yourself to be a super mom at home. You don’t need to make meals. You don’t need to bake cookies. You don’t need to decorate the windows and door for holidays. You don’t need to visit Pintrest or read Better Homes & Gardens. In fact, delete the “need to” and simply DON’T do either of those things. Trust me, you’ll be happier. 
  3. Don’t put pressure on yourself to be an at-home mom. Been there. Hated it. Cried a lot. I was a much better mom the minute I took a job and left the house.
  4. Don’t help your kids with their homework. Trust me, after 1st grade you won’t know how to do it anyway, and by telling your kids you can’t do it in those early years, you’ll get out of helping in the future.
  5. Don’t drink too much in front of the kids, or else they’ll draw pictures and write short stories about how much mommy likes wine. 
  6. If you’re not comfortable with being public school enemy No. 1, don’t write a note to the principal questioning the appropriateness of wasting spending a month preparing for an extravaganza that involves less than 10% of the class. This will only lead to your child’s teacher never speaking to you again, and may actually sound the death knell for said event.  
  7. Don’t let your child quit a sport or a musical instrument without first having them sign a legal document absolving you of any wrongdoing when they change their mind five years later and it’s now too late to make the varsity team or first chair in the orchestra.


  1. Don’t drink alcohol or eat poorly in front of the kids. Their teachers are brainwashing them to believe one bottle glass of wine, and a bag handful of chips mean you’re a bad parent. 
  2. Don’t get involved in your child’s every issue. And if your child is having issues with a friend (and they will, guaranteed), don’t involve the friend’s parents. They’ll think you need to chill the f out. 
  3. Don’t panic when you hear your child has a significant other. This only means they’re holding hands while walking around the school track at lunchtime. They aren’t actually speaking to one another. That doesn’t happen until marriage, and for some, not even then.
  4. Don’t waste money on an actual bouquet for your son’s middle school dance date(s).  Pick up a Trader Joe’s flower bunch for $5, cut the stems short and tie a ribbon around them. Voila. 
  5. Don’t assume your child needs therapy. They might, but they might also just be a middle school age kid. That explains nearly everything. 
  6. Give up trying to find shorts that actually cover your daughter's tush. They don't exist.
  7. Sing loudly when you have your child’s friends in the car. Part of your job as a parent is to embarrass them and you want to stay consistent in this regard. Breaking into song at the hair salon is also good, as is chaperoning a school dance. And if you really want to leave a mark, shout, "I love you!" out the car window when dropping them off at school. They appreciate that.

Next up: What I learned about Senior Year.  Stay tuned!

Monday, June 6, 2016

On a Scale from 1 to 10

It was Friday evening when this email showed up in my inbox:
It's okay to rate them if they're famous.

Dear Parent of the Class of 2019:

Last evening I was made aware of a posting on a googledocs spreadsheet being circulated among students in the ninth grade.  The author(s) of the spreadsheet have rated and ranked members of the freshman class in a manner that objectifies female students and may be viewed as a form of sexual harassment.

I have interviewed several students today in an attempt to determine the source of the posting and to do what I can to insure that that list does not exist on school district computers and is not continuing to be spread over technology for which we bear responsibility.  Our investigation leads us to believe the list appears on student phones, and not on district computers, and so we will need the help of parents to eradicate the list from the possession of students.

I have also referred the matter to the Nether Providence Police Department as a case involving possible sexual harassment.  Given that we cannot determine the source of the list, we are unable to issue school discipline in this matter at this point.  If we do identify the source, consequences would fall under our harassment policy, including police notification, school suspension, and parent notification.

Any parent with information regarding the list is asked to contact me via email or phone at your earliest convenience.  All parents are asked to speak with your student about the damaging personal consequences of misuse of social media and technology, the proper and respectful treatment of young females, and the potential legal consequences for those who engage in this type of behavior.

Thank you.

MaryJo Yannacone, Ed.D.

