Joys of Single Motherhood

I am sitting on couch surrounded by discarded wrapping paper, a few water glasses and a box of half-eaten chocolates. The kids are gone. They're off to their real Xmas-the one with their father, his wife, their adorable three-year old half-brother, their step-brother, aunt, uncle and cousin. Dinner will be fabulous. Step-Mom is a wonderful cook. Aunt D will bring her famous spinach balls and noodle kugel. It's a wonderful holiday tradition for them. They would disagree lovingly with my description of their Xmas with me as less than "real". They say it's small but no less important. This year it was smaller than usual as I've been on crutches since last Wednesday. I fell down the stairs carrying what we all recognize as a "mother lode". I was balancing a laptop top, several dirty plates mined from my daughter's room, a set of clothes for my son, and a couple of glasses from his man cave. But the most dangerous element turned out to be the aged &

Kid 1 hosted her first party on Friday. I was confined to bed with a badly sprained ankle so I was able to keep an ear on things. Most guests brought a hostess gift. There was beer. Awful canned beer and no liquor as far as she knew. The awfulness of the beer amuses me-- Budweiser and Coors Lite. I asked "why cans" - - turns out it's cheaper. I'd never had beer from a can until a few years ago. At the trailer park I was visiting with a beau, there was a partying legend-a Canadian retiree who regularly pounded back a case or more a day. He offered me a can of some beer--Pabst maybe--it tasted like I imagine monkey pee would. Recently a mom whose very shy son is generally not invited to these kinds of get- togethers asked me "what do they do at these parties?" I replied "the same thing adults do, they have a few drinks and visit with friends." So that's what they did. No one got overly inebriated although once the party food was gone, they di

I hate Christmas. I feel guilty about hating Christmas but only because of my kids. If I could fill the space under the tree with gifts I might feel differently but the cupboard is completely bare this December. We used to have totally out-of-control over the top expressions of Holiday cheer. Every thing they wanted, things they might want and things we hoped they'd want. (Educational toys fall under this last category. Not that we ever bought many.) We left cookies for Santa, left flour booted footprints to fool them. We had the whole nine yards. This year on Xmas morning there will be stocking filled mostly with candy and maybe one gift for each kid. Maybe we'll go to the diner for breakfast if there is enough money. They will be politely eager to get to their father's house across town where their true Christmas happens. At their father's house there will be piles of presents. Their little brother will be thrilled to see them. My kids will get clothes they'll n

I had a great Thanksgiving Day this year. I've always disliked this holiday. When I was a kid I often had the flu on that day. I was never thankful as I sat on the bathroom floor waiting to be sick again. Even those years when I was well, the food was usually bad. I remember one Thanksgiving meal where my uncle served the baked potatoes by pitching them down the table. You had to pay attention or risk eating a baked potato that had bounced off the guest beside you. I was only thankful when it was over. My take on Thanksgiving has always been: you either get great food and lousy conversation or mediocre food and good conversation. It's almost impossible to have both good food and entertaining company. I lucked out this year. A new friend offered to take me along with him to a bountiful feast at the home of a college buddy. The buddy is from a famous family but the day was free of any of that. People wore sneakers and jeans. The table was set for thirty but there were only tw

I am breaking the law as I write this. I am sitting in the cafe area of the local movie theater while my son and his friends are watching an R-rated movie. They are going to see it without being 17 or accompanied by an adult. I am a criminal genius. But why should I have to sit through an R-rated movie with kids? They don't need me to explain any of the crass humor or the raunchy dialog. They've seen just about everything on YouTube except porn. It's way too late for censorship. Am I supposed to play Church Lady or throw my hands across their eyes? These movies are made for male teens and twenty-somethings. This particular movie is "Johnny Knoxville's Bad Grampa", one of those awful boy movies with plenty of crotch-kicking and breast baring. Also, farts, burps and lots of micturation and defecation in really inappropriate places. There is probably a playful pedophile and at least one incident with a bad ass biker gang too. And at least 1,000 utterances of t

