Growning Pains

Growing Pains...every kid has them.  They start as the physical aches as their bones lengthen.  Then as they approach high school and the teenage years, they seem to get worse.   The pains go from physical to mostly emotional.  Maybe on a subconscious level, they are beginning to realize that they are getting further away from their childhood, and getting closer to the struggles of adulthood.  Or maybe it’s the fact that their brains are growing and learning at such a speed that they can’t wrap their minds around what is happening to them.  In either case, there will be a lot of tears, a lot of fears, and a whole lot of drama.

Thinking back on life, the teenage years are either your best memories or your worst flashbacks.  For most of us, I think there’s an equal portion of both.  You need both in order to grow as a person.  You have the memories to think back on, the trips, the school functions, concerts, musicals.   These make you happy, and make you wish, just for a moment, that you could go back in time and revisit those times.  Then there are the horrible flashbacks.   Having to endure gym class when you hate playing kickball.  The popular girls and their cliques, the cheerleaders and the jocks.  Those are the ones that make you shiver ever so slightly, and make you glad that you are an adult. 

All I can say to these kids is enjoy life, love your friends, and have faith in them.  There will be sadness and heartache, but life will continue on.  There will be first loves and first heartbreaks, but somehow, life will go on.  I promise, there will be bigger and better things.   There will be college memories, and your first real relationship.  There will be the first job and the first career position.  There will be weddings and babies.  But for the time being, don’t rush it.  Enjoy your teenage years, before the reality of life sneaks up behind you.  And with any luck, and several years, you’ll be watching your children experience the very same growing pains.

To Mary--you astound us everyday with your kindness and beauty, both inside and out.  We are amazed by your incredible talents and your unwavering trust.  In two days, you will leave middle school and begin the road to high school.  It will be a tough road, but we know if anyone can rock it, you can.  We love you so much and are so incredibly proud of you, it's difficult to put into words.  No matter what, stay true to yourself, and you will accomplish anything and everything you set out to do.  We are so very blessed to have you as our child.  We love you so much and we'll always be there for you, no matter how much the growing pains hurt.

Leave It Where It Lies

This house looks like a bomb went off inside a toy store and we’re living in the debris.  I’m still finding wrapping paper, whether it be stuck to the dog, or a little boy’s left sock.  Now the search and rescue operation of the New Year begins.  I will be searching for places to put the new things we all got for Christmas, and rescuing the floor from underneath the residue of plastic packaging and crumpled shirt boxes.  But as I try to make sense of the mayhem that has ensued, I discover that my family, particularly a little boy, has a tendency to leave toys in the oddest places.

1.       I found a little wind-up robot on the window sill in the kitchen.  Not sure if he was using it for a runway, or figured that the robot would like some sun.

2.       I found a pair of rainbow suspenders (yes, the kind an old man puts on a pair of pants) underneath the dining room table.  He got the suspenders in a kit for dressing up as a construction worker.  Maybe he was trying to fix something under the table, or he was trying to put the suspenders on the puppy.

3.       I found a blue plastic slinky (tangled, or course) in my bed under my pillow.  Maybe he figured he could hide it there? 

4.       There was another windup toy under the rocking chair in my bedroom.  This time it was a red ladybug. 

5.       I found a toy drill on the TV console downstairs in the family room.  Daddy was a little worried about that one, because it was dangerously close to the plasma TV.  We’re not sure whether he was attempting to fix the TV or the Blu-ray player, but it looks like he was unsuccessful.  Everything is still working properly.

6.       I found an M&M pack in the Christmas tree.

7.       I found one of his Chuck trucks in his hamper.  Maybe the truck needed a wash?

My daughter, the teenager, doesn’t have any toys to leave about.  However, I could probably go to the casino with the amount of cash that I find in odd places.  Pants pockets, on the stairs, in the washer, on the counter, on the dining room table, on the coffee table in the family room.  The list goes on and on.  She’s lucky I’m an honest mommy, or otherwise, I’d be independently wealthy.

My husband also has a tendency to leave things where they lay, particularly his tools.  When he’s working on a project, he’ll spend the majority of the time looking for his tools, asking me if I’ve seen such and such tool, blaming the kids for taking his tools and hiding them.  He has several tool boxes, but they are empty.  He also has a tendency to leave napkins and paper towels in weird places, like inside the freezer and in our closet.  But I have a strange feeling he does this on purpose, just to see how I will react.  If I were him, I wouldn’t want to provoke me, but he has an abnormal sense of humor.

But as I sit here thinking about the others, I have a sneaking suspicion that the worst repeat offender in our house is me.  I try to blame it on the “mother brain”, or I’ve got too many things to do, or I’ll try to blame the husband and the kids or even the dog.  But when you put baby wipes in the freezer or milk in the cabinet, can you really blame anyone or anything?  One time I called my husband and accused him of taking my keys to work with him when all along they were in the car ignition.  I had started the car because it was cold, and then proceeded to forget that I did it.  I was ready to rip the house apart looking for my keys, when all along they were in a place I meant them to be.  I’ve thrown money away before, and then had to dig through the garbage looking for it.  I’ve forgotten my purse at home numerous times, proceeding to drive without a license. 

So, in closing, I’m sure as I continue to attempt putting this house back together again, I will find more toys in questionable locations, more money left around, and maybe even that long lost missing aluminum duct tape that my husband has been looking for since July.  I just hope that I don’t find any chicken in the pantry…

Change is the Only Constant

My friend Jeff broached an interesting question today: “Let's talk about change; it happens every day. Some people welcome it, while others try to keep it from happening with every fiber of their being.  Therefore, the question today is, change, is it good or bad?”

