tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-320879362024-03-12T21:06:23.016-07:00The Self-Righteous HousewifeJudy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.comBlogger239125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-19824624669315078822013-11-23T12:25:00.001-08:002013-11-23T12:25:39.243-08:00BE KIND ON THURSDAYOn Thursday, you may find yourself seated at a table next to someone who does not eat meat. Yes, that means, this person, may indeed say "no thank you" as the turkey is passed around the table.<br />
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Rest assured, this person, will (in all likelihood) NOT try to keep you from eating your own turkey. In fact, she will probably not say a thing as she hands you the platter of meat despite the fact that she could tell you some really horrifying things about how the turkey ended up on your table.<br />
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So extend her the same courtesy and don't try to discuss her food choice.<br />
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I live with two vegetarians now. Both have come to this point after much thoughtful consideration and yes they have indeed considered their protein intake and even what the Bible says about eating meat although I don't know of any other time the Bible is consulted about what to eat for most Protestants.<br />
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Anyway, I just ask that you try to be courteous on Thursday and not comment on the whole thing. For some reason, this seems to be a fun pastime for some uncles and grandpas and even dads.<br />
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So maybe it's time for a quick review on how to eat around a vegetarian....yep, this is last part is a reprint as I am under the weather and have been for some time. But here goes.<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;">Let me explain her decision quite simply: she does not eat animals for the same reason you do not cook your dog for dinner.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"> </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;">She kind of has the high ground on this one--there is no moral reason at all that we eat cows and pigs but not cats and dogs. It's just our culture. And I probably don't have to remind you that cows and pigs aren't exactly treated as well as our cats and dogs prior to their slaughter.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"> </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;">So you can see her point, even if you don't want to stop eating meat yourself.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;">Now I know you don't want to be one of those people who responds in a goofy manner so I will give you a few tips you might use Thursday:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;">1. <b>Please don't ask why she is a vegetarian</b>: I know, I used to do this all the time too thinking I was making clever conversation--but the fact is most vegetarians have chosen not to eat meat for ethical reasons not health reasons so there's your answer. Additionally, it is just more polite not to require an explanation for the same reason you are not required to explain why you put so much butter on your potatoes. It is tiresome.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;">2. <b>Don't worry about the protein</b>: People, adults especially, like to tell vegetarians they won't get enough protein if they don't eat meat. This is a big fat myth. The American diet is loaded with protein. If you eat an egg for breakfast, a piece of cheese for lunch, and some beans for dinner you have just had more protein than most of the world has in a week.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;">3. <b>Don't worry about what to feed a vegetarian</b>: Hostesses often stress over this, "But what does she eat!" Umm, let's review...EVERYTHING but meat. You do not need to make a tofu turkey or anything, she'll eat the veggies and rolls thank you. But what about her protein, you will ask--no worries, she's only eating one meal at your house, she already got her daily protein (see above).</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;">4. <b>Do not say "You don't eat meat? Not even chicken?"</b>: Really people, this one is pretty simple--she does not eat animals. Yes, fish and chicken are animals. If you TRULY don't get this one, a basic biology class may be in order.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;">5. <b>Do not try to convert her back</b>: She will not give YOU a lecture for eating meat (though she could) so do not give her one for abstaining. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;">Well, there you have it--the basics on how to politely communicate with a vegetarian. She is a friend to all animals, healthier than us, and a better steward of the earth's resources (the quantity of grain and water needed to raise one cow is crazy).</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;">So if you sit next to a vegetarian on Thursday, instead of rolling your eyes or asking "Why?" just smile and say, "Good for you! and HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO US ALL!!"</span>Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-73513571767602193412013-08-18T15:49:00.000-07:002013-08-18T15:49:43.155-07:00AS THE NEST EMPTIES<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu200CVI6mXC47ccpoUC9tHqYF5CeSdpemtGp-awUvz1qHsAxjD4eqzIpfZtu5Lc858EICVWnQwYyMT1Ah82SVU5Xh3f5eZ-uP-hPMaiIq8IheokTz7W6xFZTU6MmcS6wNMQ/s1600/IMG_6779.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu200CVI6mXC47ccpoUC9tHqYF5CeSdpemtGp-awUvz1qHsAxjD4eqzIpfZtu5Lc858EICVWnQwYyMT1Ah82SVU5Xh3f5eZ-uP-hPMaiIq8IheokTz7W6xFZTU6MmcS6wNMQ/s320/IMG_6779.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>These two are emptying our nest next weekend.</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The thing I did not realize
about this whole empty nest thing is how it happens in stages over a really
long period of time. Unless you have an only child of course, but for those of us with two or more, it is
not an all-or nothing prospect. I mean, all
your kids don’t just get up and move out of the house one day and you and your
husband are left alone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">No. Just as you did not fill
the nest all at once you do not empty the nest all at once either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And just as each child
changed the dynamics and the nature of your household when you brought him or
her home from the hospital, the same thing will happen as each one moves out to
whatever is beyond life at home full-time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Left behind will be a new, changed
family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The more kids you start out
with on the front end, the more new families you get to parent on the back-end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I first noticed this last
fall when Atticus left and things were different right away. For example, I
could keep up with laundry for the first time in years. And if I made a girly
meal with things like quinoa and kale in them, no one said, “Umm, did you make
meat with that?” and when we went to restaurants and hotels we found life was a
lot easier getting a table or a room for four instead of five.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I found I talked a lot more
to Grace than ever before. I have to admit, Atticus had been my go to guy for
conversation for some simple reasons: he was there first and when the girls
came along he was the first to move to the front seat next to me as we drove
through life so I just talked to him more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This is probably typical for
the oldest but it does mean the second just doesn’t get the time to talk to mom
as much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Until the oldest moves away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">With Atticus gone I was free
to talk to Grace and get to know her better. I liked her very much and realized
there are many upsides to emptying the nest little by little.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Also, last year for the
first time she was the oldest Ludwig at school and she finally had a chance to
shine as she found herself out from under the long shadow her big brother has
always cast. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It was a delightful year to
watch her blossom then bloom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The same thing happened to
her relationship with Lilly: with the two of them left as the only kids, they
grew even closer and it was great fun to watch as they explored life as two
teen girls kind of owning the place (and the car!) together. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Their new life involved a
lot of Starbucks trips and clothes sharing and at first a little more
squabbling than normal (because it turns out big brother also served as a
buffer) but ultimately less squabbling as a new equilibrium was established. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I started thinking about how
this phenomenon must affect other families in the neighborhood who surely have
experienced this same thing—the ever-changing family and the affects on the
left-behind sibs. Like neighbor, Carrie O., mother extraordinaire of four kids.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">She has two girls close in
age and then two boys close in age. So when I first met her, in the mid 90’s
she had two girls and a new baby, and her house was a girly house and her girls
dressed like girls from a girly house. They were rather famous for their
FABULOUS giant, crisp white hair-bows and we all found it impressive because we
struggled just to keep our girls’ hair combed decently, let alone adorned with
a big, clean white bow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But last year, her second
daughter went off to college. And her house became a house of all boys; the
kind of house where you don’t serve a lot of smoothies and I’ll bet it’s been
some time since Carrie opened a drawer and found it full of white bows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And I imagine sometimes it
is weird to Carrie that she started with an all-girl house but ended up with an
all-boy house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">As I said, this also affects
the kids left home. I think of my friend Kelly, whose youngest, Charlie, has
grown up as the youngest boy of four. He has only ever known what it’s like to
be the mascot of a giant fun frat-house complete with all sporting activities
and multiple trips to the ER. But some day, in the not too distant future, he
will wake up and find himself not the part of a great raucous clan but—an only
child! And he will remain the only child for several years. And how weird will
that be?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
I know Lilly is not looking forward to being an only child but here it comes.
Because when the house changes next week, she will go from having been the baby
for 14 years to being an only child.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now there may be kids out
there from larger families who look forward to being the only kid in the house
but I have yet to meet one. Most of them are perfectly fine having run in the
shadow of an older sib with little parental scrutiny. And they are not looking
forward to having that cover ripped off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lilly dreads it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So now, in addition to
dealing with the grief –and I don’t think that is too strong of a word to
describe what she will feel when Grace goes to school-- she will have to deal
with the fact that her father and I look at her each night at dinner and ask
her, and her alone, what happened at school that day. And there will be no one
else to answer that question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This past week, we were up
at my parents’ home in Michigan for an end of summer visit. Neither Atticus nor
Grace could join us so Lilly invited her best friend Lauren to come along. Now
Lauren, as it turns out, is an expert at being an only child. She has been one
for her entire 14 years and likes it quite a bit, thank you very much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">She even tried to help Lilly
out. “Watch and learn,” she said. “I’ve been doing this a long time and I am
going to teach you how to do it.” She tried to show Lilly the fine art of
eavesdropping on the adults during cocktail hour. But man, Lilly had no game at
all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The girls sat playing Uno
while we visited. I could see Lauren was half-listening but I could also see
Lilly was actively NOT listening to us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">At one point, I saw Lauren’s
ears pick up when we got to some juicy family gossip. Lilly continued to ignore
us. I made eye contact with Lauren whose face was saying, “I know can you
believe she just missed THAT?”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">After a few days of pointing
out the benefits of being an only child without Lilly picking up any of it Lauren
threw in the towel. “I see you have much to learn before you appreciate what
you’re about to be given.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So that’s where we are. It’s
August, the nest will be two-thirds empty as of next weekend, I will be the
parent of an only child for the first time, and Lilly is not even trying to
embrace her impending only-childhood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But just as we found much of
the upside as the nest emptied of our first, I hope to find the upside of having
Lilly as an only child. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And I know that some day,
Charlie will also find much to love about at last being the center of his
parents’ universe. Most of the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Best of luck to us all this