Kid 1 has been sick with a cold virus for a solid week. Most mornings I've let her sleep in. When she wakes up she gives me either thumbs up or thumbs down on school for that day. I then call the school and make the appropriate excuse for her absence. Yesterday I forgot. When I arrived home last night, I found  my son in a mild tizzy. "There was a recording on the phone from the school! They said that you have 24 hours to give them a note or they'll put her down as skipping school. You have to write a note on a Post-it and hand it to the security guard yourself!" So today I had to write two notes-one to state unequivocally that she had been sick and not truant and another to beg forgiveness for her tardiness this morning. What I wanted to write for the Not Truant note was "Oh, for heaven's sake of course she wasn't skipping school, you idiots!" I didn't write that but I did write: Dear PTB (Powers that Be), please excuse Kid 1 's absence y

When your kid breaks his leg you know what to expect. I imagine that first you're scared, then worried, then relieved. In the end you might even be annoyed at your kid. Mental illness is different. You just don't know. It's like a black hole. Mysterious, dark and slowing growing. Kid 2 is ill, that much we know. And the stress is affecting my outlook as well. This is when single motherhood is beyond hard. Basically, my adorable, funny, charming 13 year-old can't take the stress of school. He can't do the school work so he crumples each day at around noon time. School is driving him crazy--at least that's my theory. He comes home each day before noon. It's like preschool except that you're not picking up a smiley little person who proudly thrusts the daily drawing at you while you strap him into the child seat. Instead I am picking up a sad, resigned boy who tries to alleviate my worry with a brief smile before he gets into the car. He sees the strain

Kid 1 has started her junior year of high school. It's late September and I just had my first "College Mom" encounter. In the grocery store, I ran into a neighborhood mom who has a passel of girls, the oldest of whom has just left for a pricey Catholic "university" that's probably less than an hour from home. Sacred Someone University or Convent of the Holy Hedgehog.... one of them. "She applied to nine schools and she got into all of them", she told me. I said "Wow, that's great", and I meant it. Her next question of course was "Where is your daughter going to apply?" and I foolishly said "she's planning to go to school in the city for fashion design". " Oh well, she better have a backup plan, " she said knowingly. I shrugged--what a naif I am sometimes--and said" I think she'll be fine. " Then I scurried away. (Did I really expect her to say" wow, that's great, you must be

Maybe it's me but it seems as though mass shootings by crazed gunmen are happening more frequently I have noticed that a script has evolved for these events. First, the death count starts low and increases as the day goes on. "It is believed that there are three dead and at least 25 injured. Reports from inside the building say that there are at least three gunmen and that they are dressed in military garb. Those left inside have been instructed to" shelter in place". Wasn't "sheltering in place" what they once taught Boy Scouts to do in case of an avalanche or a sudden tornado? "Pitch a tent and stay put!" Now it means "Duck, we gotta another nut with a gun!" The talking heads quickly bring up the possibility that these armed gunmen are part of a terrorist plot. (I imagine that the militia nuts in Colorado, Idaho and other Red states start licking their chops as they set about cleaning their weapons and counting bullets. Maybe t

I hate the start of a new school year. I should be relieved but I am too busy filling out a pile of forms. Dopey forms that I filled out last year and the year before. These include the "Internet Acceptable Use Policy" ; the "Would it be okay if we try to convince your daughter to join the Navy Seals" form; the "Google Apps Usage" form (What parent says 'no' to Google Apps? Maybe one who owns millions worth of Microsoft stock?) and the Photography Permission" form. (To this one, I say "knock yourself out trying to get a decent photo of my kids. And call me immediately if you succeed.) My son happened to be around while I was filling out the Internet one. He had to sign it too and he was suspicious about what exactly it was promising."What is this for? What does it mean?"  I told him "it means you won't surf porn or play Solitaire, just like last year." He signed reluctantly. I don't think he knows what Intern

I fought off a Babbler this morning at the shrink's office. A "Babbler" is what I call a non-stop talker who takes advantage of any stationary person--a receptionist, an airplane passenger, anyone in a waiting room---and proceeds to talk non-stop about themselves and often, the state of their health. The listener is the "Victim". The Babbler never, ever picks up on his victim's silent pain. At first, the victim will respond "uh, huh" and nod, but that impulse is quashed after five minutes or so. Beware the Babbler. This particular Babbler was a sixty-ish male whose receptionist victim was a Gen-Xer who happened to be black. This was a stroke of luck for the Babbler because he had decided to lecture her on the history of civil rights in New York City, starting when he was a child. (Sixty can sometimes seem like a long, long time....and no, Mountain Mensch, I am not implying anything here.) The Babbler had quickly gotten on a roll. "I tell yo