Change.  Some people abhor this word.  To them maybe it means that they must leave their cozy comfort zone, finally leave behind their security blankets.   Maybe to some people it means unnecessary work.  I, however, believe in change.  As humans, we are a historically evolutionary, revolutionary, ever-changing society of beings.  Being able to adapt to our fluctuating environment is one of the reasons why Homo sapiens continue to dominate (sometimes not in good ways) the species of this earth. 

And yet, change is not just about evolution and adaptation, processes which happen over hundreds or thousands of years.  Change can be as small as using skim milk in your coffee instead of half and half.  Sure, at first you wonder how you will ever be able to drink that cup.  But then the change begins to grow on you, and you realize that you are saving loads of calories each day.  And then more changes come when you can fit into your skinny jeans again. On the other hand, change can be something large and important, like beginning a new career, or going back to work after being a stay-at-home mom for four years.  You are a little frightened about the change, and you question your abilities and your choices.  You fear how it will affect you, your children, and your family.  But you also wait in anticipation for the call.  Even though there is uncertainness, you are ready to take the plunge and see what happens.  It could be great, it could be bad, but how do you know if you don’t jump? 

Change propels civilization, and without it, societies would not exist.  They thrive on revolution and transformation.  Our country was built on these ideas, notions of freedom and independence, beliefs of unity and commonality, and the desperate need for individuality and sovereignty.  The forefathers (and mothers) of this country fought for change, and through their sacrifices and diligent determination, they achieved what they set out to do.  They persevered through ridicule, persecution, prosecution, imprisonment, and execution, for that one word…change.  It is a powerful, awe-inspiring word.  There are revolutions being fought all over the world at this very moment; some with weapons, some with words and protests, and some with silence, all in the name of change.

In the end, change always wins the battle, whether you accept the outcome or not.  If you can embrace change without fear, you’ve already won.  But as humans, we always question our status quo to ensure our prosperity.  It is okay to question with trepidation.  It prevents us from being reckless and irresponsible (hopefully), and guarantees our triumph over natural selection.

“There is nothing wrong with change, if it is in the right direction.” ---Winston Churchill

“Change is the essence of life.  Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become.”--Unknown

Through My Son's Eyes

Christmas is that special time of year where we are able to live through our children.  We make the necessary preparations to welcome Santa into our house.  We make special cookies and notes for him, and we open the flue to the chimney so that he can slide down with ease.  We laugh out loud when little boys and girls turn on the inflatable snow globe and boogey down to the music.  For a couple of days a year, we are able to believe in the magic of Christmas, and hear the bells on Santa’s sleigh.  I know that some of today’s “new-age” parents don’t believe in telling kids the story of Santa Clause and his multinational corporation located at the North Pole.  Why?  Why can’t we just let kids be kids?  Today’s young generation is already being robbed of their imaginations through cell phones and video games.  Why take away the glorious story of Santa and his elfin unions who make toys for all the boys and girls of the world?  Do you really think it is going to do that much harm to your kids if you tell them this one lie?  Kids are growing up way to fast these days, and I want my children to hold onto their childhoods as long as possible.  There still will be plenty of time to grow up.

Unfortunately, kids do grow up so fast.  One of my children is thirteen and had given up on the idea of Santa Clause a few years back.  However, I think secretly she’s grateful for the fact that she’s the big sister, and that she still gets to pretend that Santa is real.  She participates in making the cookie plate and glass of milk for Santa.  She still makes out her Santa list and helps my son with his.  She enjoys the stories and seeing her little brother’s eyes widen with excitement on Christmas morning when he sees all of the presents under the tree.  The two of them anticipate with glee when the wee waking hours of the morning shine through their windows and they get to gang up on Mom and Dad, innocently sleeping after a full night of present prep.  Unbeknownst to them, however, Mommy and Daddy are usually feigning sleep because they are too excited also.  The excitement in our house is contagious, and it usually affects any living being a two acre radius, including the dog, who proceeds to break into the presents before anyone else has a chance.

Through my son’s eyes, we enjoy the Christmas season and all its splendor.  On Christmas Eve, we will welcome Santa into our house and oblige him to eat his fill of cookies and milk.  He will fill the stockings and pile the presents under the tree.  He will be careful not to wake a little boy who decides to camp out in his doorway so to catch a glimpse of Santa.  He will cover him gently and pat his head, instilling sweet dreams of toys and wrapping paper in his sleeping mind.  If we remember to listen carefully, we’ll be able to hear the bells on his sleigh as the reindeer leap into the cold night air to visit the next house who will hopefully welcome them as we have, with open hearts.

The Mother

The Mother

She awakens with the dawn, in the warmth of the sun.

Her children rouse and begin their routines, of hunting, gathering, nurturing, feeding.

She sways in the gentle breezes, She watches the shadows.

She covets the cubs and gathers the flocks.

She moves as the sun moves, watching and waiting.

Yet, sometimes She cries, cries for Her wounds.

She gives of Her body and Her soul, yet they take and never return.

She heals with the tides, and Her arms always open wide.

But as She’s abused, Her wrath grows ever stronger.

She calls the Winds and whispers to the Fires.

She tries to warn those who would injure Her soul.

Yet they continue their brutal and greedy actions.

She is boundless as the universe in Her love and Her loyalty, but every spirit has a threshold.

Someday She will reclaim her gifts, with all of the rage and fury within.

And She will be reborn once again.

Commercialization of Civilization

This year I feel like Charlie Brown in the Christmas special we all used to watch as those many moons ago.  Everything is commercialized.  Everything.  Even religion and church are commercialized; things that were once held sacred.  Their teachings are being exploited for profit.  If you don’t believe me, turn on the television on a Sunday morning, and while surfing past the hundreds of infomercials, you’ll see the countless number of holy rollers, claiming their sovereignty. 