As the mother of a 9th grade girl, I had a number of reactions to this news:
  1. Huh. Interesting.
  2. Involving police and harassment charges seems a bit extreme.
  3. Those boys are in a heap of shit.
  4. I wonder how Abby did.
  5. I better burn my 8th grade yearbook in which I "starred" the cute guys. If that gets out, I'll never be able to run for political office.
Frankly, that's about as much thought as I gave to the matter. Until the doorbell rang.

"Mom, apparently, one of the boys who made the list is going house to house to apologize to the girls. So if the doorbell rings..."

It rang, and there stood a tall, classically awkward teenage boy with his mom. He confessed to being one of the boys responsible and apologized for what he'd done. His mom noted that many lessons had been learned. When they left, Abby said, "I actually feel bad for him." And Brooke and Ian, who'd answered the door and then listened in from the kitchen, called it one of the most awkward things they'd ever experienced. I give the boy's mom two thumbs way up for handling it the way she did. All you hear of are parents who do everything they can to keep their kids from having to take responsibility for their actions, and here was this guy, facing 50 female classmates (they ranked the top 50) with his mom at his side. Bravo, mom. Bravo. I'd say the punishment fit the crime, but will the school agree? 

Based on the principal's letter, school suspension, police involvement and sexual harassment charges may be forthcoming. And, despite being the mom of a girl on the list (who was significantly under-ranked, by the way), I want to say, "Isn't that going a bit too far?"

Let's face it, we are hardwired to find each other attractive. It's what keeps the species alive. And males and females have been making these kinds of lists for decades, probably centuries. Somewhere I imagine there's a cave drawing with stick figures of various women ranked in order of attractiveness, hunter/gatherer ability, fertility, dinosaur escape skills, and fire making know-how. And I wasn't kidding about my yearbook. It may not have been 8th grade, but at some point I definitely placed stars next to the boys I thought were cute. I may have even given them scores. If a teen girl did that today and her yearbook was passed around and she was caught, would she risk the same punishment as these boys? Knowing our school district, she very likely would, which makes me sigh and shake my head a bit.

I get it, really, I do. For centuries women have been treated as nothing more than objects in a male-dominated society. It's cost us in innumerable ways--emotionally, mentally, physically, professionally, financially. And because we can't allow women to continue to be undervalued, there have to be repercussions for this type of behavior. But somewhere in this mistake lies one hell of a learning experience that I believe can be achieved without the involvement of our criminal justice system.

Yes, the behavior was wrong. It was wrong to come up with a list of categories on which to rate a grade's worth of 15 year-old girls. It was wrong to put the list online and make it available for input. It was wrong to hurt these girls by deciding their worth in physical terms. But, it is forgivable. And a boy who takes the time to apologize to each and every girl on this list deserves to be forgiven. Lesson learned. Let's leave it at that.

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

The Lobster's Look at Relationships

"If this had been our first date, it would have also been our last," said my friend Johanna. 
Fair enough. You'd think that starting Memorial Day weekend with the lobster would have been a good idea, but it turned into a simply bizarre experience that felt considerably longer than its actual two hours. All either of us could say afterward was "What the hell?" There might have been a "WTF" thrown in there, too. Interestingly, however, as the days have passed, I've spent more time thinking about the lobster and trying to get to the root of its message.

If you haven't heard of The Lobster, allow me to provide a quick summary before diving in for a closer look (diving for lobster, get it?).

In The Lobster, the surprisingly versatile Colin Farrell, best known for so-so action adventure flicks before hitting a home run in In Bruges, plays David, a guy whose wife has fallen in love with someone else. Within moments of having his heart broken, we see him being escorted away by two guys dressed like waiters at a fine restaurant. They're there to take him to a Catskills-like hotel where he'll have 45 days to fall in love with one of the other guests. If it doesn't work out, he'll be turned into the animal of his choice. His brother, a dog, accompanies him. David decides he'd like to be a lobster because they live 100-years, are blue-blooded like aristocrats, and are extremely fertile.

Varying wildly between laugh-out loud absurdity and grim, disturbing and painful implications, The Lobster makes a harsh statement about the sins of being alone in our society. On his first night at the hotel, for example, David has one hand handcuffed behind his back. A reminder that we are not complete without another. Throughout his stay, scenes are performed for the guests that drive home the inherent dangers of being alone. Eating without a partner leads to choking to death. A woman walking without a man is raped.