I haven't written in a while. I always have a million ideas that evaporate when I sit down to write/tap on my computer or phone. School starts next week. Kid 1 will begin her third year of high school and Kid 2 will serve a one year sentence in 8th grade. She seems eager while he is clearly ignoring the whole subject. Once school gets going, he'll probably ignore all of his subjects individually. Yuk, yuk. We are starting our yearly Special Ed Odyssey and my anxiety level is rising as the first day of school gets closer. I wish I co uld ignore the whole thing but there is a process and it gets a lot more complicated this year. There is the initial meeting to assess what special services and accommodations will be made to help him succeed this year. He was retested in June after he had his brain sprain but he was resistant to some sections. In the end, they seemed to conclude that he's a capable student who dislikes school and doesn't try hard enough. We had a meetin

I was washing a frying pan this morning and I fiddled with the faucet to adjust it to spray mode. It works but you have to make sure that the duct tape that keeps the leak in check isn't disturbed. The faucet head is cracked. Kid 1 got tired of the leak about a year or so ago and bound it with tape. She did a good job. No more leak or not one that squirts water at you and soaks your sleeves. There is water damage to the walls in the living room and an ominous rectangular patch has appeared on the ceiling.  Kid 1 informed her father that soon the shower stall will crash through into the living room. She has the location wrong.  It's the floor in the front bedroom that is slowly being seduced by gravity. Outside, t he deck is rotted through and a gutter is hanging over the driveway. Meanwhile, the driveway is scattered with pieces of broken roofing tile. About a mile from here lives Dad. He lives with his wife, toddler and step-son in a house that is pristine. There is a new ro

When I grew up, children of divorced parents were spoken about in lowered tones. The parents were quietly disdained for "divorcing and creating a broken home. (Of course now one wonders how many men and women secretly wanted to head for the door as well. Divorce was often cited as a starting point for  "juvenile delinquency" and petty crime. For instance, you probably didn't take a baseball bat to Mr. Belesca's mailbox three streets over, if you knew your father "would tan your hide" if you were found out. When we were first divorced, Kid 1 was relieved when she realized that many of her peers lived with a single parent or were part of two reconstituted families. I was relieved that she was relieved. I got thinking about this the other day when I was standing around the neighbor's trampoline with my ex-husband supervising our 13 year-old son and his 3 year old son as they bounced together with his son squealing in delight. Both boys are adorable

[I have finally figured out--it wasn't that hard--how to add a "follow me" via email button on the home page. If you're a friend or relative or just someone generous with your time, please sign up. I'm so excited that it's there.] So, all summer long, I'd been thinking about a post entitled "The Three Things I Hate About Summer". I talked about it with Kid 1 in late June, asking her to please remind me of the latter two, because I was SO sure I'd remember my number one bugaboo... She denies ever having the conversation and now I have only two things I hate about summer", which lacks zing. Maybe the first one was "My memory gets worse in the summer months"....Anyway, here are my two summer gripes: #2  Screaming children. I really hate kids who scream continually as they play in a group outside. This ruins my lovely, peaceful summer day. I taught my kids not to scream from the moment they could babble. One day, Kid 1 scre

For mothers,  nothing says ' a utumn'  like digging out the summer reading list.  You know--that crumpled piece of paper with a dollop of sun screen on the back side and a smidgen of melted chocolate on the front. I couldn't find it.  I didn't even look.  The library interceded on my behalf. I had bribed my son with the promise of a Mine Craft session on the PC in the young adult room upstairs while I browsed the new fiction downstairs.  When I finished checking out I went upstairs to drag him away from his diamond shovel and his creeper catcher.  That's when I saw it--a sign saying "Summer Reading Books" with a neatly organized cart in the corner with all of the summer reading books shelved by grade. There were two books--one required and one optional. He let me choose.  I chose Death Watch by Robb White for his optional book. I read this book when I was his age.  I loved it.  It's about a college student from a tiny town who agrees to tak