But in addition to the obnoxiousness we have to endure on television, we encounter it everywhere.  Everyone has their hands out, even the billionaires, because a $120 million a year salary just isn’t enough.  Look at sports.  I like watching sports just as much as the next person.  I like football, baseball, and I’m a novice hockey fan.  But who the hell is worth $120 million just to play a sport? Now instead of Comiskey Field, it is called U.S. Cellular Field.  Jerseys and uniforms are plastered with logos and slogans of sports drinks and warehouse stores.  Do you think the old timers, like Mickey Mantle, Joe DiMaggio, and Ted Williams cared about how much they earned in a contract, or worried about remembering to thank their sponsors when they won the MVP or Gold Gloves?  They were proud to be American heroes, during a time in our country when we were desperately seeking heroes.  Spectator sports are an enormous commercial outfit, which rakes in money hand over fist.  But for some reason, one league or another are constantly on strike or lockout because of contract negotiations. 

However, I’m not just going to single out the athletes.  This goes for all of the greedy slobs that make millions every year and still cry out for more.  There are the fat oil and automobile bigwigs who can’t get out of their own way.  Corrupt politicians with their back-alley deals, costing the consumers and the tax payers billions of dollars to satiate their gluttonous appetites.  And this just doesn’t happen in our own country, but all over the world.

How did I get onto this subject, you ask?  While I was in England, I visited the Holy Tor, and wanted to visit the Chalice Well.  The legend of the Chalice Well begins when Joseph of Arimathea, who after the crucifixion of Christ, took the cup from the last supper and collected the blood of Christ as he hung on the cross.  In his later years, Joseph travelled to Britannia to settle with the monks who sought sanctuary in the peaceful hills of Somerset.  He hid the chalice and the blood within a sacred well guarded by the Druid sisters.  Both Druid and Christian beheld Joseph as a brother and friend, and he died in their company many years later at the foot of the Holy Tor.  The Chalice well still remains, where today many people believe that its waters hold healing properties, blessed by the Mother and blessed by Jesus Christ.  Now, in order to visit this holy place, you must pay admission, or you will not be allowed access.  They claim that they use the money to maintain the property.  Yet, the well has been there for at least 2500 years.  It’s been fine all that time without a maintenance crew, but now suddenly it needs one.  Even though I ached to see it and to touch its waters, I refused to be a part of the commercialism of that holy place.  My own little personal protest, I guess. 

The Stones and the Hill

As most of you already know, I just got back from a short vacation in the United Kingdom.  I use the term “vacation” loosely, because I think we were busier during those five days than when we are at home.  But we are not the type of people who like to lounge in a hotel room, especially when there is so much to see. 

My voyage began at Providence’s T.F. Green Airport, a nice, small airport.  Without a hitch, I was off to Philadelphia International.  Even though we were delayed going out of Providence, we ended up landing in Philly three minutes ahead of schedule.  I made it to my connecting gate, got a bite to eat, and sat for a while until boarding time.  In that stretch, our plane was changed from an Airbus A330 to a 767.  I like the A330’s because they have the onboard entertainment built into the backs of every seat.  The 767 has nothing, therefore it was quite a boring flight.  I read for a little, and slept a little.  Finally we started our descent into Heathrow.  Over the next half hour, I was tortured by extreme pain in my right ear, followed by a rupture of my eardrum about ten minutes before we landed.  Great…now I’m finally in the UK and I can’t hear out of one of my ears.  We disembarked, and started the extremely long journey to UK Border Control.  After 20 minutes of brisk walking, (so about a mile), I came to the Border Control line, which took about another 20 minutes.  Finally I was officially allowed into the country, and made my way to my husband who was waiting for me at the entrance to the terminal.  By this time, I’m totally wired, even though I’ve been awake for about 20 hours.  We found the car and made our way out of Heathrow, and onto the M25 towards Salisbury and Glastonbury. 

About an hour later, we arrive just outside of Salisbury and see Stonehenge up ahead in the distance.  This is awesome, because I’ve only ever seen it in pictures and now I’m here in person!!  I really didn’t understand the immensity of the monoliths until seeing them in person.  It’s amazing to think how the original people who built this monument hauled these enormous stones from twenty miles away, and somehow erected them into the temple seen now.  I was a little disappointed that we were charged £8.00 per person, or about $13.00, to see this national monument, but I guess everything nowadays is commercialized.  The walkway around the monument actually ended in a gift shop, kind of like the rides at Disney World.  Oh well.

Now we move on to Glastonbury.  I’ve always wanted to climb the Tor at Glastonbury.  Maybe because I’m a child of the myths, or I just love the folklore of the place.  For most people, whether Druid or Christian, this is a pilgrimage.  For the Druid, the Tor marked one of the ancient shrines to the Mother Goddess, where She alighted to earth during the sacred celebrations.  To Christians, the Sacred Well (or Chalice Well) at the base of the Tor was where Joseph of Arimathea brought a vial of Christ’s blood after His crucifixion, and hid it within the walls of the well.  To either faith, or to a random visitor, the Tor is beautiful place.  The climb up is unforgiving, and it’s not for the weak-hearted.  It doesn’t look that bad from the base, but once you start climbing, you realize that you were sadly mistaken.  It took us about 25 minutes from the base to Saint Michael’s tower at the top, stopping to rest several times along the way.  Once at the top, you have a 360° view of the plains below, and you can see about 50 miles in all directions on a clear day (which we were lucky enough to have).  After walking around the top and trying to avoid the Goddess dancers (which, thank the heavens, were clothed), we decided to start the climb down, which is a little easier, but still hard on the knees.  The wind is amazing; it blows about 40 miles per hour on the walk up and the walk down, but its calm at the top.