The Lobster also comments on the differentiators that draw us to one another.
The ability to fall in love and get married may hinge on nothing more than a similar proclivity for nosebleeds, or the same physical defects, such as a limp or shortsightedness. Then there's the "survival of the fittest" aspect that comes into play with regular hunts in which the single guests are given a stun gun with which to take out the competition. For each fellow guest you put down, you're given an extra day in which to find love.

In another slap to society's face, we're rudely reminded how many of us will pretend to be someone we're not just to avoid being alone. Choosing to take up with a cruel woman, David plays the part of someone equally heartless until the illusion is shattered in one of the movie's most disturbing scenes (I won't spoil it for you in case you plan on seeing the film).

Meeting someone who's only a day away from becoming her animal of choice, we learn that, on that last day, guests are permitted to do anything they want. It is strongly suggested, however, that they don't choose a walk in the fields or having sex since those are things you can do as an animal. Yes, The Lobster is about as subtle as dropping an anvil on the head.

And did I mention that if one of the hotel's lucky new couples begins to fight or have issues they throw a child into the mix since that usually takes some of the attention away from the problem? No commentary being made there.

Now, lest the audience think that all of society believes in the necessity of love and partnerships, The Lobster introduces the loners. When David decides to flee from this dystopian nightmare, he takes off into the woods where he meets a counterculture group of individuals who refuse to play by society's rules. But rather than offering a humane, enlightened view of human relationships, the loners have equally morbid and disturbing rules of their own. Conversations with other loners are permitted, but anyone caught flirting or falling in love may have their lips slashed or tongues cut out. Seriously, this movie is not for the faint of heart.

Without giving away the ending, which frankly, I'm not entirely sure I understand, I will say that David meets someone. And that shortsightedness plays a role, both literally and figuratively.

The Lobster is one of those rare movies that I can neither recommend nor tell you to avoid at all costs. While I wasn't particularly happy to have spent the first couple hours of my Memorial Day weekend watching this absurd/painful commentary, I must say it's certainly stuck with me and that it continues to offer revelations and insights that are worth pondering. If nothing else, I would encourage you to see it so I have someone else to ponder it with me.

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Monetary Maneuverings Lead to Savvy Savings!

My dad and I have a lot in common. The good (strong work ethic) and the bad (serious funkapotomus issues). Recently I have channeled my inner Walt in the frugality department, and while some of you might think being cheap thrifty is a bad trait, I’m feeling pretty damn proud of myself for my monetary maneuverings. After you read of my recent conquests you too might see my frugality as a strength.

I’ve always shown tendencies toward tightfistedness conservative spending. For example, I’m one of those people who takes the gardener’s catalog 100% guaranteed plants promise seriously. I received more than a dozen free new goodies to start my garden with this spring. I’m a big fan of Groupon and Living Social for airport parking, park admission, and movie theaters, and I search coupon websites for every new online retailer I consider doing business with. There’s almost always a discount or free shipping offer to be had. Finally, I only buy clothes on sale and I’m flummoxed (a word I’ve always wanted to use) as to why anyone would pay full price. While those are all general examples, I have been on a particularly hot streak of late.

It all started with a Midas coupon for a free oil change that led to four new tires. I knew I needed tires, but I certainly didn’t want to pay Midas prices. So when my guy told me the price, I just happened to be sitting at the computer and was able to tell him how much they really cost. He said he’d call me back. He did, and he met the lower price. Rather than immediately moving forward with the work, I pressed my luck and told him, “Throw in a pair of windshield wipers, installed, and you’ve got a deal.” He said he’d ask his manager. Deal done.

Then there was the Sear's charge for $58.27 for a replacement filter for a refrigerator we don’t own. To be fair we did own it for the day or two it took to be delivered, at which point we found we couldn’t get it through the kitchen doorway. Anyway, when we bought the fridge we signed up for automatic filter replacements and never thought to cancel that service. When the filter arrived in my mailbox a couple weeks ago, I wrote on it “Return to sender” and stuck it back in the mailbox. Then the credit card bill arrived.