Having a teenage daughter is hardly ever dull. We have that classic Love/Hate dynamic in play right now. There is no yelling or screaming but there is creativity.  Sometimes she peers at me from around corners and doorways and hisses "I hate you....",  like the giant serpent in Harry Potter. It's too silly not to laugh. Now when she's ticked off or just annoyed,  she informs me calmly and with a straight face, of my impending demise.  "A cannibal named George is coming to eat you at 5. Please be ready." We tacitly agree that this sort of terribly aggressive acting out on her part is normal. It's a real burden. (Yes, I am being facetious). She does get furious with me about once a week or so and it's usually because I've said something in front of a friend of hers without thinking.  I can understand her frustration when these things happen. I've been cursed with foot-in-mouth disease forever. But I have learned the drill now. It is okay for

On Monday morning, the phone rang early. It was my eighty-two year old father and he was clearly upset. My brother John's landlord had called to report that John's apartment seemed to have been abandoned. The furniture, dishes, books, etc. were all there, the door unlocked, the rent unpaid. Alex, the landlord had last seen my brother on July 1st when he paid his rent. Now the apartment was intact, but my brother was nowhere. The landlord found scads of partially completed job applications scattered around the apartment. He only found my dad's phone number by chance. Alex found it on an application. On most of them, he'd listed his ex-wife's parents as his next of kin. His cell phone was in the charger and his wallet was on the kitchen table. His car had also disappeared. I called the local police and filed an official Missing Persons Report. The two female detectives I talked to were friendly, sympathetic and very professional. Completely unlike anything on telev

I just finished reading two great books: The Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling (yes, she really can write) and The Cocaine Salesman by Conny Braam. I also sat through the movie "Wolverine" starring Hugh Jackman, whose muscles now sport their own muscles. Wardrobe costs must have been minimal as Jackman mostly wore either a dingy white "wife-beater" tank or was shirtless. I suppose no woman or gay man with a pulse would ever complain about that shirtless look. But as the blood gushed and the body count grew higher, I kept hoping he'd break into song a la the Oscars. Something like "Oh, the body count here is frightening, and the swords they slice like lightning but no matter how gory it gets---I get paid, I get paid, I get paidddd!" (Sing to the tune of "Let it Snow, Let it Snow".) Instead of singing or dancing, Wolverine performs open heart surgery on himself without washing his hands first. Back in the bloodless world of the printed page,

The fleas are vanquished. We discovered that Off is an effective deterrent while one is waiting for all the poisons and powders and sprays to take effect. Kid 2 is in summer school until the 31st. This is a specialized class for smart kids who can't learn effectively in a traditional classroom. I have come to believe that labeling whatever deficit is causing the short circuits between the teacher, the brain, and the output mechanism is useless. Structure, no nonsense--in other words, not allowing him to skate along on wit and charm--and the breaking down of tasks into tiny steps seems to be making an impression. I was going to say that it seems to be "working" but I have come to the conclusion that there is no solution or method that will work unless he believes in it. Is he embracing this approach? Well, he doesn't get in the car with a snarl and bark "get me the hell out of this place!" as he hurls his backpack on the floor like he does during the schoo

Do not come to visit us. We have fleas--zillions of fleas. These aren't your ordinary circus-oriented fleas. They're not interested in performing. No, this may be a flea cabal. I'm convinced they want us out of the house ASAP. I feel like we live in a Dickensian hovel. We've powdered and sprayed and it's getting better but still. And I swear that some of us are considered better eating spots than others... Kid 2's feet seem to be particularly succulent--soft, pink and juicy. You must need a reservation to get a spot on his feet. Kid 1 is out of the house a lot so there's not much word of mouth on her relative edible-ness (edilibility? surely a word only a cannibal uses?). I seem pretty immune. My feet draw them but I must be Burger King compared to Kid 2's L'Auberge or Kid 2's Applebee's. I want them out. Now, to the flees...Our lodger has fled and not due to the fleas. I knew she was an escapee from Dysfunction Junction. She immediately

The other afternoon my Little Cutie had a play date with a fellow 5-year-old from camp. This was the first time they'd played together. The minute my charge got into the car he started talking nonstop about the latest Lego set he was coveting. The minute he had to stop and take a breath I took advantage and asked the little friend whether he liked Lego. "No, not really." "How about Minecraft?" "No." Hmmm....two down and no screen-less options immediately IDed. Cutie continued talking aloud about his.latest Lego lust. I could almost hear our guest thinking to himself 'great, I wonder if I can get my mother to pick me up early." I shuddered but steeled myself for the inevitable..."What do you like to do," I asked him."I like to build booby traps and make up outside games." Uh, oh...a classic boy mismatch...Video Boy meets Outdoors Boy. This was not going to be pretty. And then fate stepped in. "I do like Wii, do you

