TMI: A Big Announcement

 

I’m a little sad, sad, sad.

Only one follower on my journey as a blogger responded to Mrs. Sedd’s feedback loop questions.    My plea for engagement, for sharing and caring, fell on deaf ears.  In our highly networked age, I suppose everyone is a wee bit afraid of TMI.

I understand completely.  Me too.  Revealing things about oneself can be emotionally risky.  Sort of like the Emperor with no clothes.  So, Mrs. Sedd offers her heartfelt apology for asking you to participate in her little interactive social experiment; going forward, we’ll let ‘comment’ and ‘like’ serve as your feedback proxy.  Apparently, there is no need to be more formal than that.

And now, just to demonstrate that you can share everything and share nothing at the same time, I’m announcing the publication of my autobiography, “Pixilated,” on Twitter.  All will be revealed beginning tomorrow….

Happy weekend.  Back to blogging on Monday. Unless I miss you too much.

MrsSedd@Sixty: Fit to be 60!

MrsSedd@Sixty: Fit to be 60!: Holidays are always tough on weight control, especially holidays that involve the great American pastime of the barbeque:  hamburgers and h...

Eureka!

I’m having an Ah-Ha moment.

My subconscious is working overtime right this very minute to come up with a big new idea for this post.  As I sit here writing, I’m brainstorming with myself, some like this:

…I haven’t written about things I really hate a lot, like fruit, so I suppose I could but what if I insult some fruit lover out there, or get a lot of comments back about the fact that everybody loves fruit, what’s wrong with me?  I’m not in the mood for hurting anyone’s feelings, including my own,  but maybe there’s an idea in that?... when bad things happen to good people’s feelings…but then again, I think that’s been done before.  How about something about hating dentists?  There’s something everyone can relate to…

But actually, I don’t think the brainstorming with myself thing is really working for me because I’m just feeling a little emotionally blocked at this moment.  So, I need to get present with myself, because that’s what many experts say you need to do to come up with big ideas.  By being more aware of people, places and things, as well as how you interact with them easily or with difficulty, can rev up that subconscious brain in ways that allow you to come up with…Instagram!

Which, of course, some newly minted 20-something billionaire came up with not so long ago, so I guess it works for some.  But all I want is a stinking topic for a post.

The reality is that some days we just don’t feel very creative, and that happens to me too with this blog.  So, as a last resort, I reached out to my husband for advice on today’s pithy little dose of Mrs. Sedd. 

“#%$*-it, don’t you dare write about me.”

That’s the ticket!

Tomorrow….

Mrs. Sedd's Feedback Loop

Ok, it’s been about 7 weeks since I started sharing my take on the world and stuff with you. Hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I’ve loved doing it.  If you haven’t, no worries, you can’t please everyone.

It’s time to remind you, however, that we live in a participatory democracy.  And Mrs. Sedd is a bit of a Democratic despot about such things.  I command you to engage. Really.  Pretty please.  Mrs. Sedd is all ears, so spill.

What makes you tick?  What makes you sick?  What makes you ick? Let’s start with 3 easy questions in order to peel away a few layers of the onion. 

1.      Who or what would you take to a desert island with you? Be expansive, if you’re in the mood.

2.      What is the most surprising thing about you that would not compromise your privacy to share? (I’d never want to do that. Truly.)

3.      What is the biggest blessing about getting older – and the biggest curse? (For you personally – you don’t have to be the voice of your generation unless you want to be. That’s my job, haha.)

If confidentiality is an issue for you, I respect that – email me.  But if Mrs. Sedd’s few and largely anonymous group of readers (they probably don’t know you) don’t rattle you, please comment so we can all benefit from your wisdom and experience, or lack thereof.  We’re waiting….

Happy Wednesday.

Fit to be 60!

Holidays are always tough on weight control, especially holidays that involve the great American pastime of the barbeque:  hamburgers and hots dogs -- with buns, of course! -- and corn on the cob, potato salad...yum.

 

Of course, it seems nearly next to impossible to lose weight for those of us in "upper" middle age.  (Ahem.)  That tire around the middle of your chassis?  That’s pretty much a keeper.  Also, note that your muscles just don’t like to be stretched the way you used to be able to stretch them not so many years ago. 

And your joints?  Painful.

Still, there are a few very simple strength building, muscle-mollifying exercises for those 60 or older (hey, they work for you younger folks too, believe me!) which I am happy to share with you today.

Exercise #1:  Target your glutes

You need one nicely filled wine glass (with either red or white or rose, it doesn’t matter, although red, of course, is more "full bodied." HaHa.)  Raise to lips 3X for a minimum of 6 reps. Of course, you can do as many reps of this exercise as you can reasonably handle, just have a designated driver handy. 

Exercise #2:  For your core and front of thigh

Carry two 20 pound bags of groceries up 2 flights of stairs.  Minimum of 2 reps, although 4 reps are more effective.  Feel the burn!

Exercise #3:  Buff up your biceps
Pick up one lazy small dog (minimum size 11-pounds, like my ShitZhu)  and carry down stairs for an outside walk, then back upstairs.  2 reps, 4X/day.