I called Sear's and was told that the part had been shipped to me FedEx, and without a tracking number, I had no proof that I had actually returned it. I explained that I assumed it was sent by U.S. Mail (given its arrival in the mailbox) and so that’s how I returned it. “Well we haven’t received it ma’am. Maybe give it more time?" I called again a week later. Still no part, but they’d look for it. And I was to trust that they would really look for it, just like I was asking them to trust that I’d really returned it. We were playing the trust game.

I wrote a letter. It was a very good letter. I referenced my loyalty as a Sear's customer. A day after I mailed the letter (hence, before they could have received it), I had an email from Sear's letting me know the $58.27 was coming off my bill. Nice.

Just today I enjoyed a $50 savings on an American Airlines flight I’m taking to California in early July. Why? Because several months ago I found a cheaper price on one of those travel websites when a booking flight for Ian. Despite the rigmarole involved with proving the difference, I persevered and not only secured the cheaper price directly from the airline, but was also given a code for $50 off my next flight. Sweet, right?

And then there was my dad’s Rusty Wallace 8-lap race car driving experience scheduled for this Saturday. I had found the offer on Groupon and given it to him for Christmas. Unfortunately, just last week my dad was diagnosed with degenerative back disease and he's in serious pain. This is not the time one wants to speed around a race track at 200 miles an hour. A phone call to Rusty’s people, a phone call to dad’s doctor, and a live chat with Groupon and I have my money back. Well sorta. I have Groupon bucks waiting for me.

I’m telling you all this for three reasons:

  1. Because I haven't had anything else to write about in a long time,
  2. So you’ll think I’m really awesome, and 
  3. To show you that it takes fairly little effort to save some serious dough. 
When I summarized my savings savvy for Rob, I suggested he reward me with a shore house. Unfortunately, it looks like I haven't saved quite enough for a down payment YET. Just give me a little more time…

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

I Can Be Vanna!

I’m not the best barometer for sexism, probably because I have a number of shortcomings as a feminist. For example, I don’t have a problem with being “appreciated” for my physical features. This is partly due to the fact that, being in my mid-40s, I’ll take any compliment I can get, and also because, in the past, before I was married, I was known to acknowledge attractive male specimens.

So, if there’s a scale for feminism, with 1 being “you are an embarrassment to your gender” and 10 being “I refuse to even acknowledge that men and women have different body parts,” I’m a solid 5, or maybe a 6. My feminist beliefs include:

  • Equal pay for equal work.
  • Equal opportunities.*
  • Equal respect and consideration. 
  • All women should have the choice to do with their lives and bodies what they please.
  • Mom doesn’t stay home and raise the kids because she’s the woman. If she stays home and raises the kids, it’s because she wants to. 
  • Women around the world shouldn't be abused, bought and sold, subject to genital mutilation, or worse. Of course, no human being should be victimized in such unspeakable ways.
  • History needs to acknowledge the contributions of women.
  • Every woman is beautiful, and Barbie dolls shouldn’t be the standard we aspire to.
  • No little girl should be told that she can’t do something "because she is just a girl."

Frankly, I would hope all women agree with those points.

On the other hand, I have some feelings that radical feminists (a broad term for which not all of these apply) might be displeased with, including:

  • *Equal opportunity based on qualifications—don’t give me a job just because I’m a woman and you have to meet your quota (particularly true in the STEM fields). Give me a job because I deserve it. 
  • A man complimenting you on your appearance is not despicable (unless he’s creepy and leering at you lasciviously; and/or he’s your boss or coworker and he acknowledges your legs and not your job performance).
  • You can’t hate men for being men. 
  • You can wear skirts and dresses and still believe in women’s rights.
  • I’m not offended when God is referred to as “He.” 
  • Women are no more superior to men then men are to women.
  • Giving little girls dolls and dressing them in pink is not anti-feminist, as long as we’re also giving them Lincoln Logs and letting them wear whatever they want to when they’re old enough to dress themselves.