month as many of our nests empty a little or a lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-37499921845161950242013-08-11T10:40:00.000-07:002013-08-11T10:40:00.500-07:00MOMS AND JASON BOURNE SKILLS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimBOKoCjIgupSBsHmZrfHNRidCw-rOArqz2Pe8PQ4KNS6KQ_344nNuXRs7xJ3h11llFlgIVQYe-HWWa6weCH4ENkb7AZfk57QE2pZ7AozUbKJmDhI8EG1LeOObplv6B_0svQ/s1600/judi-dench.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimBOKoCjIgupSBsHmZrfHNRidCw-rOArqz2Pe8PQ4KNS6KQ_344nNuXRs7xJ3h11llFlgIVQYe-HWWa6weCH4ENkb7AZfk57QE2pZ7AozUbKJmDhI8EG1LeOObplv6B_0svQ/s320/judi-dench.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Remember, special agent mom, never say yes to candy at the check-out counter. </i></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jeff LOVES Matt Damon. Well, who doesn't love Matt Damon? But he has a total man-crush on him and and admires Matt's considerable on-screen skills at evading the bad guys when he is playing Jason Bourne.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(Real quick, in case you do not know, Jason Bourne is like James Bond only he has amnesia so he does not even KNOW who the bad guy is at any given moment!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyhoo, Jeff decided while we were on vacation, that he was going to scope out new hotel rooms and lobbies and coffee shops as if HE were Jason Bourne. Then he shared this fun activity with us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Which is why the five of us were standing in t</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">he open foyer of our hotel in Half Moon Bay in Northern California, a few weeks ago, as Jeff explained how he would escape from the second-floor atrium if he were Jason Bourne and had to evade a bad-guy. This plan involved hurdling over the balcony, bouncing off the ottoman below, and parkouring against the elevator before shooting out the back exit. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next morning, when Jeff and I had our coffee and pastry at a little shop around the corner, we watched as a young mom with two young children came in the store, holding the kids' hands carefully, looking over her sunglasses, and then scanning the room at the same time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Have you ever noticed," Jeff said, nodding his head in her direction, "how moms with little kids come into a restaurant or store and sort of scope it out like she's doing? It's, well, it's kind of like..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Like Jason Bourne?" I finished. Oh yeah, I have </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">noticed that before because: That's. What. Good. Moms. Do. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We watched her order, pay, get the necessary napkins and stirrers, dispense the food, and calmly exit through the side door with no fuss. She was quiet, not one of those loud, self-narrarating, talking in the third-person moms (what is up with that anyway?). In short, she was as cool as, well as an international spy on a special ops mission.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Afterwards, I spent much of the day thinking of <i>all the ways</i> she was like an international spy and I came up with this list of what Jason Bourne and effective moms have in common when going out to eat or shop. If you think of more, let me know.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>1. You must be willing to abort the mission at ANY time: </b>That's right. You may be Jason Bourne or a young mom but the number one rule of survival is that if something, anything goes amiss, <i>you have to be willing to leave </i>before the mission is accomplished.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It does not matter if you just traveled to Moscow in a van from Bucharest with that spy girl you met and have not eaten since </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Slovenia</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> or you just traveled fifteen minutes from home in the mini-van after waiting almost 24 hours for that first sip of your perfect latte--if you spot a guy in the corner with a watch-cap pulled over his eye who looks like former KGB or if one of your kids is about to have a melt-down because you did not time breakfast just right--TOO BAD for you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">CODE RED CODE RED LEAVE THE PREMISES LEAVE NOW, I REPEAT LEAVE NOW</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For Jason, it is a matter of life and death. For the young mother it is a little more important.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because when you are on a mission out in the real world with kids you are not just trying to get to the store and get something and avoid being embarrassed but you are trying to <i>parent </i>on top of it all. Jason just has to stay alive.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My friend Mary W.B. taught me this lesson early on and it proved invaluable. She made her point by telling a story of an incident that had happened to her (this was many years ago: her kids are in college now). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She had schemed for weeks to get out of the house with her tots and meet another mom and her kids for lunch at Applebees. As soon as they got there, one of her kids starting having a fit about something he wanted on the menu. Mary warned him once to knock it off or they would leave. He did not. He gambled that his mom was hungry enough and wanted to visit with her friend enough that she'd cave in and he'd get what he wanted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, he picked the wrong mom. She DID want to visit with her friend. And she WAS hungry, but when he acted up again, she calmly put money on the table to cover the drinks, apologized to her friend, scooped up the kids and left. Everyone got peanut butter and jelly for lunch at home that day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And that never happened to her again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mary told that story, then looked around and said, "Remember, you have to be willing to leave at any time, otherwise <i>they</i> have the upper hand." She looked like she knew what she was talking about and I took note. And she's right, if you employ this tactic you will permanently disarm your terrorist. If you give in even once, you've put the weapon back in his hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not even Jason Bourne has that kind of power.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>2. Know where the bathroom is: </b>Moms need to know where the bathrooms are for obvious reasons. But it isn't enough to know where it is--you also need to know if all the children with you will fit in the bathroom (if the kids are all very young) and if you do need to use the opposite sex bathroom (if the kids are a bit older but not old enough to go alone) how that is going to go down. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mom also needs to be able to go the bathroom herself while balancing any non-walking children on her lap and corralling the other kids in the stall, and she needs to figure out what can be used as a changing table if there isn't one available.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jason Bourne needs to know where the bathroom is because the tiny window in that room is ALWAYS the ONLY way Jason will escape if the other exits are blocked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's possible Jason Bourne has the easier job here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>3. Spot the two or three areas of potential danger: </b>While Jason Bourne is figuring out if there is an assassin behind the potted plant or a barista with poison, mom has her own issues to deal with. Is one of the kids what we call a toucher? The kid who has to touch everything? A clumsy toucher? Worse combo ever....quickly, she must get between her and that display of coffee mugs. Is one a curious dissembler--he likes to take things apart for fun? She must immediately get between him and the espresso machines for sale.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Young mom also knows to head all children off in front of the treat case by "selling" what they CAN have never what they CAN'T "Here's a nice muffin or fruit plate, which do you prefer?" as she keeps her gaze away from the cake-pop.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, Jason has figured out it's safe to go ahead and order an espresso. Or not.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>4. Spot the two or three things that will serve as a distraction if needed:</b> The flip side of distracting a small child (or the leader of a terrorist cell) from trouble is to find something constructive to amuse them with first. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is why Jason Bourne always leads with a charm defense by chatting up or flirting with the spy before going for a throat punch. Much easier. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The young mom sees quickly that the stir sticks make an awesome game of pickup sticks. Drinking little cups of creamer is a dream come true for most toddlers. And those toys for sale that the coffee shop manager has diabolically put on the bottom shelf at kid level--well you can just explain they are "not for sale because they live in the store and are to visit with". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Distraction is great and here young mom does have an easier job than Jason Bourne because secret spies are seldom distracted by the flip-side of a paper placemat and a pile of crayons.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These are just some of the things that come to mind. There is probably a whole essay to be written on how Jason Bourne and young mothers keep enough clothing on hand at all times to completely change a disguise or a toddler's outfit after a total pull-up blow out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My young mom days are long gone but I admire watching the new recruits as they learn and bring their own experience to the job.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So if you're new to the mom as black ops agent, please know I am like "M" (sorry, that is a James Bond reference but you get the idea) and I am watching and admiring your mad secret spy skills.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-22716838281121652382013-07-08T11:48:00.001-07:002013-07-08T11:48:51.788-07:00DISORIENTING<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">College orientation--for the parents--seems to vary greatly from school to school. After asking around I have heard everything from a parent who did not even know she was invited to orientation (her son's doing) to parents who go, stay in the dorm, attend a sample class, play quarter bounce with their underage kids and try to pledge a sorority. (All of that last one is true but the sorority).</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Somewhere between these extremes lies my own experience now with two very different schools.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The Art Institute had a day of activity for the parents that mostly consisted of telling us how fabulous our artistic children are and that we were NOT crazy for paying for them to attend art school during the end of a depression. You can appreciate this is not an easy task for them but they were impressive and at one point I think they got the whole room to shout "The world needs more art not more lawyers" or some such nonsense that I actually believed for a second. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">That was last summer. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">This summer it was time for Grace to attend an overnight student/parent orientation at Valparaiso and we were invited.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I have to admit right here, I am not a fan of orientations. Anyones. Mine or my kids. Kindergarten through college. Don't like em. (And I actually ran the kindergarten one for a couple years).</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Too much talking not enough information. Too many nervous parents spilling their fear all over me. Ick. Stop. I barely have it together myself without you raising things to worry about I never even considered!</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But we go.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;">And there is ALWAYS "that woman" sitting behind me. I think she has followed me from Kindergarten orientation to college orientation. I mean this metaphorically, not literally. It is not the same exact woman but someone of her ilk.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">You know the one. She is the one who will ask a question that is really a way to brag about her kid. She will frequently ask about the gifted program--when do they get tested? Does it extend into middle school? </span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">In kindergarten she said, "My son already reads 'Harry Potter' books. What will he do all day?"</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">Sheesh.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">The teacher was not new and blithely answered, "We have a lot of children who read Harry Potter books <i>and beyond</i>. And we have many who do not know their ABCs. I teach them all." We almost applauded her.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">At Valpo, "that woman" sat behind me (by the way this is always a woman, I don't know why, but the dads don't ask this stuff) who wanted to know if her daughter's AP credits would count and how that worked. She asked THREE specific questions related to her daughter's AP classes and something called IB (this is apparently an Indiana thing, not a stomach disorder) and this was in a lecture of over a hundred people. Apparently, she thought it was a private counseling session and we were spectators.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;">I mentioned "that woman" at a neighborhood grad party recently. Everyone laughed because <i>everyone</i> has heard these "questions". One of the dads (who ironically has a brilliant child he COULD brag about but never does) said that at the "What to expect when your kid goes to college" seminar "that woman" asked the following: "My son never studies and has terrible organizational skills but he always gets all A's. How will he do in college?"</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">The lecturer should have just said, "Shut up." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Instead, he gamely tried to answer. I think it would be fun if he called her out on it and said, "Is this a real question or did you just want the chance to tell us your kid gets all A's without studying?"</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">Anyhoo, despite the questions from "that woman" the orientation was quite nice. We learned a few things and as is our norm, we skipped out early. This is our MO since we attended our first Lamaze class. The teacher went through the basics of childbirth (some details left me with my head between my knees) and then announced we would have a break. After the break, she said, the men will go in one room and the women will go in another and we will talk about our feelings. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jeff and I exchanged horrified glances, and without saying a word, left as soon as the instructor excused us for our break.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">So after sitting through orientation lectures on Friday from 9 til 3 (and 5 more hours scheduled!) we skipped out and went back to the hotel.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">This gave me the chance to have a mini-nervous breakdown about the fact that my daughter is leaving in the fall. Jeff helpfully suggested that getting a jump on my grief might make it easier in the fall, but I kind of doubt it.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">So that's how orientation went for us. Grace got to meet her roommate for the first time, I got to get in an early cry, and we all got to hear about "that woman's" daughter who, if I understand it right, has enough credits going into college to skip to grad school.