By this time, it’s about four in the afternoon, and I’m starting to feel the jet lag.  We make our way back to the car and begin the drive back to Heathrow where our hotel is for the next two nights.  That particular trip is a little hazy for me, because I think I fell asleep for a while.  We had dinner at the hotel restaurant because I think both of us were too beat to find somewhere else.  Having been up for about 36 hours, I was ready for bed, I didn’t care where or how…I just needed sleep.  We stayed at the Jurys Inn at Heathrow, which is a really nice hotel, and not expensive at all.  I recommend it to anyone travelling to London.

So that, in a nutshell, is Day One and Day Two (which is kind of the same day, since I never went to sleep between the two). 

First Day Woes and Foes

Dear Schools,

I know it’s been a confusing start-of-the-year and we’ve already burned up our makeup days for the hurricane aftermath.  I know that you’ve had to change scheduling several times.  But I also am aware that the start of school usually occurs around the same time every year, and regardless of the weather conditions or other catastrophes, please, PLEASE, send parents a list of requirements before the first day? 

Yesterday was my daughter’s first day of eighth grade.  Two weeks ago, we went school supply shopping, which was last -minute considering that we started school seven days later than scheduled.  We waited until the last minute because we thought that maybe her teachers would send a list of requirements needed.  Such a list never came.  So we decided that we would do what we did last year, a large binder with notebooks and folders for every subject, the usual pencils and correcting pens, and a calculator.  Anything that was needed after could be purchased, as minimally as we thought it would be.

My daughter got off the bus and proceeded to give me an extensive list of required items, making the $80 worth of supplies I already purchased obsolete before they could even be used.  Hopefully, she will be able to use them next year in high school otherwise all that money is wasted. 

I understand that teachers have a specific method of teaching and organization.  I am willing to cooperate fully.  HOWEVER, do not wait until after the school supplies are purchased to tell me what I need to buy.  Now tonight, in between hair-cuts and groceries, cooking dinner and doing laundry, I have to drag my ass back to Staples to purchase more crap.  Next time, please send a list of items needed before school starts.  As I said before, you know that school starts around the same time every year.  It doesn’t come as a surprise.  It will make life easier for me, my children and my wallet.

Thank you,

Frustrated mother

Why Should I Even Have to Say It?

My husband and I find ourselves laughing more and more at the stupid things that we say sometimes to our kids.  I’m talking about the “Don’t” statements…those that are trying to save the children either from getting sick, getting hurt, or getting into trouble.  Every day, we seem to add another odd one to the mix.

The newest one that can be heard on most days is “Don’t put your tongue on that!”  Now if someone was just listening, and not seeing what we see, that statement might seem a little inappropriate.  However, this is shouted when our son, Michael, attempts to lick the side of the pool.  Why does he lick the pool?  I have no idea why, and I don’t think Michael does either.  Maybe he’s trying to be a puppy, maybe he’s trying to taste things, or maybe he’s a little nutty. 

And while we’re on the subject of tongues, “Don’t lick the windows” is another popular admonishment heard often in our house.  Again, I have no idea why my son likes to lick windows.  My dog also enjoys this pastime.  Maybe this is a popular hobby with children…although I don’t remember ever licking windows when I was bored.

This morning, Michael came into our room and told us a story.  He said that he went potty all by himself, and he scrubbed his hands because they were all dirty from getting his bouncy ball out of the toilet. ??  Apparently, after a lengthy interrogation, we surmised that he was holding his new bouncy ball while he was going to the bathroom, and when he got up (he still sits to go pee), he dropped his bouncy ball in the toilet.  He reached in to get it out, and he washed his hands, but never washed the bouncy ball.  I am reminded of many years ago, when my daughter (four at the time), told us that her princess figurines fell into the potty.  To both children we had to ask, “Did you mean to put them in there, or was it a mistake.”  And both children replied, “It was a stake.” 

Another one that was heard today, “Don’t jump in the puddles.”  I think every parent who ever had small children knows this one.  Children, especially ones with brand new shoes, are magnetically drawn to puddles, and the deeper the puddles, the stronger the affinity between child and puddle.  Even as an adult, I even from time to time have to step in a puddle…sometimes you don’t have a choice.  But I usually try to avoid taking a running leap and landing two footed in the deepest part of the puddle.  If this was an Olympic sport, my children most likely would have received gold medals.  My teenager has stopped puddle-ducking; it is beyond her station now.  But the little one, I think, was actually born a duck.

Of course, the phrase “Don’t do that!” is probably the most frequently heard.  This phrase can and will apply to the simplest thing or to the oddest behavior.  For instance, trying to smell your toes at the dinner table.  Or perhaps streaking naked through the house after bath time.  I tell my husband not to do those all the time.  Just joking, honey, I know these are only directed towards Michael.  I was just seeing if you were reading…HAHA!

Weight of the World

When you are a mother, sometimes you feel like you are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.  There are the small pebbles, like remembering to take your husband’s suit to the dry cleaners.  Then there are the concrete cinderblocks, like deciding which bill can go longer without getting paid, and where the money for the oil bill is going to come from.  Then there are the glacial boulders, the size of elephants, which represent your deepest fears and worries about your children and family.  Most days, we can walk mostly upright, pulling strength from deep within to carry this load.  But there are the dark days that come, when the weight becomes a crushing force.  No matter how many times you shift the load, you find it harder and harder to keep from giving in to gravity. 