The point of all this is to say that I’m not one to quickly cry sexism at every perceived gender slight; therefore, when I say I was recently the victim of sexist behavior, I mean it.

Last week I attended a creativity and innovation workshop in which we formed teams and had to come up with a product or service, create a logo and prototype, and ultimately present to the rest of the group in a one-minute elevator pitch. I should add that I was one of only 3 women in a room filled with men, and the only woman on my team.

Appropriately, the category is "Around the House"
When it came time to present our idea—which I had proposed in the first place—one of my teammates strongly suggested, more than once, that I should be part of the presentation because “you’re a woman in a room full of men and you’ll get their attention.” To add insult to injury he then said, “You can be Vanna.”

Whew. For a minute there I thought he was going to actually encourage me to speak. Thankfully all he wanted was for me to hold the poster board and smile.

I’ve been asked how I reacted to this Neanderthal (who was in his 50s), and I’m ashamed to say I responded with nothing more than a “Ha.” Yes, I blew it. After the fact I thought of a number of appropriate comebacks, including:

  • Too bad I didn’t wear my stilettos and a shorter skirt today. 
  • After I play Vanna, can I get you a cool beverage and fawn over you?
  • What decade is this? 
  • No wonder more women don’t go into STEM careers if it’s filled with assholes like you. 

Women, I’d love to hear of your encounters with sexism, and men, I’d be interested to know if you think I’m overreacting, or if the guy really blew it. I should add that I don’t think he meant to offend; the problem is that he didn’t “think,” period. And that behavior is so ingrained in some men that they don’t even recognize that it’s wrong.

Share your stories, and suggest even better comebacks so if when it happens again, I won’t let the guy off the hook so easily.

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Chin Up: A Change is Coming!

It's been three days since Villanova's big win in the NCAA Basketball Championship. I watched most of the games this season and while I still can't figure out what qualifies as a foul and when it earns a foul shot or just possession, I'm really starting to enjoy the sport. Especially when they're nail biters, which seems to be the rule rather than the exception. Although to be fair, I bite my nails a lot, regardless of the situation.

I bring up the basketball game for two reasons:
  1. It provided me with a day off (and another one tomorrow!) and the opportunity to write a well-overdue blog post.
  2. Ian told us before the Oklahoma game that he would enroll at Villanova if they won the championship. 
Should I hold him to it?
Some of you are aware that a wrinkle/wrench has been thrown into what was going to be a fairly easy decision where college is concerned. Along with Villanova, Ian was accepted into William & Mary's Joint Degree Programme (that's how they spell it in the U.K.) with the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. St. Andrews is situated on the coast, with beaches and a popular golf course (an understatement for anyone who knows golf). People also have cool accents and there are lots of pubs. And MacPherson is Scottish. The school is pretty damn good, too, and he'd earn a BA, International Honors, from both universities. And did I mention that this programme only enrolls about 20 students per year? 

His acceptance letter included a handwritten note from the director: "Your passion for economics and travel make you a natural for our programme. Join us." 

Well, damn. Didn't see that coming. Seriously. Ian didn't either. It's like when he made the Silvertones as a freshman. "Wait, what? Are you sure?" 

This is one of those situations where the advice you receive completely depends on the individual. Those who have put kids through college and incurred student loans say "Villanova." Those like my sister who believe "the best" opportunity is always worth paying for say "Scotland." We're saying, let's go talk to the folks at W & M, crunch the numbers, make a pro/con list, and then decide on Villanova. Obviously the kid can't go wrong either way, and this is a hell of a nice "problem" to have. It's just that I'd really like a shore house some day. 

I didn't start this post with the goal of bragging about my son's opportunities. My objective was to brag about what an awesome young man he's become.

Some of you have known me long enough (we really only have to go back a few short years) to remember when I was forever frustrated by this kid. Smart. Yes. Hard working. No. Funny. Yes. Willing to share that personality in performance, writing, or on late night talk shows? No. Ambitious? No. Easy-going? Yes. Passionate about FIFA? Yes. Passionate about anything else? No.