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">As for how this compares to our own college orientation programs...well just like the whole process, I don't really remember my parents there at all. Were they even invited? One friend said she drove herself there. I think I might have too. I don't remember much about it except I thought everyone there was an arrogant ass and I had made a huge mistake choosing that school and cried myself to sleep in South Quad. Six weeks later I met the group of friends I still see annually. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">If you are attending a college orientation this summer I hope you have fun and be sure to say hi to "that woman" as she will surely sit behind you too.</span></span>Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-85261696354240126502013-06-16T07:55:00.003-07:002013-06-16T08:48:04.150-07:00JUST FAKE THE DRIVING LOG<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOCqBGIlqR7Rj-IW2OT73QQHtBRKM6QBZ_xo3CrhoyKl3FdJCPRzYr7FhE5wzXYT1OFZYZczx33oRxg-jKZ-T8et8BwcVD4FDyV_ZH0BOT5rn47Tj53M4fL3DrZ96BYhLv8Q/s640/blogger-image-810960135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOCqBGIlqR7Rj-IW2OT73QQHtBRKM6QBZ_xo3CrhoyKl3FdJCPRzYr7FhE5wzXYT1OFZYZczx33oRxg-jKZ-T8et8BwcVD4FDyV_ZH0BOT5rn47Tj53M4fL3DrZ96BYhLv8Q/s640/blogger-image-810960135.jpg"></a></div>Lilly had her first drivers ed class on Monday and on the way home she asked if she could stop and drive for the first time. I said sure, and we went up to the high school parking lot which was empty and I let her practice accelerating and stopping.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She is my third child so this is the third time I've had the honor of driving with a young person for THE VERY FIRST TIME! This is no small rite of passage, especially in our car-centric society. Just remember how excited you were to finally drive, the doors it opened, the freedom it provided. It's a big deal and I was just happy and honored to be the one who got to share that moment with her.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Except.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had forgotten the kind of lose-control-of-your-bodily-function inducing fear this "honor" can provoke.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mean, for god's sake, she kept saying "Is this the 'go pedal' or the 'stop pedal'?" </span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No. I really don't like driving with anyone who does not yet know how to drive. Nobody does.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And now, for the love of God, the state requires we drive with these people a minimum of fifty hours before allowing them to even test for their license. Really? And ten of those hours are supposed to be after dark, when I am already in my pajamas.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Who does this? </span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, unlike the reading log which I confessed to faking, I will not confess to faking the driving log. Because that is against the law. And that has serious ramifications and surely someone will know of an inexperienced driver who came to great ill and they will send me hate mail. So I would never, ever suggest that you fake the driving log.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">However, just theoretically, I am suggesting that maybe, not everyone drives the full fifty hours before they get their license. It is possible.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we went to get Grace's license, we realized we had "forgotten" to log many of the final hours. Now, I knew from when I took Atticus that they "require" this log, but they don't actually ask to see it. So I assured Grace we did not need it. But she panicked and wanted to fill it out right there in the DMV parking lot. I think this is like emptying the bullets from the murder weapon just before going in to the courthouse.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Turns out it is very difficult to "recall" all the trips you have taken and we had a difficult time filling in the form. "For god's sake just make up some dates and times and say we drove to Grandma's" I helpfully suggested. </span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even this was hard, "Wait," I said, as I gave it a quick look-see, "who can believe we drove to Grandma's on a Monday morning in two hours but drove back the next day for six hours? And it took you an hour and half to drive to Dairy Bar?" But of course, as I predicted, they didn't even glance at the driving log when we went in to get the license.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fifty hours. Around here, most of the trips we take are ten to twenty minutes. So if you break that down, well, you do the math. I think that means you have to let your kid drive every day for like the next twenty years. </span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I know a neighbor with 15-year-old quadruplets. What the hell is she supposed to do? Drive around with a teenaged chaffeur full-time for the next six months? There really isn't enough Xanax in the world.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And while I applaud the effort behind this law, (it makes perfect sense to make them practice a lot before they get their license) I just question how helpful it is to have a parent next to you for that long, clutching the dashboard and gritting her teeth trying to stay calm as you jump another curb or barely misses another garbage can.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You see, it turns out, when you first learn to drive you are VERY nervous about oncoming traffic so you tend to hug the right side of the road. Which is where the nervous parent sits, constantly seeing you are about to drop off the side of the road or hit a pedestrian. </span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When Atticus was taking lessons, I mentioned this to my friend Jan asking if her son ever drove too close to the side to which she simply answered, "Mailbox, mailbox, mailbox, MAILBOX!!" I guess that's a yes.</span><div><font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">It's enough to drive us to subterfuge to move the process along. Like my friend "Mona" who DID do fifty hours with each of her kids but then confessed that after having a very difficult time getting child number 3 signed up for enough driving lessons realized child number 3 had a conflict she could not get out of. Knowing this put her at risk of not getting the lessons done in the alotted time and aware it was nearly impossible to reschedule, she did what any resourceful mom would do....she sent child number 2 (they look a lot alike, everyone mixes them up) to do the driving time disguised as child 3. I wonder if the instructor was curious at all as to why this kid looked so much more mature and drove so much better than she had the week before.<br></font>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">See what these ridiculous requirements drive us to? Pun. Ha ha.<br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And how does this compare to how we learned to drive? How many hours were we required to drive with our parents? Umm, well, let me see, add these numbers and then carry the one, oh yeah, NONE!</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's right folks. We took the class, we waited six months or whatever it was and then we went for the exam. I don't remember driving more than half a dozen times with </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">my mom in the car.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">However, I DO remember once before I had my license when trying to back out of the garage I accidentally left the car in drive and nearly rammed our mint green Ford LTD through the back wall of the garage. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It scared the beejesus out of me but not my mom.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; ">She </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); ">wasn't in the car.</span></div><div><font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><br></font></div>Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-55026362544420334832013-05-23T14:55:00.002-07:002013-05-23T14:55:52.120-07:00SEASON OF DECEIT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's May, I have a senior in high school, and EVERYTHING happens this month. Concerts, end-of-year banquets, the award ceremony, Prom, Senior Ditch Day, Graduation, and for our family-- both girls' birthdays.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For me, my main job in all of this, appears to be lying.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First, the girls asked me if they could skip PE (first period for both of them) to go out to breakfast on Lilly's birthday. Now here I should mention, (which is code for I will try to explain my bad behavior) this is the ONLY year the girls have been in the same school. They are very, very close, and they are not looking forward to their impending separation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I decided sure, why not. They can miss PE and make a memory for a lifetime.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The only problem was I had to "call them out" by calling the school to excuse their late arrival.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I hate to lie outright so I just said the girls had "a family commitment" which is kind of true.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few days later, Grace wanted to get called out early to get ready for prom. Now here I should mention, prom is on a Friday night. So really, how can a girl get ready if she waits until after school to start that process (never mind that the entire girls' soccer team managed to win regionals, get their trophy and still make it to prom looking ravishing--the rest of the class needed hours to get ready).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since I hate to lie outright, this time I said, "Grace has to leave early. She has a doctor's appointment to get her hair done for prom."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next up, you guessed it, Senior Ditch Day. Now here I should mention, even I, the biggest goody-two-shoes in the world partook in Senior Ditch Day (but I think we called it Senior Skip Day). Never mind, I see no harm in this either. The school year is SO done by now for the Seniors it is time to put a fork in it. She would miss nothing, she has all A's, so I agreed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And since I hate to lie outright, I called the attendance office and said "Grace can't come to school today because she has to see the doctor about a bad case of Senioritis.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am relieved to say that I do not have to lie anymore to the school. This year.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But tomorrow morning I have to come up with a lie because I am supposed to leave the house before Grace to attend the Awards Ceremony and for some reason, the school asks that we keep this a secret from the kids. I NEVER leave the house before the girls so--yes --I have to come up with a lie to tell Grace about why I'm leaving the house so early.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm thinking of telling Grace I have to go to the doctor to be seen for a bad case of sociopathic lying.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At least that would be partly true.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hope you are enjoying the Merry Month of May and that you haven't had to lie too much.</span>Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-63390434789802384892013-05-13T09:06:00.001-07:002013-05-13T09:06:31.545-07:00MOVING OUT OF THE DORM<br />
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<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because
my friends are such competent, capable, graceful handlers of complicated
logistics, they seldom make a fuss over achieving something herculean and
difficult like moving a kid out of a college dorm. No, I have never heard any
of them really discuss in detail how much of a pain in the ass this process can
be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like my
friend Ann, who mentions oh so casually that she will be flying to Dallas,
renting a van, dissembling a loft, finding a storage space for her daughter's
belongings, packing up the clothes and flying home with her this weekend. She
does not complain and makes it sound like anyone could pull this off in a
weekend, no problema.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I went
blindly and foolishly to pick up Atticus from his dorm in the city on Friday.
How hard could that be? I didn't have to
fly anywhere or rent anything. Just drive down, fill up the car and drive home.
Jeff offered to come help fill the car, then go in to work and take the train
home. Even better! Easy peasy!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But when
we got there, it turned out, nothing was easy or peasy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I did not
have ID on me (left it in the car, around the block in the parking garage) so
the security guard at the front desk was pissed at me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Atticus
had lost his ID and his room-key the night before which meant he had not yet
really gotten the administrative part of the moving process moving. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After
looking through his stuff for half an hour we decided to give up on finding the
key and ID and figure out how to move out without it. Think fees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now there
was a waiting list for the moving bins so we began to move the crap ourselves
by hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Three
times we loaded ourselves up like Sherpas, waited forever for the elevator (he lives on the 15th
floor) carried the stuff through the alley, past the three trucks and the
forklift that were being used to load the entire set of the play "Big
Fish" from the Oriental Theater that backs up to his dorm and the six
smoking stage-crew guys, into the parking garage up eight flights (by elevator)
and tried to cram it all in to Jeff's Lexus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
fourth trip we scored a dolly and managed to put everything leftover on it. We
cleaned up, Atticus met with the RA, discussed the fees due when one loses his
key and ID on move out day and were good to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We pushed
the elevator button and miraculously it opened up almost immediately.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then the
fire alarm went off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now as
any good city boy knows, you do NOT get on an elevator when the fire alarm goes
off. Atticus told us to drop everything and head down stairs. Which I did. At
the 9th floor I realized Jeff was not with us. He texted:<i> It's a false alarm I
am staying here. Elevators working, come back up.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So
Atticus and I turned around and trudged back up several floors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then the
nice men from the Chicago Fire Department came running past us in full gear with their axes out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We texted