A mother’s mind is the eighth wonder of the world.  It holds so much information, a warehouse full of filing cabinets.  We remember every phone number, every birthday, anniversary, what we wore on our first date, what illnesses our children have had.  Sometimes the filing cabinets spill over onto the floor and the file that holds where we put the car keys gets stepped on.  There are dusty, rusty cabinets, which hold our childhood memories.  We break out those files every once in a while when we are in dire need of a good laugh, or in some cases, a good cry.  There are the old cobwebby cabinets in the corner that hold information like how to fix a leaky toilet, how to install a DVD player, how to start the lawnmower.  These cabinets aren’t used very much sometimes after we get married.   But in the middle of it all, there are several transparent filing cabinets that hold our deepest worries.  They are installed the moment you give birth and they are with you until the day you leave this earth.  There are several files with worries about your child’s health, growth, and development.  There might be a cabinet or two devoted to their pains; tummy aches, sore throats, earaches, growing pains.  But there’s also one that is devoted to fear.  Fear about your children growing up properly, if you are a good parent, if they will fall victim to drugs and alcohol, and keeping them safe in an ever violent world. 

The key to those transparent cabinets is always around your neck.   Use it well and use it often.  The more you ignore those cabinets, the larger and more disorganized they will get.  But if you look at those files every week and face those fears head on, you will learn sooner or later that you are fighting the good fight.  Your children are happy and healthy and that inner strength that enables you to carry those boulders overcomes the crushing gravity.  You can keep walking upright, and keep filing the pages away.

“To nourish children and raise them against odds is in any time, any place, more valuable than to fix bolts in cars or design nuclear weapons.”—Marilyn French

“A mother’s life, you see, is one long succession of dramas, now soft and tender, now terrible.  Not an hour but has its joys and fears.”—Honore de Balzac

A Cluster Day and No Chocolate In Sight...

What a day.  It started out okay, but turned into a cluster by five. 

As many of you know, we put in an above-ground pool this past spring.  We love it, and we are in it constantly.  My husband usually takes care of the pool, but I help out, especially when he is at work or away on business.  I know most of the goings-on in pool care, but am hopelessly helpless when it comes to the plumbing involved in having a pool.  Therefore, when something goes wrong, it is an all-out panic attack for me.

Tuesday I noticed that the pool was a little cloudy and I figured that it needed an extra shot of chlorine.  After adding the chlorine, I knew I needed to back-flush the filter a little to clean it out; however I was a little wary because the water level was a little low.  We haven’t had rain in about a week, even though I live in Connecticut; and as of this week was rivaling Seattle in the rainfall totals.  I back-flushed very briefly, put the pump back on “filter” and went inside.  At about ten, I went out and found that the pump was sucking air, usually an indicator for a really low water level.  I shut the pump off for the night, not really sure what to think about what was happening.  This morning I found that the water level was at least an inch below the skimmer, which was puzzling to me.  Could there have been that much evaporation over night?  I worried about it all day and decided that I would put some water in from the well with the garden hose.  I let the hose run for a while, and noticed that the water level really didn’t come up much at all.  What the hell is this? I wonder to myself.  Deciding that I didn’t need more problems, like a burned out well pump, I turned off the water, and proceeded to snap the spigot handle.  This is the type of spigot that turns off inside the house so that it doesn’t freeze in the winter, meaning that this is not an easy fix.  It would probably require a husband, a father-in-law, torches, Pex fittings…you get the picture.  Luckily, it broke in the off position.  Otherwise, I would have had to turn off the main water line to the house.  Nice.  But thank the Heavens, it broke the right way.

Now, back to the pool.  I realized after talking to my husband (across the pond), that it was possible that the valve on the pump wasn’t on “filter” all the way and somehow the pool was losing water.  Sure enough, some sand from the filter must have found its way into the valve and it got stuck open.  Unbeknownst to me, the non-plumber. 

Thus, I found the culprit leak and corrected the problem.  However, we come back to the problem of not enough water in the pool to run the filter, no way to get water from the hose, and no storms or rain clouds in sight.  What else could possibly go wrong?

Throw in the fact that my car had a recall sent out on the transmission, and now I am carless until Friday afternoon.

Throw in the fact that the hubby is in the UK and not scheduled to come back for at least another week, possibly more.

Throw in the fact that the natives (children) are getting restless in the heat and they have no pool to cool off in.  It’s like holding a treat in front of a dog’s nose and just letting her sniff it. 

Throw in the fact that I’m on a diet, have been for 71 days, and haven’t had chocolate or a drink in said amount of days.  Holy CRAP!!

Therefore, I am seriously holding on by a thin thread.  So if anything else comes up in the next week or so, just keep it to yourselves.  It may put me over the edge, and I don’t think you want to see a grown woman bawl her eyes out.  Oh where oh where did my tequila bottle go, or where or where could it be?  Just joking, Mom…I know you are shaking your head in disgust right now.  I desperately need a vacation….

Trains, Planes and Automobiles

(I wrote this a couple of weeks ago.  But because it was on paper, in my infinite wisdom and [cough] organizational skills, I misplaced it for a time.)

This is a first. I’m writing this blog via the old fashioned way, pen and paper.  Why, you ask?  There are a couple of reasons.  A—I am currently stranded on a Shoreline East train, and B—I don’t have my laptop because of the massive Trojan horse that unleashed its fury on my defenseless XP driven, four year old laptop.  So here I sit, “patiently” waiting for the powers-that-be to decide when and if we can start moving.  I swear this state has some real issues with weather-related crisis. A few drops of rain and a couple claps of thunder strike a major discord within this fine railway establishment.  But this blog, alas, is not about the melodramatics of this pathetic state, but the sorry “state” of public transportation in Connecticut.  The railway system is grossly archaic and malnourished, the bus system is pretty much non-existent, and most of the highways are in disrepair.  We are one of the richest states in the union, but no money can be disseminated into the public transportation system. 