I went crazy with his attitude, which was best summed up in his own words: "If it's not fun, why should I do it?" Dude, you're talking to a woman who feels guilty if she's having fun instead of working. If I hadn't given birth to him, I'd wonder if he's adopted. 

Recognizing that many most parents, at one time or another (or daily) want to wring their teenager's neck for their crappy attitude, I will say this: It will pass. The kid who commits to nothing but video games will find his or her passion. And it just might involve developing video games, which I happen to know makes for a pretty good living. May I recommend Villanova's Computer Engineering program?

I know Rob and I are lucky. We've watched Ian's transformation take place. He still loves FIFA, but he's also passionate about economics and societal issues. He recommends to me books he's read and enjoyed for school. He and Rob watch "Meet the Press" together (yes, it's for a class, but it's a class he really enjoys even though he wouldn't label it "fun."). He's working harder than ever and challenging himself academically when most seniors have written off the last few months of their high school education. His sense of humor continues to light up a room, and he's still willing to play Bananagrams when begged asked. Our teenage son seems to like us, and the feeling is mutual.

Now before you accuse me of patting myself on the back for having a great kid, let me say that Rob and I really had nothing to do with it. It just happened. Or more likely, his girlfriend Brooke is primarily responsible for his maturing. After all, it still takes five requests from Mom before Ian does what's requested, whereas Brooke sees immediate results.

This leads me to just one suggestion: If your teen's evolution is taking longer than you'd like, consider finding a nice boy or girl to help move things along. If he or she has big brown eyes, that's a bonus.

Good luck!

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Like a Half-Eaten Donut, Better than Nothing!

I have been a bit of a mess lately. Literally and figuratively. Last week I went to a hair cut appointment and when the receptionist took my coat, I discovered I had fresh brownie mix dribbled down the front of it. And earlier that day I totally missed a conference call for work. The reminder popped up on my computer and I didn't recognize it so I dismissed it. Totally unlike me. I need a vacation. Somewhere that I can't get my hands on brownie mix or cookie dough.

Despite my above average ability to ramble, there are many occasions on which I start writing a blog post and only get a paragraph or two into it and realize I don't know what else to say. (See the example above.) Or I can't come up with a witty or fitting close. So today, because I slept like sh*t last night, I've decided that rather than try to write a complete post, I will pull together a few of the posts I've left unfinished for an eclectic look at the inner workings of my mind. Just what you were hoping for on this beautiful, spring-like day! So here goes it:

2/12/16: If you heard alarms going off on Friday night, it wasn't another car getting broken into. It was my hype meter. It's no coincidence that it was also the Night of Bruce.

My husband is an enormous Bruce Springsteen fan. Which is probably part of the problem. As I believe I've mentioned in an earlier post, familiarity breeds contempt. I have detested Neil Young for 20 years thanks to a coworker who played him 8-hours a day, 5-days a week. It's not really Neil's fault. Technically, as a singer-songwriter fan I should like him. But that's what overexposure can do to a person.

Every time I get in Rob's car, he's got the satellite radio tuned to the all-Bruce station. So, where before I generally enjoyed his music, I'm getting a little tired of it. But the music itself isn't as bad as the pre-concert buildup. I've been to one Bruce concert. He's an amazing performer, but I don't like waiting for the divas to appear on stage and I don't like big concert venues, so when it came time for this particular concert I took a pass. Not worth the big bucks and the finagling involved with securing the almighty ticket.

12/19/15: We know that fashion is cyclical. Every few decades, someone decides that bell bottoms, leg warmers, high waisted pants, tall boots, skinny jeans, shoulder pads, Bermuda shorts and pantsuits should be reintroduced to society. Even hairstyles come and go and then come back again. Except for perms. I'm still waiting for perms to make a comeback.

Toys tend to have more staying power than perms fashion. Elmo has been popular since he joined Sesame Street in the 80s. Barbie refuses to die. Matchbox cars still have their place. Every home has Jenga, Monopoly and Scrabble. And don't get me started on Legos. Did you know the company was started in 1932? [I have no idea where I was going with this post...]