Jeff to get his ass out and headed back down a dozen flights with a gaggle of
art students.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Standing
around outside we watched the Fire Department come and go with little urgency.
The kids speculated it was another kitchen fire. The guy from Channel 7 (their
studio is right there) came out and tried see if there was a story. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At last
they let us all back in. We lined up obediently to wait for the elevators. A
lot of the kids took the stairs. A small group took cuts. Atticus told us later
they are from the Arab Emirates, royalty, and don't ever stand in line. Hmm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another
half hour went by and we finally found ourselves with our last load at the car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It became
apparent that this final load was not going to fit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It
will fit if there is only a driver," Jeff said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we
gave Atticus a train pass, Jeff went back to work, and I drove the loaded car
home by myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Which is
how I managed to come home from my first time of moving my kid out of the dorm
without one key element--my kid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ann on
the other hand did just fine and even managed to buy some kitchen stuff for
next year. She of course made it sound easy. Which I am quite sure it was not.</span></div>
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Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-82177677384005180932013-04-26T06:22:00.000-07:002013-04-26T06:22:57.199-07:00COLLEGE VISITS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vt5jDiW1H7Ht9uTx-l4AgxgyRWhS60e-v-tv8T10xzTgsXFYP5lKLMLriHNiz16XI5xoS5iYayrop9zEoxdi-HqNVaWH7UxCf3DZZ0owHvjtABPYIpfgB6w6B-ubAEvE_Q/s1600/Valpo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vt5jDiW1H7Ht9uTx-l4AgxgyRWhS60e-v-tv8T10xzTgsXFYP5lKLMLriHNiz16XI5xoS5iYayrop9zEoxdi-HqNVaWH7UxCf3DZZ0owHvjtABPYIpfgB6w6B-ubAEvE_Q/s320/Valpo.JPG" width="208" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">It is official, child number two, Grace, has decided to attend Valparaiso University. She will be studying Choral Music Education so she can be a high school choir teacher.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">Now to get in to a good Music Education program you have to audition--as in sing opera-y type songs in Italian and German and stuff. Luckily, Grace actually knows how to do that but I have to admit, until this year, I had NO idea our choir teachers were so gifted.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">Anyhoo, now that she knows where she's going my fun has ended for a while because I don't get to do any college visits until Lilly goes in 2015 and frankly, she's so sick of being dragged along to some of the visits, she is threatening not to go to college.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">Which would be a shame because it turns out, I really, really liked the college visits. What's not to like about a road-trip with one (or more) of your kids who are at an age when you barely see them let alone TALK to them? I loved it all and consider it a perk of parenting.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">Between March of 2011 and February 2013, first with Atticus, next with Grace, I visited more than a dozen colleges. Some of those were quick, informal drive-bys, but most were official visits. And since I am the only one in the family who went on ALL those trips, I am kind of the expert here.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">Which makes me qualified to write one of my "what to expect" essays. So here goes:</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Nail down a date for the visit</b>: Good luck with this one. I am not sure there is anyone on earth busier than a high-school Junior unless that is a high-school Senior. But sometime between dances, concerts, school plays, exams, practices, and lessons you might find a day or two for a college visit. If you have to pull your kid from school to do this, surely the teachers will understand and be sympathetic, right? Wrong. They do not care why your student is missing school, they just hate it and will try to make your stressed out kid a little more stressed out.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">This means you will make several of the college visits in the summer. Sounds nice but of course, who knows what a school really looks like without students? So you will probably end up having to come back during the year anyway. At least that will only be for the one or two schools that make the final cut.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Ask your student to register for a visit</b>: If you have a slacker-child, skip this step and do it yourself. Really. If you have a responsible kid, this is not a big deal. I am speaking from experience.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Fly or drive to your destination </b>and spend the night there so you will have plenty of time in the morning to get to find the Admissions Office: No matter how many times you do this, no matter how early you leave your hotel (or your home) no matter how many maps you have printed from the internet, you will somehow still be late for your campus tour.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">Except for the final visit when you FINALLY realize you not only have to get near the campus you have to drive around it repeatedly the night before until you are sure you can re-create the route in the morning.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;">If you are traveling from home do not try to make up any lost time by speeding on the Tollway because you will get a ticket and then your child will really panic as she is being made late for her singing audition while the nice officer writes out your ticket and you will lose a day of your life when you have to go to the Daley Center to traffic court to get your license back. I mean, not that it happened to me, but it could.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Show up late for the campus tour:</b> You would think it is not a big deal to be 10 to 15 minutes late for a campus tour. As a margin of error, it seems quite small when you consider the 24 or more hours you spent trying to get there. But It kind of is a big deal. Especially for your non-slacker child who hates to be late for anything. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Your slacker will shrug it off and even laugh as you run back and forth between the parking structure and wherever it is they make you go to get the parking voucher (this is never the same in any of the schools and it's not clear at all when it matters or not and when you might get ticketed or towed but you will be a little paranoid if you went to school in Ann Arbor where ticketing and towing visitors is a municipal sport.)</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Join the group wherever they may be</b>: Sometimes they are still milling around over the coffee and donuts and sometimes they are already in the middle of the quad. No worries, you really can't miss a crowd of adorable (if anxious) high school kids, their dumpy (and soon to be poor) parents, led by an overly-eager college kid dressed in school colors and talking animatedly while walking backwards.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Take the tour</b>: You will see lots and lots of buildings (which don't really tell you much about the quality of education do they?) and one sample dorm room (most of which are pretty much the same as when you went to school), and be invited to eat in the cafeteria (that is not exactly fine dining but is SO much better than where you ate during your college years that you will start to get resentful) and the fitness center (ditto).</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Ask your questions</b>: You will get surprisingly candid answers sometimes even though you are asking people who are supposed to be selling their school. My two favorite were the weary financial advisor at one small conservatory-type college in Ohio who pretty much told us there was no money for our kids unless they were quite poor, and the K-College professor of photography who more or less said there was no reason he knew of why someone would want to pursue a career in photography. In both cases, I am fairly certain these gentlemen had smoked something semi-legal before meeting with us.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>Feel nostalgic and resentful</b>: You are only human if being on campus (your own or anyone else's) brings back vivid and fond memories of your years at the old ivy-covered alma mater. However, you will quickly remember too that nearly every vivid memory involves boys or alcohol or both. Even if the boy in your memory is now the father of the very child you are with, resist the temptation to share ANY of those stories. The last person on the face of the earth who wants to hear about your college escapades is your own child (or perhaps your mother). So zip it and share it later with your hubby.</span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>And finally, let the bitterness go</b>: You may feel some regret or resentment that your child actually has a plethora of colleges to choose from. Some of which look like a whole lot more fun or a better fit than where you went. Let this go. It was the 70s and no on was taking college visits (unless you were a Kennedy). Most of my peers have shared that their first "college visit" was something called "freshmen orientation." </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And we all turned out just fine.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you have the privilege of taking a child to college visits, I hope you have as much fun as we have. And remember, don't speed on the Tollway, and don't talk about that game of quarters at Dooley's and you'll do just fine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<br style="font-family: monospace;" />Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-47483417933637737332013-04-12T12:11:00.002-07:002013-04-12T12:11:42.709-07:00THAT NEARLY EMPTY NESTText from my neighbor:<br />
<br />
<i>Just watching "The Middle" </i><br />
<i>Is it us?</i><br />
<br />
It was funny to get that text last night because I happened to be watching "The Middle" at the same time and it wasn't even on right then: both of us were watching it a day late on our DVR.<br />
<br />
I also happened to be thinking the same thing.<br />
<br />
For those of you who don't watch the show, it is a family sit-com starring Patricia Heaton as a mom in "The Middle" meaning the mid-west but it could also mean the middle years. It is uncannily accurate in the portrayal of a 50 ish mom.<br />
<br />
In this episode, her character, Frankie, was trying to get a job and the employers kept asking her "So who IS Frankie?" which had set off an identity crisis. After 19 years of parenting three kids she was not so sure anymore. (Parenting three kids for 19 years. Why does that sound familiar?)<br />
<br />
My neighbor is a true empty-nester--her singlet is a junior in college. I still have the girls at home--but not for long. Now that everyone is in high-school and beyond...well I haven't moved into the empty nest but I certainly need to start shopping for one.<br />
<br />
This is a way harder time than other moms let on. Sometimes you catch a glimpse of honesty on the topic. As I re-read (for at least the tenth time) <i>A Gift from the Sea</i>, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh while on vacation last month, I came upon this paragraph I had not recalled, in an epilogue she had added some 20 years after first writing the essay book on parenting and marriage:<br />
<br />
<b><i>"When I wrote </i>Gift from the Sea<i>, I was still in the stage of life I called "the oyster bed," symbol of a spreading family and growing children. The oyster bed, as the tide of life ebbed and the children went away to school, college, marriage or careers, was left high and dry. A most uncomfortable stage followed not sufficiently anticipated and barely hinted at in my book. In bleak honesty it can only be called "the abandoned shell." Plenty of solitude, and sudden panic at how to fill it, characterize this period. With me, it was not a question of simply filling up the space or time. I had many activities and even a well-established vocation to pursue. But when a mother is left, the lone hub of a wheel, with no other lives revolving about her, she faces a total re-orientation. It takes time to re-find the center of gravity."</i></b><br />
<br />
Many of you have careers outside the home so perhaps do not feel quite so lost or lost at all. For those of us fortunate enough to make the choice to be stay-at-home moms, well, I feel like the reverse of that t-shirt that said "Oops, I forgot to have babies"! Mine could say, "Oops, I forgot to go back to work".<br />
<br />
So now what? For many of us, age, health concerns, and ailing parents, not to mention a job market that is not exactly looking for a woman who hasn't worked in 20 years, keeps us from readily re-entering that world.<br />
<br />
Many will overcome those obstacles; many already have.<br />
<br />
I don't know what's next. Like Frankie Heck, I don't know quite how to answer that question, "So who IS Judy."<br />
<br />
But at least I know I am not doing it alone. Because if my neighbor feels that way, and the writers of "The Middle" know it, and Anne Morrow Lindbergh in 1975 wrote about it....it's pretty universal.<br />
<br />
Best wishes to us all as we seek to "re-find the center of gravity."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-56134024227233767522013-04-01T07:09:00.003-07:002013-04-01T07:09:47.715-07:00SHOPPING FOR BIG BROTHER<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5NC5b2z4_jQKVYRjUhIuBnAWQHMIl3sYfjvmccOkUoZAndzULzWypC1tK75TANP-dgtrFkp4-cVuTuSylSk3NrHjKebQk0XM1aFqQxN7vsJnf4RV_4Se8AxxdcfAjFLg9w/s1600/atticus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj5NC5b2z4_jQKVYRjUhIuBnAWQHMIl3sYfjvmccOkUoZAndzULzWypC1tK75TANP-dgtrFkp4-cVuTuSylSk3NrHjKebQk0XM1aFqQxN7vsJnf4RV_4Se8AxxdcfAjFLg9w/s320/atticus.jpg" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My fashion plate. Notice, no winter coat but it was very cold that day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yesterday Atticus (who was home for Easter) spent most of the day in his boxer shorts. He did put pants on when Grace's boyfriend, Billy came in. I said, "Hey maybe even a shirt?" and he glanced down at the pile of clothing on the floor and said, "Oh, yeah, here's a shirt."<br />
<br />
I should mention the pants he did put on were pajama bottoms my mom made him for Christmas because he prefers a sort of lounge-wear look.<br />
<br />
Later, as we set the table for Easter dinner he said, "I think I'll put regular pants on," and went upstairs to change into jeans. He did this on his own. So proud of my big boy.<br />
<br />
His baby sister commented, "Hey, you're wearing big-boy pants. They look good. Did I pick those out for you?"<br />
<br />
"Yep."<br />
<br />