My day started out like this.  I left my house at 6:15AM in order to make the 6:55AM Shoreline East train from New London to Union Station in New Haven.  Why so early?  Because Shoreline East only runs two trains; one in the morning and one at night.  I say two trains because the line is always fraught with delays and problems, that it might as well be just the two trains.  I bought my 6:55AM tickets, and waited ever so patiently in the already sweltering morning heat.  6:55 came and went.  So did 7:15, 7:20, 7:25…you get the picture.  The huddled masses finally were able to board the train at 7:35AM.  Finally underway (forty minutes late) we settled in for a rather jarring, teeth-rattling ride through all of the shoreline towns to Union Station in New Haven.  Because I missed the first Metro-North train, I had to book it to the second connection, which I barely made.  I no later sat my ass in the seat when we departed.  I endured yet another jolting ride from New Haven to Grand Central.  My plans for the day were upheaved, because of what ended up being an hour delay, and I didn’t arrive at my destination until 11:00AM.

I finished my business in the city, and took the wrong subway trying to get back to Grand Central (I got my uptowns and downtowns a little mixed up.)  I had a quick bite and made a pit stop, and I was back on the Metro-North heading back to New Haven.

You’re thinking, home free, right?  WRONG!  Just after the Stamford station, we lost A/C and power, and then the train stopped several times.  Somehow I made the connection with the Shoreline East train with ten minutes to spare.  Lucky me, right?  Wrong again.  Because of the thunderstorms, we got stranded at the Union Station terminal for two hours.  We just started moving, thank the heavens.  Thank goodness my babysitter doesn’t charge by the hour!  Here we are, going about ten miles an hour, two hours late, wondering how I’m going to get the car out of the parking garage in New London at ten at night.

Just wait…an update…apparently there is only one track open right now, and we’re on the wrong one.  We were informed that we have to go west (towards New Haven) to go east (towards New London).   Huh?  That’s right…those are your hard-earned tax dollars at work.  So here it is, 8:31, I left NYC at 4:34, and I’m still en route, with no ETA, and no guarantee that this train is going to get me home.  But open your wallets, because here comes the conductor to collect the fare.

In close, I will never take Shoreline East again.  I’d rather take my chances on I-95 in my car, drive to New Haven and get on the Metro-North.  I’ll get there in a quarter of the time, and still have my sanity.

P.S.  We are still going west…now we’re getting behind four east-bound trains waiting in line…oh wait, we’re back at Union Station…WHAT THE F*CK?!?

P.P.S.  8:40PM—still at Union Station---we’ve gone backwards in time.  Is this the paradox of the universe?

P.P.P.S.  8:44PM—we’re actually travelling east?  Could this be true?  Wait…I think that was a woodchuck that just passed us and, yes, he was on foot.

8:57PM Branford

9:08PM Guilford

9:14PM Madison

9:20PM Clinton

9:25PM Westbrook

Uh oh…they came around and counted everyone going to New London…there’s radio banter about not continuing to New London…what the hell?

9:36PM Old Saybrook

10:06PM New London and a scary, dark parking garage…there’s a night teller on duty…at least I won’t have to break through the gate.

Oh good, tractor-trailer versus pickup truck on the highway…someone doesn’t want me getting home tonight.

10:36PM…my driveway, home sweet home.  I realize that it took me eight hours just to get to Groton from NYC.  I could have flown to Heathrow in London in the same amount of time.

Only $9.99, plus a $200 processing fee…

Lately it seems that everywhere you turn, you get ripped off.  I know I’ve blogged about this before, but it seems to be getting worse.  Or I’m just getting older and older and my patience for bullsh*t is wearing thin. 

Recently, I needed to book some airline tickets for a short vacation.  With technology today, making airline reservations is relatively simple, as long as what you are doing is pretty straight-forward.  Of course, mine were not.  After entering my information into the reservation calculator, I was informed that I needed to call the reservation line with JetBlue in order to fulfill my request.  Obviously, because of my dislike for the general public, I cringed to think that I would have to use the phone.  However, I had to give in.  I called JetBlue’s customer service line.  After cycling through seemingly endless menus and options, I was told that I could avoid the $15 phone charge if I went onto JetBlue’s website.  Wait, a phone charge?!?  I have to pay $15 extra to talk to a human whose primary language is not English?  What fresh hell is this?  Isn’t it bad enough that the fuel surcharge is more than the actual ticket price?  Isn’t it insane enough that they charge you for your luggage?  Apparently not, since now they charge you for the phone call that you have to make because you are not allowed to conduct normal business on their website.  Whatever, JetBlue, this is the first and last time I will conduct business with the likes of you.

All of you concert goers out there now what I’m talking about with this next happy detail.  I remember not too far back that the ticket processing fees for buying tickets online were anywhere from $1 to $5 per ticket.  Today, I found myself in the unique situation of buying tickets for a Broadway show that is coming to the Bushnell.  The last time I bought tickets to the Bushnell was two years ago when my daughter and I went to see Phantom and the ticket processing fees were only three dollars.  Today, after buying nosebleed seats at $39 bucks a pop, I was charged a $21 processing fee, plus an additional $2 processing fee per ticket.  @#&!  I let the expletives fly. 

Don’t even get me started on restaurants and their new way of screwing their customers.  A la carte dining is one of the biggest scams to hit in a while.  You pay $30 for a steak, but then have to pay extra if you want a potato.  Whatever, Michael Jordan’s Steakhouse, I guess I’ll stick to the buffet…

So, the way I see it, you are screwed one way or another.  Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.  If you call customer service for one thing, you get charged, and if you try to do things online, you get charged again.  Do these companies just want to cut out the customer altogether?  On the other hand, maybe I can start charging processing and handling fees…something like this perhaps?

