Will Shop for Food...If I Must

I stopped into the grocery store the other night with an unusually cheery outlook. I left work at a reasonable hour and had no obligation to run a kid to practice or a music lesson. To put icing on the cake (if you consider a visit to the grocery store any sort of treat), no one was with me to drop Zebra Cakes or Doritos in the cart. I was sure to save an extra $50...and a little peace of mind.

As I settled in for my shopping trip, I smiled to myself as I noticed not one, but two, young mommies getting groceries with their tots. They were all so adorable, and for a moment I felt the nostalgia of toting my kids to the food mart, when their wondrous eyes glazed over all the forage on the shelves. But that feeling quickly dissipated. 

I merely made it to the produce section when the offspring of these two mommies (there must've been ten altogether) successfully cornered the store, leaving me fairly powerless to navigate. The memories came fleeting back. It was awful taking my kids to the grocery store! What was I thinking? I'd break out into a sweat almost every time, as I'd march my two dynamos through, clinging to the hope of no broken spaghetti jars.

So, back to my logjam in the produce. It rarely takes me long to shop in that section. So I was feeling all claustrophobic as the kids blocked me in with the fruits and vegetables. But I smiled, looking like the respectable business lady, as their sweet voices screamed questions to their mom about avocados. 

Eventually, I broke through the line, thinking I was home free. After all, I could sprint through the aisles, and swipe my necessities if I needed to. I could hear the circus behind me, but I wouldn't let them beat me.

I was wrong. 

I got all caught up in the yogurts. Damn yogurt selection. Soon enough, they were all ahead of me, blocking the aisles again. But I smiled at their adorableness and gave the moms the "I know what you're going through look"...all while strategizing a plan to avoid the little tarts.

Eventually, I  gave up and only filled up about half of my cart, which was my usually MO back in the old days, when I had my kids with me. My family was happy I came home with an unusual amount of junk food. Those aisles were about my only safe haven from the family of toddler terrors–apparently they were good moms.

Does anyone know when Amazon will start delivering groceries to rural Iowa?

Easter Musings and the Way They Dressed

I'm trying to decide when I transformed from the mom who obsessed over every detail of her daughter's pastel-hued easter ensemble to a mom who now tosses her kid's unlaundered, wrinkly shirt in the dryer for a few minutes before the family dashes off to Mass. I think it happened sometime between..."I'm too tired" and "Ok, you win."

I'm not ashamed to admit that much of my desire in becoming a mom has everything to do with dressing up the kids at easter-time. And when they're teeny-tiny, it's not so difficult. It's an achievement when you manage to dress them in some clever piece of clothing and the darling image makes you mouth"precious" all day long. Then they turn three. And if they have any sense of self, they begin to give you a little sass about the adorable outfits you've picked out. They also give you some guff about the painful and/or complicated accessories, like a requisite hat or strappy pair of sandals. But you shame them into wearing it, by telling them how much you spent. And of course, they don't care about that. So, you cajole them with more Cadbury eggs, so that they become even more monstrous. And you feel your plan backfiring when a sugar-possessed demon suddenly becomes super-empowered to tell you "I DON'T CARE" while she's destroying the purse, the hat and the matching shoes. (Boys might take a slightly alternative course, like destroy everything else in the living room. But either way, destruction has occurred.)

If you have a little boy and have dressed him up in a dapper sweater vest or tie, you might also have to contend with a husband who has already envisioned the boy being bullied as he dances around in his threads. Not even telling your hubby how much you spent will work. He just wants you to get the boy into something that de-sissifies him. But, it's too late now. It's ten minutes 'til church.  Hubby will just have to pout too. Or destruct something in the living room.

So, now that I've given my kids free reign to choose whatever they choose to wear on holidays, I have to admit a burden has been lifted. No longer do I need to be worried or distracted if any of my kids' wardrobes malfunction. Jeans and tee-shirts tend to perform fairly consistently, even though they're nearly as fun. But if I want to enjoy the days when my kids pouted, sighed and wrestled about their fancy garb, I look back and smile at photos like these...and they were worth every bit of struggle.

sad alex, forced to pose 

"Can I take off the tie now?"