To say my son does not care about clothing is clearly an understatement. There was, as you may recall, the unfortunate 7th grade incident in which he accidentally wore his sister's jeans to school. Perhaps that is why he prefers pajama bottoms now. Yes, that's it--it's not that he's a lazy slob--it's because he suffers from PTSD. And there's the fact that he doesn't wear (or even own anymore, I stopped buying them) a winter coat despite the fact that he goes to college in downtown Chicago but that perhaps is another blog altogether.<br />
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Anyhoo, over Christmas break I asked his sisters to take him shopping. "Buy him some new jeans and maybe a shirt that is NOT a black t-shirt with an ironic saying."<br />
<br />
The girls leaped at the chance to play "What Not to Wear" (which is our FAVORITE show) and one afternoon, when I was not feeling well, they grabbed the credit card and their brother and took off to the mall.<br />
<br />
While they were gone I got a frantic text from Grace, "He has NO idea what he's doing. He does not even know how a dressing room works." Hmm, maybe all those years I ran into Kohl's and grabbed two pairs of jeans and three new shirts for him while he was at school did not serve him well in the real world. For him, that was the extent of his "back-to-school" shopping.<br />
<br />
They came home successful. The girls proudly showed me their acquisitions. Two pairs of jeans that were actually in fashion (as opposed to the carpenter jeans he's been wearing for four years), a few nice shirts and even a cardigan sweater.<br />
<br />
Then they showed me the two tops they had bought themselves as a "reward" for their trouble. Ahem. I had to reiterate the house rule that all unauthorized purchases must be returned or mom must be reimbursed.<br />
<br />
It was a full month later I got Atticus's version of events. He told me his sisters were ruthless and even--get this-- MADE HIM TRY THE CLOTHES ON! The nerve. He begged them not to try anything on but then, as he tells it, "Grace got those crazy eyes and said Mom would not pay for anything if I didn't try them on. You know I do anything she says when she gets like that."<br />
<br />
God bless Grace and her crazy eyes. If you know her well you've seen them. Wonder if Billy has seen those yet?<br />
<br />
I digress. The point is, well as usual there is no real point, it's just funny but let's say the point is this--when you have kids it's fun to get the ones who like to do something to make the one who doesn't like do something do it. (Ha ha, I can just see Laurent my English as a second language friend puzzling over that awful sentence). Then you can just lie on the couch until you feel better.<br />
<br />
And in the end, you might have someone who voluntarily changes from pajamas to jeans for a semi-formal dinner.<br />
<br />
Baby steps.Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-5887004898033595322013-03-18T07:09:00.000-07:002013-03-18T07:09:52.900-07:00TURNABOUT AND THE PHOTO SHOOT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Saturday Lilly went to the Turnabout Dance in Glenview. That is the dance where the girls ask the boys. We called it Sadie Hawkins where I grew up but it's just another reason to have a formal dance and that's all good.<br />
<br />
There are a lot of customs and rituals to follow for THE BIG DANCE and I realized that between our three kids and all the high school dances this was the 13th time around for Jeff and me which one might think makes us kind of experts. <br />
<br />
I will share how things usually go from the parents' point of view.<br />
<br />
1. For weeks before the big dance there will be much drama about who asked whom and who said yes and how the boy was asked. If you have a girl you will hear about this ad nauseum until your ears bleed. If you have a boy you will not even know there is a dance until just a few days before when he announces he needs a sport coat and a corsage. <br />
<br />
2. There will be more drama as your girl searches for the perfect dress, shoes, and hairstyle. If you have a boy there will be much drama as you try to drag his dis-interested ass to the store and get him to try on a sport coat. <br />
<br />
If you are lucky, your girl will agree to wear a dress already in the house from previous events or siblings. Just make sure the dress still fits, as in covers all her parts sufficiently. Trust me on this one--this is a mistake anyone can make--even if this is not their first time around.<br />
<br />
<br />
3. For Turnabout the girls do the planning. Actually, they do the planning for all the dances. If done properly, this will involve restaurant reservations and spreadsheets to figure out who is driving whom (or a party bus ordered).<br />
<br />
A wise mom (Carrie O) advised me early on NOT to get involved in any of this process. A bossy girl always takes care of this. <br />
<br />
This is excellent advice. Just make sure your daughter did not volunteer to organize rides but did not actually do that and you don't find out until the picture-taking when a mom asks you for the driving schedule that your daughter did (but didn't really). Trust me, this could happen to anyone, even if they've done this a few times.<br />
<br />
4. Picture-taking: This is where you go to someone's house or a public venue (like the Park District lobby) so you can take pictures of the 20 or so kids in your kid's group. You will only know one or two of the kids and one or two of the parents. <br />
<br />
There is a lot of energy as everyone is anxious, looking around to see if they are properly dressed, and hoping to fit in. The kids are a little nervous too.<br />
<br />
You will take a picture of your kid and his/her date as they try to figure out how to put a wrist corsage on or worse pin one on a lapel. Mom will end up pinning the corsage.<br />
<br />
If you are lucky, the mother hosting the picture-taking assumes the role of assembling the kids for pictures. If you are unlucky no one will assume this roll and you will stand around a lot until a bossy girl takes over. <br />
<br />
If you are really unlucky, the mom-host will see the entire evening as a photo-shoot followed by that annoying dinner and dance. After about 20 minutes of this nonsense (we remember one in particular where the girls were asked to jump up and down, now dance crazy, now put your hands like a train...you get the idea) feel free to leave.<br />
<br />
You will take several pictures of your kid and his/her date as they stand awkwardly together because most of them go as "just friends".<br />
<br />
Then you are obliged to take a group shot of all the girls. This takes forever as they come up with ridiculous formations to show off their finery. <br />
<br />
Finally someone wil have all the kids line up.<br />
<br />
At some point you will take a picture or two of the boys altogether. Or not.<br />
<br />
You will post one or two of these on Facebook. The rest you will delete.<br />
<br />
5. And finally: You and your husband will go for a much-deserved cocktail and discuss how grown up the girls looked and how lost the boys looked. You will note which girl was dressed most inappropriately --as in not proper coverage--and hopefully it will not be your own daughter. But I am not saying that will always be the case, even if you are a veteran.<br />
<br />
So that's pretty much how it goes. And even when you think you sort of understand how it goes, things can go awry. Which is true of all great parenting ventures so why would this be any different?<br />
<br />
If you got to be a part of this fun ritual last week, I hope you had as much fun as we did. The kids? Oh yeah, I think they had fun too.<br />
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<br />Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-41737722949980749372013-02-19T07:17:00.000-08:002013-02-19T07:17:32.048-08:00FREE THE PRESIDENTIAL APOSTROPHEThis year for the first time I realized that no one can agree on where to place the apostrophe (if at all) in President's' Day. A quick search on the internet shows that the definitive answer is obvious--call it Washington's Birthday.<br />
<br />
But since I saw it in commercials for mattresses spelled three different ways I was compelled to figure out which way is correct.<br />
<br />
Digression: Why mattresses and presidents? (though JFK and Clinton come to mind when searching for a connection). Can you imagine George saying to Martha, "Some day I hope they commemorate me and all the great men and women <i>(in this Downton Abbey-like revisionist version I am making him a feminist</i>) who hold my job in the future by offering great deals on mattresses!!"<br />
<br />
No of course not. He would have wanted the day commemorated by giving our kids the day off of school so we can take them to Nickel City (local arcade) which, at this time of year, as my neighbor Danielle pointed out, could also be called Cesspool.<br />
<br />
Or we could honor them by cramming the day full of orthodontist appointments and last-minute rehearsals for the high-school variety show. Whatever.<br />
<br />
Back to the apostrophe. I am going to make a case here.<br />
<br />
It can't be President's Day because that would imply we are only honoring one president which defeats the whole purpose of changing it from Washington's Birthday in the first place. <br />
<br />
It technically could be Presidents' Day for obvious reasons.<br />
<br />
But this year I noticed a lot of companies went with the somewhat confusing Presidents Day. I had this explained to me once by a colleague, Mary Brent who pointed out that if you use a noun enough it kind of becomes an adjective and you don't need to worry about possession anymore. Her example was Farmers Insurance.<br />
<br />
I also noticed that Sears and BMW went apostrophe-free (in their TV ads anyway) and I choose to believe they have some of the best copywriters left in the world.<br />
<br />
Tweeters don't do copy-writing so maybe I need to explain....Well kids, once upon a time there were people who, never mind. It gives me comfort to imagine a room full of smart English majors debating this over at Sears headquarters. Sears' headquarters. Errr...<br />
<br />
So I make the case to go apostrophe-free. I have at least two regular readers who are English majors (Amy and Lorri) who may want to thrust and parry on this. Go for it.<br />
<br />
And while I am suggesting we let go of that apostrophe, and we are fresh off the Family Christmas Card Season, a gentle reminder that you should not sign the card "Love, the Brown's" It is simply, "Love, the Browns".<br />
<br />
Think about it a minute, I'll wait.<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh, no, I do not think you are a silly goose for making this very common mistake and did it myself for MANY years. But stop it now.<br />
<br />
<br />
So today's lesson is that with apostrophes, as with mattress sales, less is more and if I ever figure out commas I can share that with you too.Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-35699176379012600562013-02-07T08:50:00.003-08:002013-02-07T08:50:46.980-08:00BEAUTY AND SHORT HAIRThe prettiest girl in my class back in the olden days of the late 70s was Amy Fitzpatrick. She had this adorable, short bob, with shiny black hair and a natural white streak just to the side of her face. In fact, when I think about it, most of the pretty girls in my class of 78 at Northville High School had short hair.<br />
<br />
I was thinking about this because when I attend events at my kids' high school or when I watch TV shows with teenage girls and young women I almost NEVER see girls with short hair. And that got me thinking about the fact that not only did we have short hair but we didn't really wear much makeup. And we wore overalls, a style I am very thankful to say has not really made much of a come back over the years (although I did think I was adorable in my white painter-pant overalls and YES Andie Conder you WERE adorable in yours too).<br />
<br />
Here's a nice example of a cute, short-haired girl who is my age, back in the day. She's Lady Grantham now in case you wondered:<br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNgXlbyPq5lL0X2l9LSGaJLODFoeI96bB0AaJdvFcMTEal3kt6p1fPO-YMQXTn0ljZ7ChCEhFeWU4a7BT4b-6IlrhSRvWT8A1aLPYctnklY7lCh-sjCY3ajm0cOMK_JQiCHQ/s1600/elizabeth+mcgovern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNgXlbyPq5lL0X2l9LSGaJLODFoeI96bB0AaJdvFcMTEal3kt6p1fPO-YMQXTn0ljZ7ChCEhFeWU4a7BT4b-6IlrhSRvWT8A1aLPYctnklY7lCh-sjCY3ajm0cOMK_JQiCHQ/s320/elizabeth+mcgovern.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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<br />
At dinner the other night I mentioned this observation to my two long-haired, well-made up teenage daughters and Lilly said, "So, like what makeup did you wear the day you got married?"<br />
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"Mascara," I replied.<br />
<br />
"And what else?"<br />
<br />"Just mascara. But I think I used a curling iron," I said, feebly.<br />
<br />
This was kind of shocking and a bit hilarious to them both. <br />
<br />
"Not even some eyeliner?" Grace asked.<br />
<br />
"Nope. Even the girls who did wear 'a lot' of makeup did not wear eyeliner. Just a lot of blue eyeshadow and lots of lip gloss."<br />
<br />
Now-a-days even the youngest teen girls (not all, but many) have a working knowledge of eyeliner.<br />
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And then there is all that hair. Long hair was still popular too in my day but not tons and tons and tons of it. Extensions had not been invented so except for the odd slightly freaky girl who was going for the Crystal Gayle look (below) hair didn't go much past the shoulders.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1E6Un3sqZPeUHx2Pkt8hULSJgWXxCJRdojdAhyhlyxvAYUxOvSBG6GZ7-Di8RKwaSFWvMnOHEKQouEo_a5XOEurBvyxG2rvxx732b0CS4VOP-0NiSwJhB7DaCyhvyUSL1Q/s1600/Crystal+Gayle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1E6Un3sqZPeUHx2Pkt8hULSJgWXxCJRdojdAhyhlyxvAYUxOvSBG6GZ7-Di8RKwaSFWvMnOHEKQouEo_a5XOEurBvyxG2rvxx732b0CS4VOP-0NiSwJhB7DaCyhvyUSL1Q/s320/Crystal+Gayle.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<br />
I noticed that cute little Hayden Panettiere on "Nashville" plays a character who routinely wears her hair in three different lengths--her own (I assume), her longer going-out-in-public extensions, and then her even longer performing-on stage-extensions.<br />
<br />
When she wears them at her longest, especially given she is petite, she kind of looks like Cousin It. Actually, so does her co-star, Connie Britton. That is a lot of hair between the two of them. You could coif half of St. Jude's with those extensions.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLou3RHEOFSah-AstwUunTIOxGYC1kFjmhSSUn6AF_wXWLUMqU2LL3LHMXT67OTjWLfZ6zjWt4dlkG_TmI8IHrB955BJtjUJYGqfCaVF0nHhkakUsegUqMKYRRFezPcN80Sg/s1600/Hayden+Panetierre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLou3RHEOFSah-AstwUunTIOxGYC1kFjmhSSUn6AF_wXWLUMqU2LL3LHMXT67OTjWLfZ6zjWt4dlkG_TmI8IHrB955BJtjUJYGqfCaVF0nHhkakUsegUqMKYRRFezPcN80Sg/s320/Hayden+Panetierre.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