Wash and Dry…$5 per load, plus $10 additional if the clothes are extra dirty

Dish Washing…$10 per sink full, plus $5 additional if food is stuck on

Hamper Maintenance…free, unless the clothes don’t make it into hamper, then $1 charge for every article I have to pick up off the floor

Murphy's Law

Murphy’s Law

Murphy’s law dictates that a cake intended for a baby shower will shatter into ten pieces at 7:00 the night before the shower. 

Murphy’s law states that a child will have an accident in his pants away from home as soon as you remove the diaper bag from the car, thinking, “I don’t need this anymore”.  You are wrong, you will need it until the child is at least thirteen.

Murphy’s law allows for the simple fact that once the dog is home from the groomer’s, it will rain for forty days and forty nights, and the all the mud that was in the yard will end up in your house and on the dog.

Murphy’s law claims that either runaway horses or vagrant mice will keep you from sleeping on the one night that you desperately need sleep, for the next day is awfully busy.

Murphy’s law states that on the night you’ve been anxiously waiting for the season premiere of a TV show, either the cable will go out, or a teenage child will have seventy-five algebra problems that she needs help with.  (So you record the show on the DVR, only to find out the next day that the DVR was full and the show didn’t record.)

Murphy’s law says that once you pay off the loan on your vehicle, and receive the title for said vehicle, the probability of that vehicle breaking rises exponentially, so that you have to go buy a new one and take out another loan.

Murphy’s law tells us that kids always speak when you least want them to, like to tell the stranger at the library that Mommy has boobies under her shirt, and he has a tummy under his.

I would like to know who this guy Murphy is…I want a picture of him so that when I find him, I can hurt him badly.  However, his law clearly states that once I do find him, he’ll already be dead.

Sales Pitch

I consider myself to be Catholic.  I was raised Catholic, and I believe in some of the doctrine associated with this particular branch of Christianity.  But there comes a time when you have to stop and begin to question some of the other doctrine and laws that are constantly being thrown at you.  I think many people have this epiphany at some point, either in their teenage years (when you question everything) or when they are facing their own mortality (like when you turn 30).  Looking at other religions and sects of Christianity, you find yourself taking little snippets of this and tidbits of that, trying to piece together your own set of beliefs that make you feel a little better.  But after a while, you begin to hear a sales pitch, like when you are buying a new car:

Salesman:     What can I do to put you into a new religion today?

Shopper:        Umm, well, does the new religion come with tolerance?  Does it judge people before it   knows them?  Does it condemn those who may follow another Holy One?

Salesman:     Well, we have a nice book with many stories…

Shopper:        Oh, okay.  Are those stories open to interpretation, or are they taken for literal value?

Salesman:     (glances around uncomfortably) Um, well, they should be taken for their literal value.

Shopper:        Oh, so when the book mentions that the world was created in six days and that all of humanity came from one man and one woman, you’re saying that should be taken literally?  Does that mean ignoring millions of years of evolution, the existence of prehistoric animals, and the evolution of human kind over thousands of years?

Salesman:     Well, um, every Sunday we come together while one of us preaches, and we sing songs and hold hands; it’s really quite nice.

Shopper:        That is nice.  But if I can’t come on Sundays, does that mean I can’t belong?  Does your God only listen to those of His children who worship on Sundays in His church?  Does He listen to those who maybe follow in His word every day, who decide they don’t want to go to church? 

Salesman:     Er…we offer some nice services.  We have marriage, christening, communion, funerals…

Shopper:        I like services.  But do you offer marriages for same-sex couples?  I know a couple who are in the market for a religion that believes in all marriages, they might be interested…

Salesman:     (backing away slowly) Um, maybe this religion is not the right fit for you. 

Shopper:        Oh, that’s too bad.  I’ve been in the market for a while, but I can’t seem to find the right fit. Oh, I have one more question; does your religion believe in equality between men and women?

Salesman:     Um, I really have to go, I’m sorry we couldn’t do business today.  If your values ever change, come back in and maybe we can make a deal. (Walks away hurriedly)

Shopper:        Gee, I scare off more salesmen that way. (Hangs head and shuffles off)

And just because I wear a crucifix around my neck doesn't mean that it’s open season for offers.  I met a really nice woman at the Library Storytime.  I saw her there last week with her children, and this week she decided that she would talk to me.  After a nice conversation, she pulls out a printed business card with the name of her church and when the services are.  "We would like it if you could come to our services," she says with a smile.  Politely I take the card, thank her, gather up my son and walk away.  Out of curiosity, I punch in the particular sect of Christianity from the propaganda on the card into Google.  It sounds nice, but I can see through the rose colored wording that this religion really wouldn't suit me either.  Mainly because I see the "Our members agree to strive to be devoted to the body life of the church. This includes making whole-hearted efforts, for example, attending each [applicable] meeting of the body…”  You have to go to church everytime they call the flock together.  Don’t get me wrong, I like going to church, the feeling of spirituality and sense of belonging to a community.  But don’t tell me that I’m not a good person because I don’t go to church every Sunday.  I can think of a few awful people who go to church every Sunday, and I can think of a few really good, generous, gracious and righteous people who don’t go to church.  I don’t think Jesus is taking attendance and giving out demerits.  He’s much too busy dealing with bigger issues, like battling true evil, and carrying those who need Him in their hours of darkness. 

So enough with the sales pitches.  Just because I disagree with some aspects of my religion doesn’t mean that I’m ready to convert to another.  A good relationship requires some discord every now and again.  I’m not a sheep, I’m not one of the flock.  I can’t be shepherded.  But that’s okay, I think God understands.

Letter to Big Y...My latest tirade against greedy corporate America...