Summer is over for me. I'm back in the saddle driving Kid 1 to the train in the morning and then shuttling Kid 2 to his writing classes that start at 9:00. My back is killing me. Since the middle of June, my taxi turban has been on the shelf. No more. Kid 2 gets picked up at 12:15 each day while Kid 1's train gets in at 5:45. I am proud of both kids. I'm glad that my daughter has the dedication necessary to get up each morning; dress creatively; grab her unwieldly portfolio carrier and dash to her pre-college classes at FIT.One does not simply get up and throw on shorts and a tee-shirt when one is FIT bound. The outfit must be chic, fashionable and just comfortable enough to get through the journey to class. It also must preferably be an outfit comprised of clothing items that have never been worn together at all. My son is also uncomplaining. He has a bunch of buddies at school and they gather together to grumble about the unfairness of summer school. In the meantime,

There is a paperback copy of Twain's Tom Sawyer hanging out on the coffee table these days. Momentarily intrigued I picked it up and read the famous " white wash" chapter in which Tom tricks his friends into helping him paint Aunt Polly's fence. Unlike Tom, a modern day kid wouldn't be able to fool anyone into helping. On a warm summer day like the one that Aunt Polly chooses for white washing the fence there wouldn't be a kid over the age of four within a mile. A modern-day Tom would be at archery lessons and Becky would be away at dance camp. There are always new studies and plenty of commentary about the increasing length of childhood and adolescence. What I've not seen anyone say is this: adulthood sucks. Of course today's kids delay taking on adulthood for as long as possible--it's no fun and there are few rewards. Voting? Meh... "adult films"...another meh...already seen it on YouTube.. Driving? Many kids in this town don't b

Al Qaeda publishes an online magazine called "Inspire". I find this hilarious. Remember when this group was a dark, mysterious fear-inducing bunch? Perhaps not so much now. I wonder if "Inspire" is the radical Islamist version of Norman Vincent Peale's "Guideposts"? (We used to get Guideposts when I was a kid. All the stories were about horrible accidents or diseases and they were always described in graphic, gory detail e.g. "Billy didn't know it but his leg had been severed and now the remains of the shredded artery were on the side of the road". Faith in god coupled with desperate prayer always prevailed. More importantly does Inspire currently have any full-time positions open in the editorial department? And does the job include benefits? What about dental? I can't stop laughing long enough to write this---here's an excerpt from The Washington Post's report: U.S. intelligence operatives covertly sabotaged a promine

I have discovered Instagram and I get it. And it's fun. Today there was a tiny baby fawn that had wandered away from its mom and into my neighbor's yard. It had gotten confused by the gate and had hidden itself behind a tree in the corner. So I snapped a pic and posted it. I am so hip.

We have now accrued two hours of "supervised driving" experience. She needs fifty hours of driving plus a graduation certificate from a driver's ed program. Once she has done this, she can take her road test in six months. Our driving has been going well. She is very good at making accurate turns, backing up and staying in her own lane. Remembering to signal a turn is somewhat shaky. And she takes some turns a bit fast but she is quickly learning to eyeball the angle of a curve before she turns into it. She scares me only when she seems to be moving too close to the right-hand side of the street. Kid 2 played back-seat driver this afternoon and it is allegedly my spatial perceptions that are wonky. Only once or twice did she truly come too close to parked cars lining the right hand side. Kid 2 described the noise I make when I'm scared that she's going to hit something as sounding like a constipated flamingo being strangled. I solved the problem though. I plead

I am sitting on bleachers watching Little One play tee ball. It's 92 F. I'm not sure the kids--all boys--even know what game they're playing. As with all these activities most of the moms are in there early or mid thirties. One is describing the dismal state of her kitchen and her husband's unwillingness to spend the money either for a new kitchen or a new house. Another can't find the necessary paperwork for replacing the fence around her house. A survey that would placate the city's building department costs $4,000. She'd like a bigger house.too. I remember these days--gabbling about husbands, houses,vacation plans, summer camp or whatever. I was usually bored. Today is Kid 1's 16th birthday and I am waiting for her to call with the result of her learner permit test. She'll give me the official number on the permit and then I'll call Geico. Voila, she's covered. Then the next stage begins...