I believe you are always attracted to the look that was in when you came of age. That is probably why I still find boys with feathered hair kind of foxy. Like Shaun Cassidy. Just kidding, NO ONE has that hair anymore. By the way, do yourself a favor and DO NOT GOOGLE what he looks like now.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqLCvekBAarpOauWsTRbb0RbpdsBQ_jrmCH55Vq5E1pOuAEe5I_tQlUJl_yvbAKcK0bcvCXWJnqC5zbcLJ3BARbf5oSvoNmfPlK-nYVXwnTZGq0zFwN2xhyphenhyphenZQ1Nj1mTUlEg/s1600/shaun_cassidy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqLCvekBAarpOauWsTRbb0RbpdsBQ_jrmCH55Vq5E1pOuAEe5I_tQlUJl_yvbAKcK0bcvCXWJnqC5zbcLJ3BARbf5oSvoNmfPlK-nYVXwnTZGq0zFwN2xhyphenhyphenZQ1Nj1mTUlEg/s1600/shaun_cassidy.jpg" /></a></div>
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And why I think the most beautiful women in Hollywood are Halle Berry, Anne Hathaway (with short hair), and Heath Ledgers girlfriend.<br />
<br />
This short hair, no makeup thing was really only a "thing" for a short time and if you look back at the past century really was the only time it was in for women to dress like ten-year-old boys.<br />
<br />
Come to think of it, this also explains why I had no idea what a Lesbian looked like until well into my 30s because we all looked like Lesbians.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying one way is better or not. I enjoyed the low-pressure almost non-existent grooming days (don't get me started on teeth whitening and body-hair removal) when I was a teen and in college but on the other hand, I kind of wish I had worn a <i>little</i> makeup and not sported a mullet in my wedding photos.<br />
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How about you? What look is still adorable to you because it was "in" even though it is most decidedly "out"? And what looks kind of ridiculous but is very "in" right now?Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-18192590024416101672013-01-08T08:16:00.000-08:002013-01-09T15:00:24.576-08:00SPARE KEYS and CAPS and GOWNSI know I have written about this before but that just makes it even sillier that we pretty much re-lived the craziness.<br />
<br />
I am talking about the first day back at school/work after Winter Break. It's amazing that it can look even more chaotic and disorganized than the official first day of school.<br />
<br />
Here's how ours looked. <br />
<br />
It actually started out with some planning and forethought. Sunday night, anticipating a crazy morning, I had the kids move the cars around in the driveway. We have three cars that we have to stack in a small driveway because 1) we do not use the tiny garage except to store junk and 2)even though we no longer have snow in Chicago, we are not allowed to park on the street from November to April in anticipation of the snow-plow needing to get through.<br />
<br />
So Grace and Atticus went out and moved the cars in the order in which they would be driven out. <br />
Jeff would be leaving his car for me because both Atticus and I had doctors' appointments at the same time on Monday.<br />
<br />
In the morning I offered to drive Jeff to the train thinking it was the least I could do when he was giving up his car.Unfortunately, when the moment came to drive him (with the usual amount of spare time being 0 minutes), we could not find the key to my car. And the fun began.<br />
<br />
We tore through my locker, my purse, my coat pockets and then I roared "Lilly wake your brother up and tell him to find my G*#Damned keys!"In the ensuing madness, I found my car key--Atticus had left it in HIS car. WTF How do you leave one car key in a different car of all places? <br />
<br />
I went back in the house to find Atticus (who is home from college on winter break) wandering around in a just-woken-up-daze wearing only his boxers pretending to look for my keys.<br />
<br />
"I found them in your car!" I said through gritted teeth "But can you all please just put the damn keys back where they go?!" Jeff stuck his head in the door at this moment to yell, "I'm going to miss my train!"And off we roared. <br />
<br />
He made his train but barely. I came back to the house to find the girls trying to sneak out to school without having to listen to me rant again.<br />
<br />
Later, when I found my spare key in my purse, I decided that perhaps it wasn't ALL the kids' fault. Jeff told me to resist the temptation to confess but I felt bad that I was really more a part of the problem than I had thought.<br />
<br />
And when I went to my doctor's appointment and was told I was there on the wrong day, I had the sneaking suspicion that perhaps I am not just part of the problem but I am the problem.<br />
<br />
And I thought that again this morning when Grace called from school to tell me it was cap and gown/grad announcment order day and everyone but her had a filled out form and I realized I not only did not have the form but had mistakenly thrown it away a few weeks ago thinking it was just an order for a class ring.<br />
<br />
On the plus side, the kids have dutifully hung up the keys in their appointed space for two whole days now. <br />
<br />
So if your first full work/school week of 2013 got off to a rocky start, rest assured, it did too for the Self-Righteous Housewife. And if past is any predictor of future it will next year too.<br />
<br />
HAPPY NEW YEAR!Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-23920457133327350592012-12-19T15:42:00.000-08:002012-12-19T15:42:02.639-08:00AUNT DELIA AND THE CHRISTMAS PARTY<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Family
legend has it that my Aunt Delia (the most beautiful and glamorous of the
aunts) was known to host fun parties but when she was done with the party she
would just leave and go to bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do not
know if this really happened or maybe happened once or many times but it is a
good story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We hosted
our annual <a href="http://theselfrighteoushousewife.blogspot.com/2009/12/christmas-party.html">Christmas party </a>this past Saturday. This is a great bash with about
forty of our best friends and neighbors in Glenview we have hosted for fifteen years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At about
9:30 I was talking to someone and thought, "Oh my gosh, I'm not sure I can
stay awake all night." I said, "Excuse me, I have to check on
Lilly, " whhich is a preposterous statement as Lilly is fourteen and was
sensibly holed up in her bedroom ignoring the noise below.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went
into my bedroom and emboldened by thoughts of Aunt Delia lay down on the bed. In a few
minutes Jeff came up the stairs. I thought he came to check on me but he was
surprised to find me there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I
just need to lie down a minute," he said and did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We lay
there holding hands wondering how long we could be gone from our own party
without being missed. We figured hours actually.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We
listened to the roar from below and it was quite festive and comforting like
when you were a kid and your parents had a party and you could hear it all. It
was a little annoying when their bursts of laughter interrupted your <i>Partridge Family</i> but otherwise it was fun and reassuring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All those
voices talking and laughing were so lovely. I thought about all those friends
downstairs who have been there for us over the years through the good times and
most recently the challenging times and I thought about how much I love them
all and I may have gotten a little weepy--in a good way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After
about fifteen minutes I rose, refreshed. "Come on," I said to Jeff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I
love martineesh," Jeff declared. I suggested maybe he had enough martinis but
he waved me off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We went
back and I was just fine, fully alert and ready for the rest of the party (and so was Jeff by the way--he took a walk around the block with his BFF Dan instead of having another martini) In
fact, I made it all the way to 1:00 a.m. and I did not feel the urge to gather
everyone's coats off the bed and hand them back to the few stragglers like I
did in 2005 (or so). Nor did I have to put my pajamas on which is how I signal my dear friend Beth that it is time to go when she is visiting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So next
time you are at a party and need a little break go lie down. Even if if is your
own party. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If anyone
gives you a hard time about it, tell them Aunt Delia told you to.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays</span></div>
Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-26033451662870154192012-12-10T12:31:00.001-08:002012-12-10T12:31:13.615-08:00MY BOOK AT LONG LAST!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrp47IL-Pmz_V0Vw925sqACBIvmmBJomMqqxqxXTbdyIeg2RAG47vEtgD56y-OFBmOK2wFwfSzUwbzEl8rooAPYp48aAhkZdLigObkA4WNNuCxpuGjEqYJfTfx7ThkeqAUA/s1600/Just_Fake_the_Readin_Cover_for_Kindle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGrp47IL-Pmz_V0Vw925sqACBIvmmBJomMqqxqxXTbdyIeg2RAG47vEtgD56y-OFBmOK2wFwfSzUwbzEl8rooAPYp48aAhkZdLigObkA4WNNuCxpuGjEqYJfTfx7ThkeqAUA/s320/Just_Fake_the_Readin_Cover_for_Kindle.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Okay loyal readers, just in time for Christmas gift-giving, I announce my book, a collection of my greatest hits and essays is now available for purchase!!<br />
<br />
Simply <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Just-Fake-Reading-Log-Self-Righteous/dp/1480094080/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1355171070&sr=8-1&keywords=just+fake+the+reading+log">click here</a> and you will be directed to Amazon.com where you can purchase my book for yourself or as a gift!!<br />
<br />
This is a real book in print with a soft-cover. Soon, VERY soon you can also purchase this for your Kindle so check back in a few days if that is your preferred method of reading.<br />
<br />
I also HIGHLY encourage any of you to write a nice review of the book when you've read it and that will really help with getting me noticed by someone other than my mom!<br />
<br />
To all my readers I thank you for getting me this far!<br />
Happy Holidays!<br />
<br />
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Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-48248306088914650012012-10-26T08:56:00.001-07:002012-10-26T08:56:54.877-07:00MY DOG TELLS YOU ABOUT THE SKUNK<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpeTZ16YmG2L6qjOtzkpv4HUNiwq8y6Fubiq-hcvQP7KFEtW9cAJvTQCnIjJSamsiqbm6Ug0Ey-XbqsKlew1xQKwW30BLvgdrzGkdJZnDTiBEZEa3kJR0wG-zAAn6eseWilQ/s1600/molly.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpeTZ16YmG2L6qjOtzkpv4HUNiwq8y6Fubiq-hcvQP7KFEtW9cAJvTQCnIjJSamsiqbm6Ug0Ey-XbqsKlew1xQKwW30BLvgdrzGkdJZnDTiBEZEa3kJR0wG-zAAn6eseWilQ/s320/molly.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body1" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><b>Today's post is written by my dog Molly.</b></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh my
gosh it was the most awesome best super coolest thing that ever ever happened
to me. I call it "the night I finally caught an animal in my mouth."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not
saying I've NEVER caught anything but well, okay, I've never caught anything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every day
I try. I really do. There's this squirrel that lives out on the woodpile and if
I can get Mom to open the door at just the right time I can scare the crap out
of that thing, chasing it through the yard while it chatters and yells at me up
top of the fence. But I can't catch it. It's too fast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mom
always says, "Go get her! Go get your squirrel friend," she thinks
that's really funny. But I never catch her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once I
caught a delicious dead thing from behind the shed. I took it to Mom but she
did not like it and screamed and made me drop it. She called it a mold or
something. Dad just went out and took it away so I did not even have a chance
to grab it by the neck and rip it to shreds the way I practice on all my
stuffed toys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But that
night, last August, I caught a big black thing with two white lines on its back
and it was ALIVE!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I almost
didn't get the chance. Mom quit letting me out after dark unless I'm on a leash
for some reason late this summer. I heard her tell my human brother and
sisters I couldn't go out after dark. I don't know why. I'm not scared. And I
see great in the dark. But she said it was a bad idea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I just
waited until she was having one of those drinks Dad makes her in a
triangle-shaped glass. After she has one of those she kind of forgets things.
It worked. I waited until Dad something real funny and she laughed and then I
asked real politely to go outside. She got up and opened up the door to let me
out like she did not even remember she just told the kids not to do that an
hour before. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took
off like a shot to the back of the yard where all the animals hide at night.
Mom started screaming then but nothing could have stopped me. She was screaming
"Molly, NOOOOOOO. SKUUUUUNKKKKK!!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could
see it out by the back bushes. Kind of fluffy and pretty. All tempting with
it's big black and white tail. I caught it easy. It was not fast at all and it
couldn't jump up on the fence like that squirrel does.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had it
in my mouth so of course I took it right to Mom on the patio. My plan was to
shake the hell out of it, break it's neck, then tear it's throat open! I don't
know what I would do after that, but I practice doing that ALL the time on stuffed animals and I
knew it was just what I was supposed to do with that thing. It was all wiggly
in my mouth and I liked that even more. Those dumb stuffed animals don't move
when I grab them at all!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But then
something really weird happened. Some kind of yellow, stinky wet stuff got all
over me! I have NO idea where it came from, but it was so smelly and so yucky I had to drop the stripey animal I finally caught. That stuff (it was yellow
and got in my eyes and on my neck!) must have come down out of the tree I was
standing next to. Or maybe Mom threw it at me or something to get me to drop
the stripey live animal. I don't know but it was NASTY!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mom was
screaming. Dad was screaming. Man were they excited and proud of me to finally
have caught a real live animal IN MY MOUTH!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But
because of that really weird spray thing that came from nowhere I had to go in
right then and take a bath. A really long bath. Then mom gave me another bath.
Then Lilly gave me a bath. Then they made me sleep in the bathroom all night. I
didn't want to sleep in the bathroom but I could tell everyone was kind of mad
about the smelly yellow stuff so I didn't complain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next
day I went looking for my stripey friend but I have not seen it since then.