Exercise #4:  For wrist flexors and extensors

Pick up laundry left on floor by your young, teen or adult children, husbands included.  3 reps daily, 5x/week minimum.

It's the simple adjustments that can make the greatest difference.  Remember, it’s your life and you must be strong!  Now go live it.

Salude.

 

Drunk on You: Ode to Nashville

"And it burned, burned, burned, that Ring of Fire….that Ring of Fire.”

--Real country star June Carter Cash’s love song

My achy heart is breakin’ because my favorite TV show this year has "Blown Away."  I'm "Drunk on You," Nashville.  Sigh.

What a season it was!  Sex, drugs, and country music!  Lovers divided, reunited, and banged up in what in any other life would be a fatal car accident. 

The story of two country divas –fading suburban superstar Rayna James and her nemesis, up-and-coming bad girl, Juliette Barnes – Nashville had enough characters and plotlines to fill 4 seasons of series television. 

To fast forward through the salient points of season #1:

Rayna is married to the newly elected mayor of Nashville, who left her because he can’t compete with her fame or her affection  for Deacon Claybourne, one of Nashville’s best guitar pickers, Rayna’s former lover and father of her eldest daughter, Maddie (a fact that Rayna has never confessed to him).  Oh, and Deacon is a recovering alcoholic and Rayna’s soon-to-be ex-husband, Teddy is having an affair with a former colleague and devoted (indeed) campaign worker.

 Juliette starts the season sleeping with everyone, then actually falls for 2 guys:  an evangelical star football player from a snooty family, whom she briefly marries and he annuls, and the sobriety counselor of her addict mother; the mother loves her recovering ex-fraudulent-businessman counselor but also really loves her little girl, Juliette. (She is short).  Of course, the hard-scrabble life her mother gave Juliette has fueled the younger woman's ambition and ability to write some kick-butt country music.

Then there’s the truly talented (if prissy) Scarlett, niece of Deacon, and her boyfriend Avery, who starts out as a real asshole but ends up humbled and working as lead guitarist in Juliette’s band.  But when a door closes, a window opens:  Scarlett finds a new love in her songwriting partner, Gunnar, who is guilty about his ne’er do well brother’s conviction for armed robbery. (He dies a few episodes later but not before making Gunnar feel even crappier about his brother!).

Deacon winds up going off the wagon after Maddie discovers he’s her father (and tells him), then he and Rayna get into a monstrous car wreck while they fight over his getting drunk and her failure to tell him that her daughter Maddie is his.  Nothing good can come of this -- brain surgery?? Spinal reconstruction?

Juliette’s mother ODs but not before killing the former sobriety counselor who's become Juliette's business manager before absconding with millions of Juliette’s money and a sex tape of Juliette with him in flagrante delicto!  Staring into her mother’s coffin, Juliette vows she’ll never let anyone hurt her again. I don't blame her.

And then there’s Scarlett and Gunnar:  After a few bad moves on his part, leading to Scarlett throwing him out of their house, Gunnar shows up with a ring and a marriage proposal – happy ending?

No $#@*&#! way.

My Season 2 predictions:

Rayna and Deacon are toxic together.  Actor Charles Esten is one hot dude, a terrific singer and guitar player, and he’s completely believable in the role.  If I wasn't happily married and 60, I'd consider a face lift and losing 50 pounds for him.  However, after further reflection,  I am terribly worried that he’s a dead man.  This show might just make him a big star.  Just like that poor heir to Downton Abbey -- the movies wanted him and he was so done with the TV show.

Of course, Deacon and Rayna have great chemistry but, honestly, Connie Britton could have great chemistry with a frog, she’s that terrific. 

If I'm right, Rayna will have to learn to walk again, sing again and love again, but not before she mends those fences with Maddie.  If I'm wrong, Rayna will have to learn to walk again, sing again and love again, but not before she mends those fences with Maddie. 

Rayna’s poor, floundering husband Tom now becomes just like Deacon, whom he loathes:  the father of a child out of wedlock.

And there's a 12-step program in Juliette’s future and more hit singles. 

Scarlett is the next big thing in Nashville and on the show – a true country artist.  She will be the one keeping Juliette awake at night.  Which brings us to Avery….and Gunnar.

Will the Circle be Unbroken?  Will I try my hand at writing a country song while pining through the summer months with only my Nashville album download to keep me company?  Will series' creator Callie Khouri please let Deacon live to drink another drink -- and will he ignore his agent's siren song to "take a hike"?

Stay tuned.

 

The Nightmare Before Prom

I had a dream the other night.  My daughter was going to Prom.  She was dressed in an elegant white tulle gown dusted with glittering beads, her long brown hair in lazy waves, a  beautiful orchid circling her delicate, tiny wrist.  Her date was a blur to me…but my daughter seemed happy, excited and ready to experience one of the most seminal experiences of being a teenager. 

I awakened suddenly.  So what’s wrong?

Nothing.  Everything. 