I just finished cleaning Kid 1's room. OMG. Number #1 on the list--or at least near the top--of the things that a parent should never say to a kid must be "What on earth is WRONG with you? I repeated this question over and over to myself as I picked up a bizarre melange of crap off her floor. Price tags, empty tampon boxes, a single Hot Ball still pristine in its clear wrapper, a dozen empty plastic shopping bags most from H&M and MadeWell, bits of popcorn, used Q-tips (Eewwwww), candy bar wrappers, expensive drawing pads in various sizes, five dollars in change, other assorted trash, a zillion of those low cut brightly colored low-top socks--all balled up, none clean--, dirty underwear and expensive tossed off Victoria's Secret bras--mostly behind the bed. There were piles all fashion mags with additional pages of same cut up and splayed casually. And of course, clothes. Ninety-nine percent of the time I am laid back about the state of her room. Ordinarily I don'

I took my baby driving today for the first time. She turns 16 on Thursday and she will troop off with her father to the DMV that day and get her learner's permit. There is a huge parking lot right down the street that is empty on the weekends. It's the lot for an office complex and it has straightaways, curves, narrow parts, a stop sign, geese that waddle into the road sometimes, and of course a zillion spaces for parking marked clearly with white lines. It's the same lot where I taught her to ride her bike when she was 7 or so. Then all I had to do was run behind her and shout encouragement. She picked it up quickly. I was teasing her today about how when she got her first bike she asked us when she could start taking "bike riding lessons".  As she explained today, "well, there were lessons for everything else. I thought I would just take lessons to learn." Now she'll be learning to drive a car before she takes official driver's education

We have a testing scandal brewing in our town. Three highly respected grade school teachers have been removed from their classrooms pending an investigation by the district attorney's office into illegal coaching during state testing in late April. Details are sketchy but it sounds like some of the 504 kids were coached a little too much. ( Section 504 kids are in essence classified as needing what I think of as junior-level special education services. Kid 2 is classified as eligible for certain accommodations. He gets shorter tests, more time, a seat up-front---all the help that doesn't tend to require a lot more money.) These tests were much more difficult than previous ELAs. This was the first set of state tests that included the federally mandated Common Core Curriculum standards imposed as part of the "Race to the Top" initiative. The "Core" standards are much higher than the ones in place in the schools until November. The teachers had to "catch

Prom has come and gone. Kid 1 looked marvelous and so did her beau. She was the only gal in black. I suppose it wasn't the most "proper prom dress". I can hear the voices of my elderly aunts back in New England...."Black? Black is for funerals. Why would you put a beautiful young girl in black?" My daughter also used to give me grief about all the black clothing she wore when she was a baby and then a toddler. "Who puts a baby in black?" or "Why am I always wearing black?" And I would reply "Because you look great in black. And now she knows that I was right all along. P.S. This morning at breakfast Kid 1 announced that she and her beau had broken up. I asked if she was upset and she said "not really". "Did he give a reason why?" I asked. "Not really, he said something about it not working long term..." We both laughed. "Did he think you were on your way to the altar?" We laughed some more. &quo

Because Kid 2 is now in hospital, my ex-husband and I have been spending more time together than we have since way before we divorced. He has been supportive throughout this ordeal. He wanted our son in the best facility suggested to us--the one that costs a fortune, but is considered the best for adolescents. He will rush around today--as will I--to fulfill the list of requests that Kid 2 made yesterday. Money is a concern, but Kid 2's health is the priority. I appreciate his dedication and his love for our son. Unfortunately, what I have realized over the past two days is that I do not enjoy being in his company. I don't really like him. The feeling is mutual. He has never bothered to hide his basic dislike and disdain for me. If I say "yes", he says "no". There is a natural dissonance, a mutual disconnect. I wonder if he ever liked me or just tolerated my presence for the sake of the kids. If I disagree with him then I'm "not listening"