12/13/15PJs and Down Time
I know a few people who wring the life out of each and every day. I know several others who never want the fun to end when it comes to social occasions. Then there are people like me (at least I hope there are others) who look forward to pajamas and bed time as much as--if not more than--a night out on the town. This obviously can be problematic when ones spouse and friends fall into different categories.

What's important for "those people" to understand, is that my desire to be in bed versus spending more time with them is not personal. In fact, I'm pretty sure if Jesus himself showed up at my house I'd only be able to give him a few hours and then I'd need to retire to my room, slip under the covers, and curl up in the fetal position. This is fairly common characteristic of us introverts. We get our energy from alone time, versus feeding off the presence of others.

I suppose on some level I consider bed time my reward for having made it through the day. After work, there's nothing I want more than to come home, change into my p.j.s and settle in for the evening. If you want to put me in a bad mood, ask me to run an errand after I've mentally and emotionally called it a day. Ask my kids how well I handle that.
Think I could pull it off?

9/27/15: [Ironically, this could have been written last Friday.] I regained a touch of my youth on Friday. Thank God for hair color! Now if only it lasted longer than a few weeks. Part of me is considering adopting that platinum silver/purplish look that Pink and Kelly Osbourne are sporting these days. At least when the color fades I'd have the right color coming in.

Almost as bad as the skunk stripe I sport every six weeks or so, is the process required to fix it. Two freakin' hours at the hair salon is not my idea of fun. Sitting still that long is torture, and there's something about the environment that drives me nuts. In fact, I came up with a list of "10 Things about the Hair Salon."
  1. The person with the loudest voice also is the one carrying on the most inane conversation. 
  2. There's always one stylist who thinks she has to talk to you throughout your entire appointment, leaving you screaming inside.
  3. And even if the stylist doesn't babble the entire time, you still have to at least start with small talk. I abhor small talk. 
  4. Putting on a cape, slapping some thick paint on your head and leaving you to stare at yourself in the mirror for an hour-plus is cruel. You find wrinkles and lines you never knew you had. And inevitably I'm there with no makeup on. 
  5. Speaking of thick paint, no matter how many times I remind them that my skin stains easily, I always leave the salon with a ring around my hair line. So I end up wearing a baseball cap for two days to hide my forehead. 
  6. There's always some customer talking about her horse, or her vacation to Bora Bora, or the limo ride to see Bruce.
[Obviously I couldn't come up with 10 things...]

And finally: 
2/10/15: [This still applies one year later.]
Yesterday was Abby's 14th birthday and I couldn't be prouder of my not-so-little girl. I have to confess that it takes a good bit of self control to not brag about her ad nauseam. Finding that fine line between "how sweet" and "enough already" is definitely a major challenge in the age of social media. I figure if I only post photos of Abby's work it's not really bragging, it's more like show and tell. But how do I write a blog post about Abby for her birthday without going overboard? I don't have to. It's my blog and I can say whatever I want. Insert smiley emoticon here.

When my kids were elementary school age, I had one recurring wish for them, and it wasn't the standard "may they be happy and healthy." Instead I wished that they'd turn out like Richard, Ryder or Bridget, or Kevin or Laura Jean. These former babysitters and/or neighbors/friends, were the gauge by which I was going to measure my children. Why these five? Because their qualities were the same qualities that I hoped my kids would one day possess. Respectful, kind, hard working, intelligent, involved, friendly, happy, and NORMAL. Sometimes super kids have everything except that normal element. The one that allows them to make friends and fit in and get a job someday (if that's your thing).

Well, I'm happy to say that Abby (and Ian, too) have lived up to the example of those former youth, now young adults. I realize that parenting experts generally advise against comparing your kids to others, but I'd say it was less about using them as a measuring stick for my children, and more about providing a parenting goal for me. When all we hear about are wayward youth, I needed a beacon to follow that could show me it was possible to get it right.

That's all for now folks. I have at least a dozen others I'll share with you when I can't find the time or energy, or the right words, to write a complete post. Enjoy this beautiful day!