Maybe it moved to someone else's backyard. I wish it would come back. I would
LOVE to catch it again. IN MY MOUTH.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had to
have about eleventy dozen more baths and you know what I still smell a little
like that weird tree smell or whatever. And it's been weeks now. I don't mind
the smell anymore because it reminds me of the best night of my life ever. The night I
finally caught something LIVE IN MY MOUTH!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I can
tell you too, if I EVER get the chance to catch another stripey thing in my
mouth LIVE, I will totally try it again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because that was the best thing that
ever happened to me.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-29284764960037642672012-10-09T09:14:00.000-07:002012-10-09T09:14:16.067-07:00SMILE FOR THE CAMERA<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq36Q4P0rZHdaLYJhWe_RJR9UeUyUBDxmZmxCuFnNIQ4Ham6IoXFO3CYs1T5PDFrcgfz8g-KvgTaKC7ExaXIXLNXXUZZeQO5lbpwwRML1Xhfj53A6Pra_P5BHdyIwJoPqezA/s1600/Ludwig+Grandkids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq36Q4P0rZHdaLYJhWe_RJR9UeUyUBDxmZmxCuFnNIQ4Ham6IoXFO3CYs1T5PDFrcgfz8g-KvgTaKC7ExaXIXLNXXUZZeQO5lbpwwRML1Xhfj53A6Pra_P5BHdyIwJoPqezA/s320/Ludwig+Grandkids.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><b>If you think the family portrait is hard to pull-off just try the intergenerational one. Here are the Ludwig kids and their Rahn cousins with Grandma and Grandpa Ludwig, summer of 1998. </b></i></div>
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<i><b>The baby is Lilly. L to R: Atticus, Grace, Sarah, Brian, and Michael</b></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I
don't see you on the schedule," I said frowning at my list of names. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was
church-directory picture-taking week last month and I had offered to help
register families as they came in all shiny and well-combed and neat. I was talking to a long-time parishioner so I
was confused as to why her family's label was missing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She waved
my concern away, "Oh that's because we were here earlier in the week and
it didn't go well. The boys had a meltdown, my husband complained, and I ended
up in tears so we had to just leave." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ah, the
family portrait. Good times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you
want to see a middle-aged mom roll her eyes, just ask her about the last time
she tried to get her family together for a formal photo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As every
mother knows, it is exceedingly challenging to wrangle all the members of your
family for this seemingly simple task. Whether you are dealing with colicky
babies, cranky toddlers, or busy, busy, teenagers, it is a Sisyphean chore to
get them all in one spot at one time looking well-dressed and well-groomed and
not crying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't
know why we even try. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes I do.
It's because one of our jobs is to curate an archive of the family history and
a formal family portrait every few years is a big part of the exhibit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When the
kids were little I went for the old dress-em-all-alike look which involved
weeks of scouring Target for similar outfits. What a colossal waste of time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even
after making sure I had something that fit each and every one of us (sometime
this process took so long someone outgrew something) and finding a time when no
one was napping and dad was home, I would still meet with resistance from the
crowd. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Really?
Is it so much to ask that you people put the outfit on that I laid out for you
on your bed and go smile at the camera for half an hour?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Do
I have to go get my picture taken! I don't wanna. I don't wanna wear jeans and
a black t-shirt like everyone else," the whining would begin. The kids
were worse. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So in
recent years I've adopted the "I don't care what you're wearing, just comb
your hair and let's go" policy. Which you think would take care of all the
problems and resistance but no, just as you get to this point, the kids will be
teenagers and have all kinds of school and after-school activities to conflict
with a scheduled photo time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This year
I rescheduled our time slot three times to accommodate the work-choir-horseback
riding commitments of my brood. I wasn't quite ready to adopt my friend Laura's
policy-- "I just scheduled a time and figured it was like dinner on any
given night--whoever shows up is in."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This time
around I was introduced to a new wrinkle in the whole process--with kids headed
off to college it is even less likely you will be able to pull off a complete
family portrait. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mom
friends told me their college children had expressed disbelief and even outrage
that they would not be in the church directory. One mom said she had a
different shot of the family taken and submitted it to accommodate their
college kid. Another one submitted their college student's picture separately.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So as we
four who were once five stood fake smiling I said a little sadly, "This is
weird without Atticus."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But Grace
was more pragmatic, "This is who we are now. Let's just take the
picture."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Which I
think is the perfect sentiment of any formal family picture and a gentle
reminder of the ever-changing nature of family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="Body1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Body1">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is who we are now.</span></i><i><span lang="en-US" style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: #0400; mso-bidi-language: X-NONE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: #0400;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-87912093981859022762012-08-27T15:06:00.000-07:002012-08-27T15:06:40.360-07:00TWO BUTTONS DOWN, TWO TO GO<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPM4xULIOncc9_YL7FN_7FEGRK8z5KGB-gkdJ15eOHaBtcNRgURPZAfeMzy7MwOp6atTK69SWGoByNHLT8IZRFx0d2LixNILtHzvJ1xYkHNNowWALf0wk3L_zEePtSQsVy-g/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPM4xULIOncc9_YL7FN_7FEGRK8z5KGB-gkdJ15eOHaBtcNRgURPZAfeMzy7MwOp6atTK69SWGoByNHLT8IZRFx0d2LixNILtHzvJ1xYkHNNowWALf0wk3L_zEePtSQsVy-g/s320/photo-1.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice skirt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Most of you know I just dropped number one child off for college and may even be expecting me to write something sentimental and insightful about that experience but all I can say is man that sucks. <br />
<br />
And if you are struggling with it like I am you might want to read my friend Christie Mellor's latest book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fun-without-Dick-Jane-Delightfully/dp/1452105979">Fun Without Dick and Jane</a> which is so very cleverly titled you just know it is full of helpful coping advice, which it is.<br />
<br />
Instead, I want to write about how much I love back to school time and especially the clothes we wear for the occasion. I have loved back to school since I was in grade school and I would wear a plaid dress with a big white collar (had to be plaid, my favorite; had to be a dress, we were not allowed to wear pants to school back then). I love my first day of school photos with my gap-toothed grin as I stand clutching my pencil box. Remember those? <br />
<br />
As far as I remember I wore the same version of that first plaid dress up until about junior high. I clearly remember my 7th grade outfit. By then we were allowed to wear pants to school and I wore purple bell-bottoms with laces on the side. I had a matching purple body suit (snapped at the crotch) that laced up the front and even though it was all one piece it was supposed to look like you were wearing a short-sleeved shirt over a long sleeved shirt which was the height of fashion in 1973. The bells on my purple pants were so wide they covered my shoes. That is how we measured if they were big enough. I could make a joke about that outfit but I think it speaks for itself.<br />
<br />
And I loved going off to college in Ann Arbor with my THREE Pendleton wool skirts my mom made me especially the red and black plaid one. They looked fabulous with my shetland sweaters and my penny-loafers which were back in style in the late 70s after having been mothballed since the 50s. <br />
<br />
Since I have had my kids I wear my own red and plaid skirt every first day of school when I get my picture taken with the kids--see above. I have worn that skirt for the past 14 years.<br />
<br />
Except.<br />
<br />
Except that this year, I had to unbutton not one but TWO of the buttons on my skirt to fit in it. I know, I could buy a new one but really, I am much too old to wear a plaid skirt to begin with let alone buy a new one.<br />
<br />
Several years back, Barbara Brotman of the Chicago Tribune wrote a whole column on being too old to wear a plaid pleated skirt which I literally read while wearing my plaid pleated skirt. I am sorry to say I cannot find that column and if any of you do, let me know (Maria?).<br />
<br />
Anyhoo, I pointed out to Lilly that I had two buttons unbuttoned and that maybe it was time to give up on the skirt but she loves tradition more than any of us and looked at me with horror at the suggestion. I guess I have two more buttons to go so I don't see any reason to get rid of it now.<br />
<br />
And by the way, speaking of tradition, I did get to read "Kissing Hand" to all the kids even Atticus on the day we drove him to college but I had to sneak in his room and read it to him while he was barely awake so he wouldn't hear me cry and I also had to change some of the words to nonsense like, "Chester skipped off to school and did not look back the little bastard," also so I would not cry too hard.<br />
<br />
So, if you have any back to school memories of particularly fetching or ridiculous clothes you wore or wear still, let me know.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLbXbWIRhHclBEmxxCTbHxv0JFV6FDBE1AQsY8e9NZG7xGE6wDMA5Rb5V44n9zeQIlrGxNQAkVG6nREEulyk3bYulOuvkJI6TfzccS6Ohlv5HsqPrLvUlK4RYDMKcfuQAhdw/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLbXbWIRhHclBEmxxCTbHxv0JFV6FDBE1AQsY8e9NZG7xGE6wDMA5Rb5V44n9zeQIlrGxNQAkVG6nREEulyk3bYulOuvkJI6TfzccS6Ohlv5HsqPrLvUlK4RYDMKcfuQAhdw/s320/photo.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cute girls. Some day their fashion may be funny too!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-25011791969352476492012-08-01T13:33:00.002-07:002012-08-01T13:33:52.628-07:00DON'T LET THE DOOR HIT YOU<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Well here we are. August 1st and that means tuition bills are due
and (for many of us) our eldest child is getting ready to go to college for the
first time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br />
I feel like we've prepared for this for a long, long time. We watched our
friends do it, we've listened to their advice and now it's our turn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So far they have
been right: This is a difficult, sad, often grief-filled time in which you
struggle to deal with the impending separation--but most of the time you will
be thinking--hey can you get out of my house now?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Yes, just as I was
counseled by the wise women who have gone before me, a young person between his
or her senior year of high school and first year of college is umm, well, kind
of a pain in the neck. This is nature's way of making it easier to say goodbye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I'm not sure what
it is a mom might find annoying....Maybe it's the way he sleeps until </span><st1:time hour="12" minute="0"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">noon</span></st1:time><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> then spends the early evening hours with
his girlfriend and the late nights on the computer until the wee hours. Could
it be his general attitude that he no longer has any family obligations
but is still entitled to the whole free food/free laundry thing? Or the way he
leaves his socks on the kitchen floor and sometimes his pants and shirt too
when he comes home hours after you have already been in bed. Perhaps it's that
he's taken to showering in your shower (it's closer than his) so when you go to
shower there are no clean towels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It's true, I will
cry when I leave him at the dorm but he's virtually already gone. I only see
the back of his head as he plays on the computer or leaves the house yet again
to "hang" with someone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">His sisters and I
have taken to talking about him as if he's gone. "Hey, can I put my
bunnies in Atticus's room now?" one asks. "I'm still here!" he
cries indignantly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The other sister (and I) can't wait to clear out the hovel in the
corner of the kitchen that has been his computer/work space. We pour over Houzz
online and pick out new furniture to fill in the space. (That corner below...what do you think?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I remember when my
mom went to parent orientation at Michigan State for my sister (the eldest) and came back and said,
"They told us not to turn their bedrooms into sewing rooms. They need to
know they're welcome at home." So at first I said no to the bunny hutch
idea. But then a wise friend suggested, "Why don't you just move the
rabbits back out when he comes home? You can enjoy the extra space while he's
away."<br />
<br />
Good idea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So we're all a bit
sad that Atticus will be leaving soon (in twenty-four days, three hours, and
six minutes).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But we're also
looking forward to an actual kitchen table, a sock-free floor, and clean dry
towels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><i>(A special shout
out to Kelly and Wendy who have been there from kindergarten...can you believe
it's really happening?)</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-44187969390954510522012-07-18T15:36:00.000-07:002012-07-18T16:13:29.032-07:00THINGS MY MOM SAYS: VIDEOHey, I made a new video! I will say the technology has sure improved since I made my first video. Oh, and it helped that Grace's boyfriend, Billy, a tech/TV guy did all production work. I just had to to show up with my trailer and my agent and make sure they only had green M&Ms on hand.<br />
<br />
And no, I had no control over which frame popped up there. But maybe Billy did that on purpose.<br />
<br />
Enjoy! And pass it along if you like it.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/0bjCs4-17ck" width="560"></iframe>Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-32255331500286158092012-07-14T07:14:00.000-07:002012-07-14T07:14:57.222-07:00DEPUTY MOM<br />
When you become a mom you are instantly deputized by the powers of the universe to do mom things like help children who have toppled off bicycles or approach a child who is obviously lost. In the past you may have thought, "I wonder if I should try to help?" or when you were much younger you really did not even notice a kid who fell off a bike, but now you know viscerally that you must help. And not only that you must help but that you have all the authority needed to take charge because --you are a mom.<br />
<br />