Every "single/divorced" mother at some point realizes that she's not really doing that great a job raising her kids. I suppose it's easier if you have plenty of resources--plenty of money, loving grandparents who are healthy and happy. It still takes incredible energy if you decide to 'stay in the game'. Relationships are fraught with bumps because there is always a tension between the kids and the boy/girl friend--a competition for attention. It's a juggling act with five balls in the air. Kid 2 is in crisis mode this week, hopefully just this week. I should have deduced that his hilarious rants about his "special" classes and the motley crew of disabled students in.that class might be obscuring a very real rage. Now that rage has earned him a six day stint in the hospital. I was too busy to analyze his anger. Too busy to sit and think for a minute about the details of his life. I was (and still am) racing around trying to figure out how t

Today I learned that it is dumb to play "plumber." I can solve just about any clog but don't be sucked in by anyone who tells you that taking off the commode is easy.  It's not easy and within minutes the water line that I thought I'd shut off was spraying water like a garden hose turned on full volume. Just a few minutes more and water was cascading through the ceiling below and then down to the basement. I called my ex-beau because I knew he'd know where the main valve was. No answer. I flipped out which is something I rarely allow myself to do. I stayed completely calm through breast cancer but watching that water pour down made me feel helpless.  Then the Mountain Mensch called and guided me to the shutoff valve and I was calm again. Kid 2 was home and he very quickly got the idea to catch some of the water flooding the front hall with pots and pans. It turns out that I have a ton of cookware.

Remember that old advice for getting your kids to expand their palates--"keep on trying, make the same recipe over and over and eventually they may grow to like it." I'm not really quoting any one source but if you have toddlers it's likely you've read this gem in more than one "raising kids' Bibles". My kids have never, never eaten the same dish twice. No matter how much they claim to like it the first time around. "Oh, this is good," Kid 1 will say with just a pinch of surprise in her voice. "Should I make it again?" I ask. (I should say I "used to ask") "No, that's okay," is the reply. Kid 2 will rarely even try a new recipe. "That's okay, I can tell I won't like it." I blame it on the Internet Boom. Back in the time of the Boom, we ate at restaurants constantly. Nice restaurants and we took Kid 1 most of the time. You can do that on the West Coast and no one shoots you dagger looks

I love baseball. I love the intricacies and even the sound of a solid hit. I am also a great believer in that oft-ridiculed adage 'It takes a village'. So is it weird that I actually enjoy going to see my friend's boys play Little League baseball? I don't think so. I actually watch their games. I don't sit and chat with the moms whose kids are actually playing and I don't spend most of the time consulting my smartphone. I'm sure the other parents think it's weird but I don't care. I suspect my friend's husband thinks it's weird too. I actually ran into him at a game recently. I cheer for every hit and every catch. I root more for the game than the teams. I definitely root for my BFF's friends the most. They're fun to watch and I enjoy seeing them improve each season. My own kids don't play team sports--period. When Kid 2 was in first grade he said to me very solemnly "Mom, you know I'm never going to play any kind o

Yesterday on our way to the CVS, Kid 2 and I found ourselves in traffic beside an unusual car. It was a Ford Fit--tiny car--adorned with just about every gun lover's creed. "If You're Honkin', I'm Reloadin'',  "Eat and Sleep AirSoft", "My Other Car is a Ford GT" and a carefully altered Starbucks sign that said "guns and coffee" instead of whatever it usually says. There was also a bumper sticker that read "I heart Piranhas" along with the requisite buxom babe that one of the Dukes of Hazard eventually married. Oh, and there was a monster truck decal too. There may have been a tiny sticker that said "Please Hate Me" but I might have misread that one. The car was driven by a grizzled guy in his mid-fifties. His left arm hung out the driver's side window, his hand dangling a cigarette. His passenger was in his early thirties. He too had his arm out the window with a cigarette in hand. There were no p

Just about every parent of an elementary school student has heard of the Common Core. It is based on a federal mandate designed to put in place higher standards for grades K-8. That means the work gets harder and there's more of it. It's particularly difficult right now because the kids are 'supposed to catch up' so that their learning is up to snuff with the core standards. And that brings me to the "Tastes Terrible" part. The five-year old Cutie who I watch three afternoons a week, is stuck with a pile of worksheets each night, along with a book and sight words once a week or so. It's too much work for him even though he's a super smart little guy. School must be taxing when you're that little--especially for boys. It must be hard to sit still and stay focused. Then you get home and all you want to do is sit back and watch "The Regular Show" or maybe a little bit of "Sponge Bob". Then you play some Lego with some make-belie