My Generation?

I recently read a book called The Chaperone (L. Moriarty) in which a 15-year-old girl is escorted by her thirty-six year old neighbor to NYC while she auditions for a dance troupe. While I was completely captivated by this historical novel that takes place in the 1920’s, there was a particular theme that struck me as I read. Actually, there were many themes, but since I spent an intimate weekend with my fifteen year-old, I couldn't help but philosophize about the theme that preoccupied me the most. It's something that tends to marginalize the young and the old. I believe it's simply called the "generation gap."

In the novel, Cora initially attempts to teach Louise Brooks (who eventually becomes a true-life Hollywood star) lessons on propriety in an era where prohibition is tempting the fates of the cool, young flappers. As the young Louise disregards the tightly-wound, but well-intentioned chaperone, I felt Cora’s pain. I, too, see my daughter’s mocking expression when I don the always fashionable black turtleneck or a sensible pair of clogs.

I wished my Alex could recognize that I was young. Once. And not completely dorky. Well, maybe a little dorky. But I really had a spunky sense of style. I mean, when I wore the neon pink mesh gloves with my Tina Turner concert t-shirt over my Izod polo, I was RAD! And the other thing? In addition to my law school plans, I intended on becoming a rock star...maybe someone who rivaled Lita Ford. Yeah, I was that cool, despite my lack of showmanship and actual talent. (But hear this my daughter: I still wouldn't have worn skin-tight skull jeans on an outing with my parents. I'm just saying.)

So once my life followed the glamorous path to banking and I found myself living the life I dreamed, with a lovely family, I became puzzled by the fact that an actual generation gap existed between me and my kids. I mean, when I became a mother, somehow, I didn't expect to...age. (As a matter of fact, I read about some old fathers in the newspaper today who became first-time parents of twins. I was amused at these codgers, until I realized they were just a few years older than me.)

I pondered the point-in-time in which the "generational divide" began to really make its presence known. I decided it was when Alex turned three. It's when she really began to have a dissenting opinion on just about everything...how I dressed her, how I fixed her hair, how I prepared her food. And she's been going strong on those dissenting opinions ever since. But that's okay. I'm getting used to it. Well, that's not really true. But every once in awhile we agree on things. Important things. Like how much we love our dog.

And I can't help but love her. She's irresistibly clever.

And for another book review....Killing Kennedy.

Simply A Book Review

I've been into a bit of history lately. This IS a novel, but it's an historical novel. Don't let the title fool you...

Book Review for Between Shades of Gray

You Can't Handle the Truth

Except for a sprinkling of a headache, I had a pretty good weekend. It was the perfect blend of kids' activities, family time and adult socializing. At one point we were driving home from Cole’s final basketball game of the season (sans his sister) and I piped up with a bit of commentary.

“These games have been fun to watch, haven't they? So enjoyable! I’m really going to miss attending them.”

Candid Cole

Doug nodded, smiling in agreement.  He might’ve been thinking about one of Cole’s fast breaks at the time. Then something else occurred to me, so I added:

“I don’t remember enjoying Alex’s basketball games that much. She was just so….nervous. Like she didn’t want to be there."

My hubby didn't disagree. As a matter of fact, he went so far to say that he found attending her games "really frustrating to watch."

Obviously, we love Alex and wouldn't want to hurt her feelings, so we wouldn't ever tell her those things. We're just happy to be beyond her Little Cyclone Ball phase. 

So, what gives me the courage to write this up in a blog, which my daughter happens to read? Because, despite the fact my son is a well-known liar (Have you brushed your teeth-YES! Have you had any pop today-NO! Did you play your xbox today-NO!), he was brutally honest in relating this very conversation to his sister.

Damn sibling rivalries. 

Alex...LISTENING to her brother?