The magic powers that make you a Deputy Mom are not the same powers that turn you into Super Mom. Super Mom powers are those that enable you, who are so squeamish you literally had to put your head down between your legs or you would have passed out when a friend told you about a particularly gory episode with a broken glass, to look your toddler in the eye while holding a washcloth to a cut on his chin that reveals bone, and say calmly, "We may have to go to the ER for this one."<br />
<br />
Usually you realize you possess this power the first time you encounter a large spider near your new baby. Though you have spent your entire life dealing with spiders by shrieking for help from the nearest person in the house and/or closing the door and simply not going in the room where the spider is for a few days, you realize at that moment that you and only you must kill the spider. And then you do it --because you are Super Mom.<br />
<br />
Super Mom powers and Deputy Mom powers come from the same place: a very clear realization that if you don't take care of this no one will. But Super Mom powers are used to protect your own child from danger where as Deputy Mom powers are used to help make this world a better place in general.<br />
<br />
With Deputy Mom powers you have the right, nay the obligation, to help or correct all endangered or misguided children as needed. You may find yourself calling out to a teen on a skateboard, "Hey, where's your helmet?" or to a tween, "Watch your language I've got toddlers here!" ( I must mention here that I live in a place where the children are all incredibly polite and usually answer with a wave and a "Sorry" instead of an "Up yours old lady" like they would have when I was growing up.)<br />
<br />
There is only one very important rule when you invoke your Deputy Mom authority and that is you must never, never, never use the power if the parent of the errant or imperiled child is present. That is poor form. But feel free to tell the potty-mouth in the carpool, "Oh dear no, Justin, we do not say Mother Fucker in this van."<br />
<br />
Fathers are also deputized but they seldom use their authority to call kids out on safety violations. For one thing, safety violations often go undetected by them or even admired as an act of boyhood derring-do as in , "Look that kid is getting towed on his skate board by his brother driving that SUV! That looks so fun!" So don't count on them to get the neighborhood hoodlum to wear sneakers instead of flip-flops when he mows the lawn but they should feel moved to correct rude or unkind behavior.<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Once when we were leaving the movies a teen called out to a girl he knew. When she turned to smile at him he MOOED at her! Jeff grabbed the kid by the shoulder, "Did you just moo at that girl?" he asked in a tone that clearly conveyed he did not find that acceptable. The kid tried to deny it but Jeff would have none of it, "Yes you did. I saw the whole thing. That is the most unkind thing I've ever seen anyone do and if I ever see you do it again you will be very, very sorry." Now I have known Jeff for nearly 30 years and I can tell you, though is he a champion of the underdog, he never did stuff like that before he had kids.</span><br />
<br />
So if you are a new mom (Leslie) I dedicate this blog to you and I officially deputize you and your spouse (Chris) as keepers of civilization.<br />Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-5134740925521453442012-06-14T14:23:00.002-07:002012-06-14T14:23:30.478-07:00UPSIDE-DOWN DUCK<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDpy9d0ded4r-oPyhQyqM-PxUUyVyw3zIasdcKXj7EZIASBCSMt2RBkxqERP51XBc97WakPlakqefobtKwv8PIDs-oKN65fC-YBuqXlJdKMJhvN0vfCWRezFY6uWBEDE30g/s1600/duck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDpy9d0ded4r-oPyhQyqM-PxUUyVyw3zIasdcKXj7EZIASBCSMt2RBkxqERP51XBc97WakPlakqefobtKwv8PIDs-oKN65fC-YBuqXlJdKMJhvN0vfCWRezFY6uWBEDE30g/s320/duck.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">There was this time back in the 90s when I gave birth to three
children in about four years. It was crazy, and chaotic, and wonderful and the
only thing I would do differently if I had a do-over is I would have four children.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">During that era I loved the challenge of the simple act of getting
us all dressed and fed and out the door even if we were just going to the
library. I liked knowing that if I did it all just right we made a peaceful and
serene mother/children scene that made people smile--like a mama duck and her babies. And if I do say so myself, we looked pretty good most of the time.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">I remember talking to my sister about how tricky it was to do that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">She said it was like being a duck: if
you did it right, on the surface you were sailing along peacefully, your
children calmly circling you--but underneath if anyone could see your feet you were paddling like hell.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">Indeed.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">Most of the fabulous mom friends I know are fantastic ducks. Or
even swans (Ann R and Martha come to mind). They look amazing, they glide along, they look calm, their children now teens still glide along next to them peacefully and I love them and admire them for it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">And I know that this is not as easy as it looks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">I know that a lot of us (all of us at some time) are gliding
along despite a broken webbed foot or a pond that is losing water rapidly. But
we accept these challenges and work that much harder to glide.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">Sometimes you might see a mom who is not so good at this.</span><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">I saw one yesterday at the Shedd Aquarium. She was there with two quiet school-aged kids but somehow she made it <i>feel</i> like she was herding a dozen screaming toddlers who needed naps and lunch.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">It did not help that she had waaayyy too much gear: strollers, backpacks, lunchboxes, GameBoys--you get the picture. These types always have too much gear; sometimes they even have a spouse and they still look like they have no control over anything.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">She was talking way too loudly, over-managing the kids, quizzing them to make the visit "educational", correcting them when it wasn't necessary and ignoring them when it was. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">In short, she was making her own job much, much harder than it has to be. I thought "There goes a bad duck."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">But later, when thinking more about it, I realized that this
mom isn't just a duck who swims poorly, she is an <i><b>upside-down duck</b></i>. She has her head under the water, her feet paddling madly in the air, flapping her wings beneath the surface nearly drowning, and making her children (and the rest of us) crazy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">If she just put all that effort and energy into paddling <i>under</i> instead of above the water she'd be sailing along.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">So the next time you run into an upside-down duck (and you will) do us all a favor--tell her to TURN OVER. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 18pt;">We, and her children, will thank you.</span><br />
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<br /></div>Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-9895806593391815092012-05-18T07:24:00.001-07:002012-05-18T07:24:23.901-07:00PRENATAL TO PROM<br />
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<h4>
<span style="font-family: Papyrus; font-size: 18pt;">My niece Leslie, me, and Atticus (baby bump)</span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Papyrus; font-size: 18pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In 1993, just during this
time of year, I was four months pregnant with Atticus. I went to meet our real estate agent who was trying to sell our condo in Barrington (which is another story all together). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got out of my car and she got out of hers, and she turned slowly to face the late afternoon sun and squinting at my baby bump she smiled and pointed at me, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Watch out. One
minute you look like that, and the next you're going to help him pick out his
prom tux," which is what she had just been doing prior to meeting me there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now this is a sentiment
all parents have heard many times and it was not the first time I had heard it and certainly
not the last. But it is the time that sticks with me the most; I think
because she said it without sentiment, without regret, but simply as an
irrefutable fact in the same tone you might say "The sun has always set in
the west," and I know I felt a chill run up my spine on that warm May
night because I got it. I really got it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I used to be slightly annoyed with this kind of advice because really, what can you do about it anyway? Are they telling me I should try to slow time down? Well, that's how I interpreted it for a long time and I really did try. Mightily.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">n fact when I
listened to Joni Mitchell's <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X5HXT0bn7QY">Circle Game</a> (yes, I know I've referenced this song before) I would wait to hear the milestone that most closely
marked my eldest child's time with me and I would feel triumphant if we hadn't gotten
there yet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><b>Yesterday a child
came out to wonder. Caught a dragon-fly inside a jar</b></i> and I'd think,
"Yes, he still does that!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i>Skated over ten
clear frozen ponds</i></b> "Yes! He's only nine! Lots of time left"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is delusional
behavior and maybe even slightly psychotic and it did not work. Time did not slow down. In fact, it sped up and before I knew it, <b><i>cartwheels turned
to carwheels round the town.</i></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And today is senior prom
and I remember Deb Villers saying that to me all those years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I thought about it as
we picked out Atticus's tux this week (white dinner jacket, black pants, yellow vest and tie to match her dress, thanks for asking.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I thought about what that advice really means. Because of course it does not mean "Be careful time goes fast, try to slow it down." It means "It goes so fast so enjoy, embrace every minute. Savor every peanut-butter and jelly kiss, every night up in the bathroom with the shower steaming for a croupy cough, every god-awful honking squeaking band concert, and every psycho teen-aged melt-down. Because it does go crazy fast but it is also crazy fun and worth it all."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For new moms everywhere
(shout out to Leslie who is in that photo above) --you cannot slow the circle down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But you can enjoy every
single spin you take around it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32087936.post-56993042999664797232012-04-26T14:56:00.000-07:002012-04-26T14:56:37.523-07:00MOMMY WARS? NO SUCH THINGSo I have been a stay-at-home mom for 18 years now and every few years some numb-skull says something to unintentionally insult stay-at-home moms and the press just picks it up and RACES away with it turning it into cover stories and blog fodder and yaddah yaddah yaddah.<br />
<br />
And each time I have to sort of mull it over and wonder how I feel about this supposed "war" in which I am in.<br />
<br />
This most recent skirmish got me thinking again and I have come to several conclusions that I thought I might share for those of you who are in this "battle" or merely observing it from afar.<br />
<br />
Here's what I have learned in 18 years of "fighting".<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">There is no mommy-war. </span></b><br />
<br />
It's completely made up by the press for something to talk about and maybe a handful of mommies who really are conflicted about their own choice.<br />
<br />
For the rest of us, it does not exist. In 18 years I have literally never heard a stay-at-home mom bash a working mom for that decision. Never. Sometimes I hear a stay-at-home comment that it looks like it would be awfully hard to work full-time but that is about it. When I worked, I never heard a working mom disparage a stay-at-home. Sometimes I heard a working-mom say staying at home looked boring but that was about it.<br />
<br />
Let me organize my thoughts even more with a few bullet-points--because I love bullet-points.<br />
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1. The issue of stay-at-home vs. working is not an economic issue (though that topic gets muddled into the debate frequently)--what I mean is if you are talking about the value of a woman staying home raising kids versus the value of her working outside the home while raising kids you are by definition taking the <i>need</i> to work out of the equation.<br />
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No this is not nice for women who have to work--they have no choice--but it is not the issue at hand--if you have to work you have to work there is no debate about your decision to do so.<br />
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It is like trying to have a conversation about anorexia and having someone point out that there are starving people in the world. Yes, there certainly are and that fact does put the issue in perspective--but it does not address the issue at hand.<br />
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2. Here, where there are boots on the ground, there is not much animosity between these two groups (despite all media hype to the contrary including TV and movies): Because our best friends, sisters, and neighbors (or even we have been working moms), we are not really into hating on each other. I seldom hear these terms even come up.<br />
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As for the working moms bashing on us...well the worst thing I read in the last go-around was that sometimes we are called "LuLuLemon Moms" because we wear yoga clothes all day. Really? This is the meanest thing you can say about us? Yes, it's true we do wear our yoga clothes but you wear nice work suits! So na-na-na-na-boo-boo!<br />
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3. Everyone hates their job and envies someone else's job sometimes--this does not constitute a war: My husband, a successful corner-office-clawed-his-way-to-the-top business guy sometimes (okay a lot of time) wishes he played lead guitar in a rock band. But he does not go around bashing all men who chose to pursue a music career. He might envy them, but he doesn't try to tell them they should "get a day job". We stay-at-home/working moms are no different. Sometimes we regret what we chose, usually we are happy, we try not to be envious.<br />
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4. Bottom line is we all do what we can and what we have to do to make the best life for family and ourselves. If you find yourself getting very worked up over this topic, perhaps it is yourself you are struggling with. As has been suggested before by many wiser than I, it might just be that the mommy-war is an internal struggle.<br />
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As for the rest of us, we can always meet up at the end of a work day (wherever that may take place) and discuss our common lives (being mommies) over a glass of wine.<br />
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That doesn't look like a war to me.Judy Zimmermanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03404223339538308778noreply@blogger.com5