Ms. D’Amour, (Educational Partnership Program)

I was absolutely shocked when I read the sign outside of our Little Y Kids’ Club this afternoon, telling us that the club would close for good on March 26^th.  My son is three and a half and it is the high point of his day when I tell him he is going to see his “friends” at Little Y.  He is completely in love with Little Y, and it is  helping him to prepare for preschool in September.  That was one of the many reasons that I enrolled him in the Little Y Kids’ Club.  Little Y allows kids that don’t have daycare to develop their social skills and ready them for preschool and/or kindergarten.  Another reason was that I could enjoy my shopping experience, take my time, and not rush through the aisles like I used to before I enrolled him. 

I cannot believe that you are closing the Little Y at our store.  I honestly don’t know how I’m going to explain the situation to my son.  He asks me every day if we can go to Little Y.  I started going to the Big Y store in Groton since it opened, and have always been satisfied with my shopping experience.  However, I’ve noticed lately that things are changing, and not for the better.  First, the coin program got cut, and the sales and price specials suffered.  Then, the self-checkouts were taken out.  At that time, I seriously considered moving my business to Stop and Shop.  Now, I find that yet another customer service is being tossed by the wayside, and nothing is being improved.  Now I have to take my business elsewhere, because apparently, the over $10,000 a year I spend at Big Y doesn’t matter to those in charge.  And just because of greed, small children have to return to the boring chore of grocery shopping with their already stressed-out mothers.  How much does it cost to run a Little Y Kids’ Club?   

Therefore, I will be no longer using Big Y as my supermarket; beginning tomorrow, I will be going to Stop and Shop.  It breaks my heart, and it will also break my son’s heart. 

Melissa Russo

SO...once again we get screwed by one corporation (Big Y), move to another (Stop and Shop) to only get screwed once again.  This only reaffirms my standpoint that people suck, especially rich people and CEO's.  I think that we should form our own society somewhere, like in "The Village", and have monetary system...be totally self-reliant.  Just think, no greed, no violence, no crime...just life.

"...And So That They May Teach Young Women..."

My mother laughs, but I stick to the principle that an apron to a woman is demeaning and degrading.  That’s how I’ve always felt about aprons, and unless it was made by one of my kids (preferably under the age of ten) you’ll never see me wearing one.  Aprons?  Just think about it for a second.  When you see a woman in an apron, what do you think of?  I think June Cleaver, I think Donna Reed, the idealized wife and mother that was a servant to her husband.  Key word—servant.  Maybe that was “okay” during the 1950’s, but I disagree with that image for today’s woman. 

There is a popular branch of Christianity (I won’t say which) that still puts much stock and emphasis on the subservient role of women in society.  They still insist on the word “obey” in the marriage vows.  They also hold seminars where the pastor teaches young women of the importance of being chaste, discreet, good homemakers, and obedient to their husbands.  Women are not allowed to wear pants to church, and they are not allowed to be a part of the church’s financial administrations.  These principles are being taught to their daughters.   Daughters who should be given every opportunity to be free, independent and strong, not weak, passive and dependent on men for survival.  I’m usually the last person to criticize one’s religion, but this is a dangerous road to be travelling.

In addition to fighting religious ideologies, women constantly have to worry about their rights where government is concerned.  The women’s movement is always in danger of being set back fifty years.  Currently, the GOP is trying to push legislation involving abortion rights.  There are several pieces of legislation including denying insurance coverage for women who need an abortion, allowing hospitals to turn women away if they need an abortion, and to cut federal aid to agencies like Planned Parenthood.  This is also a very dangerous road.  If government takes away reproductive rights, women will find alternative ways, and then the men of government will have blood on their hands.  Blood from women whose back alley abortions lead to their agonizing deaths.  Blood from women who have been raped or are victims of incest, and have nowhere to turn.  Instead of helping us in our movement, they hold our heads just under the water.  We can see the surface, but no matter how hard we kick, we can’t break it.

Maybe men are finally realizing that women have taken over the entire operation and they are running scared.  Most women that are “homemakers” run a well-oiled machine…they take care of the children and husband while juggling the family budget, family consumerism, schedules, fund-raisers, cooking, cleaning, and laundry.  Sure, the husband may think he’s doing the work, but it’s really the woman that keeps the family going.  Nowadays, most men will openly admit that their wives run the show, and some will appreciate that fact.  It means, in the end, less work for them to do.  Most marriages have their gender roles worked out…some marriages are still confused.  I am a “homemaker”, even though I prefer the term “domestic engineer.”  I take care of everything within the walls of the house.  My husband takes care things outside of the walls, including the vehicles.  We worked out our gender roles back at the beginning of our marriage.  I made it quite clear that I do not take out the trash, I do not mow grass, and I do not know anything about cars, lawnmowers, snowblowers, etc.  I have also made it quite clear that unless there is an injury involved, I do not shovel snow.  See, I’ve done all of these things before I was married, and I didn’t care to continue doing them once I was married.  My husband did his own laundry before he was married, but doesn’t care to continue.  That’s okay…those are our gender roles.  They are established and we have a great relationship.  We are able to laugh and joke and be comfortable and content.  Essentially, we are equals and involve each other in every major decision.  Major decisions—not what color the guest bathroom towels should be or what type of motor oil to buy.

In short, I am worried about the next generation of daughters.  Teen dating violence is on the rise, so obviously we are not breaking the cycle.  The media continues to show women as sex objects or things to possess.  They should be teaching young girls that they deserve respect, independence and should be put on equal footing with their male counterparts.  Mothers, please teach your daughters to be servants to no one.   Teach them self-reliance, and allow them every opportunity to be successful and intelligent.  In this way, we will continue the uphill battle…