This only child can't relate. Cole felt the need to relish in the fact that we enjoy his games. And we mostly endured Alex's. But my goodness. It isn't as if Alex is a slouch (in areas that don't necessarily pertain to athletics). But apparently, he has grown tired of her limelight. But this is what eats at me just a teensy bit. It wasn't so much his haughty smile he tossed at his sister during the discourse–she does that to him all the time. It was his quick action to throw his parents under the bus. It scared me just a bit. Hope it doesn't become habit-forming. But I will say this. At least the kid found his honest spot.

Pressure is Off!

My kids: comfortable in their skin!

“I had the best day today!” My 11-year-old professed to me.

“Oh yeah?” I commented with mild interest. Cole often has good days. It only takes a cheeseburger at lunchtime to elevate his mood. “So, what made the day so great?”

“I decided to stop showing off. And all the pressure just went away!”

I hadn’t realized the kids was under so much pressure to perform. I was actually a bit baffled until he clarified. “I don’t want any girlfriends right now, Mom. It’s just too much work.”

Ah. That makes sense. Now that the pressure’s off, Cole can get back to his daily fart stories. Much better. But his initial declaration, to stop showing off, got me to thinking. What if we all stopped showing off? Wouldn’t we all have less stress in our life?

I could save a heckuva lot of time on my morning routine--no cosmetics, hairstyling, or my painstaking selection of clothes/shoes/accessories to wear. But I'd scare the living daylights out of my family and my coworkers. And I could’ve saved a truckload of money if I would’ve stuck with my car from college–that beloved 1985 Buick Somerset. But if we all thought that way, the auto companies might've gotten themselves into some financial troubles. Oh wait...

Needless to say, I do remember waking up one morning not terribly long ago and thinking to myself, "I'm okay with my Ford Fusion. I don't need anything fancier than that." It seems as we grow older, we finally start to feel comfortable with every aspect of our lives. Cole discovered a small truth this week–that I doubt will stick once he falls head over heels in love again. But he reminded me that feeling comfortable in your own skin is the best way to live. And I really don't need a new car.

How Much? By When?

My mother used to poke fun of my incessant list-making. It wasn't so much the exercise she scoffed at. Heck, she was the one who taught me the habit of writing out daily "to-do's." It was more my content, which always began with a hardy "get out of bed," which she found amusing. But who knows how much I would've accomplished if I wouldn't have been able to cross off my first task? Getting out of bed is kind of critical...

Okay, so early on my lists might have been trifling. But by performing those tasks, I began to learn the feeling of accomplishment. And as I grew older, the items on my lists became a bit more refined. I focused on activities like studying or piano. And as the mindset of of a list-maker goes, I was prone to monitor how accomplished I could become in my studies and piano. And as it turned out, I did okay.

Bill Gates most recently wrote a thoughtful piece in the Wall Street Journal about the importance of measuring progress in the plight to fix the problems of the world. Using the steam engine as the original innovation of measuring progress when energy output was used as a metric to hone the design of engine models, Mr. Gates suggests that by setting a goal, and by measuring results, and continuing to hone, true progress can made in just about any discipline. The article, effectively, presents how infant mortality has declined and how education could be reformed. I thought to myself, "Right on, brother."

At work, our management team was discussing 2013 goals at the end of the year. The question was posed, "Should we even set these goals for our staff?" The argument was that since staff was accountable to do their job, we should just see if we can achieve our overall goals without measuring specific progress. I have to admit, I froze upon hearing the idea. Not set goals for our staff? I didn't care for it at all. It was kind of like...not making a list for the day. I diplomatically argued against it...as did a few other managers. Ultimately, we decided to trudge forward with team goals set in place, happily measuring progress on a monthly basis. Admittedly, I felt a tinge of guilt for not giving my staff a free pass for the year. Then I read the Bill Gates article. I don't feel so guilty anymore. As a matter of fact, I felt a bit emboldened by the article. I think I'll suggest to my kids that they need to start making daily lists. I don't even care if the list starts with "Get out of bed." Actually, I'd be happy with that.