We have "Prom Fever" but not in the conventional sense. We did not buy a $300 dress and she did not rush home from the shop to post a photo of it to the specially-designed Web site set up to eliminate the chance of two girls showing up in the same dress. The Junior Prom is May 17th and my daughter is going with her boyfriend Pudding Dragon. We got her prom dress two months ago or so. It was $60 and I think it's Balmain or some other musty, but once glam designer. There is a designer consignment shop in Port Chester that is often gold for fancy dresses...also jeans. (I recently scored a pair of AG Stilts in my fat size for $35 there. I saw the same pair for $158 at Bloomies the other day) When I think of "prom", I think of this--  http://www.prettyforprom.com/prom-history.html   IOW, Dork City. Only cheerleaders care and the dresses are hideous. I'm such an awful mother...) Her dress is black and strapless and has a lace skirt with a velvet bow on one hi

I am a Weight Watchers dropout again. I always lose weight with WW and I am truly inspired by all the brave, dedicated women with whom I gathered on Monday mornings to dissect our eating patterns for the past week. Then I get bored. Mostly I get bored and then weary of paying $13 per week to listen to food suggestions that don't apply to me. "I found the best thing and they're only 100 calories each! They have them at Trader Joe's/Costco/Whole Foods. They're called "NuttyBuddies" and you can get a box of six for $5.99. They're delicious!" Even I don't want to eat anything that processed, but the WW ladies don't seem to mind. It's not that I'm a purist, it's just that I won't pay a lot of money for food that's barely food. So, I stopped and went back to my own "Eat It and See It" diet. The central idea is simple. At the end of the day if you've eaten reasonably, you should be able to remember everythi

We used to have a saying where I grew up. Any sort of  epiphany was met with the quip "Light dawns on Marblehead!". (Today we just say "Doh!")   I'm not sure how many people even got the pun. Anyway, I think we have finally, finally recognized that Kid 2 has dyslexia. The list of symptoms fits almost exactly and I for one feel like an idiot. The school system has bent over backwards to provide services to help Kid 2 succeed but over the years, none of the solutions have been particularly successful. Were we too busy to wonder why until now? Every year around this time, he suffers a sort of mini-breakdown. He stops doing the work and goes into full Bartleby Mode. We always figured he got tired, that it was his version of Spring fever. Finally, I started to really think about his progress and particularly his writing ability. This is the sample that really got me going. It's something that he attempted to writing for Social Studies and I think it was sup

I attended a board meeting last night that featured a report from the security consulting firm hired at a cost of $80,000 or so in the wake of the Newtown massacre. It was surreal. Talk about best intentions gone awry or maybe $80K down the drain.  I listened to a former NYPD captain, now managing director of this fancy security firm explain the importance of learning proper lockdown protocols for both students and teachers. "This is really a life skill that your children can take with them to college and even beyond that. If they're in a movie theater and something happens, they'll know what to do." So, whenever some nut with a gun shows up and starts randomly shooting people, our kids will be prepared? I wanted to laugh but it was all so crazy. He went on to talk about training teachers to immediately lock their classroom doors in the event..of an "event"? "Locking doors is very, very important. Studies have shown that a shooter will move on to a

Today is most un-Spring like. Cold and dreary. More like a late November day.  I am sitting and sending out resumes. The modern automated systems are annoying to say the least. You put in your info, press a button and hope for the best. I've been chasing a couple of inside channels but no payoff yet. I am also sitting and waiting for the phone to ring. I have calls out concerning Kid 2 and calls out for various stories I'm working/thinking of working. School board meeting tonight so I will be able to corner a few folks. I heard an interesting figure at the last meeting. Someone blithely allowed that the schools currently need about $17 million in facilities maintenance. Ulp. Talked to the BizWhiz Mini Superintendent and it's more like $12 million when you only take into consideration 'urgent' repairs. The school is gorgeous from the outside and rather deshabille inside. Broken blinds, scarred and punctured ceiling tiles, etc. Small stuff but so out of kilter com