Rewind back more than 4 decades to my wanton youth.  All those romantic school girl dreams about the “perfect prom”… so far from the reality so many experience:

1. The zits on your back that make you ditch the dress you were going to wear and pull out the Big Sister hand-me-down
2. The sometime BFF who fast-talks you into accepting an invitation from a senior you hardly even know, but who is well-known by your parents to be a “troublemaker” (and kind of is)
3. The “floating prom” on a party boat – and the liberally flowing booze smuggled aboard that has your friend and about two dozen others heaving their guts over portside (this was the early 70s, remember).
4. The perfunctory attempt by your date to stick his tongue in your mouth when he kisses you goodnight.

Ah, those were the days!

You shudder and realize that memories are made of moments like Prom -- that  you did everything as a teenager someone could possibly do (ok, well most everything – 1 or 2 things were saved for college) and your child will have to go through all of that too and the crucible of her own prom one day.  Because that is the natural order of things. 

You may remember your prom fondly or not, but in any event, I hope those of you who are parents of teens or tweens can take some solace from a friend whose daughter is attending her boyfriend’s high school prom tonight.  “At least they lock the school down to keep the alcohol and stalkers out," she assured me.

Uh-huh.

 PS--Happy Memorial Day, everyone!

There's No Place Like Home

A few weeks ago, my husband noticed that our old house in Falls Church was up for sale, and that an open house was scheduled for the next day, a Sunday afternoon.

We decided to go, driven by fond memories and the natural curiosity of former home owners:  Did they open up the living area by knocking down the wall between the kitchen and large dining room – something we always wanted to do but really couldn’t afford at the time?  Was our daughter’s room still that pretty celadon green?  And what about that dark paneling in the family room downstairs?

We guessed they were selling it now because, as we learned too after a few years there, the schools in that neighborhood weren’t really that great.  Also, there likely weren’t going to be many kids on the block for some time to come as older residents on our street, most of them there for decades, weren’t going to leave until…you know.

Happily, we discovered that the house remained largely as we left it, with paint the only major upgrade in evidence. The asking price was about $40,000 more than they paid for it – a sign that the market was coming back in that area and maybe, beyond making a small profit, also a small indication that they too had valued and loved that home for the reasons we did:  The beginning of a marriage and family, a joint decision to put a stake in the ground as a couple, and build a life together.  The first and, in many ways, the most unforgettable place they would ever know.

My husband asked, half-joking, if we should make an offer on the house.  We both smiled sadly, knowing the answer.  We confessed to the agent showing the house that we were curious, previous owners and thanked him for letting us linger, then went on our way. 


This week marks seven years since we left that big white house in Falls Church for our smaller but sweet little castle on a tree-lined hill in Arlington.   I’ve come to love this house as much, if not more, than our Falls Church “manse” – we’ve really come together as a family here.  Our daughter has run barefoot and laughing through the grass on summer days with a posse of neighborhood kids trailing behind, and sledded down our hill during Snowpocalypse.  We’ve made good friendships with our neighbors that remain strong today, even as our daughters have drifted apart.

My husband and I have settled ever more comfortably into our marriage too while living here – a bit more patient and playful about each other’s quirks and weaknesses, while being bewitched, bothered and sometimes bewildered by the beautiful daughter we’ve been given the privilege to raise in this home.

 I could imagine happily staying in this place for the remainder of my days, looking out over my neighborhood from the top of my little Arlington hill.  But, as my husband reminds me, my knees won’t let me, nor his.  Too many stairs to carry groceries, for one thing.   

As always, my husband has a point.

 

Up the Down Escalator

We’re well into the week and I’m unfortunately focused on things that most would agree are annoying, aggravating or just plain upsetting.  So here’s my list. What’s yours?

1.       The $650M Powerball jackpot.  I didn’t win.

2.       The $3.5M lottery ticket sold to a California woman just past the sales deadline.  She had winning numbers – only too late.  I hope someone bought that poor woman a beer.

3.       New data shows growing rates of suicide in the developing world, speculating that the demise of a sense of “community” has led to “lonelier” people.  Sad.

4.       Unprecedented levels of carbon dioxide in our atmosphere, resulting in the northern migration of plant, marine and animal life, as well as rising sea levels, floods, and extreme weather patterns, such as droughts, tornedos…and

5.       Moore, Oklahoma.  Tragic and horrible.

Now that I’ve brought you completely down for the day, let me try to lift up your spirits (and mine) again – it’s the least I can do:

1.       There will be another Powerball jackpot -- and that’s one out of 150 million chances that you’ll win it!

2.       The high school drop-out founder of Tumblr is now worth $250 million dollars thanks to Yahoo’s $1.1 billion acquisition of his company.  There’s hope for parents everywhere.

3.       Let’s hear it for the brave and resilient people of Moore, OK – with a big shout out to courageous and caring teachers at Plaza Towers Elementary!!  Moore will rebuild, because you can’t keep a great town down.

4.       Memorial Day makes it official – summer’s coming!

5.       Still 60 and going strong!  (Ok, that one’s strictly for Mrs. Sedd.  Makes her feel better.)

In closing, pay it forward if you can by making a donation to the charity of your choice and help out those folks in Moore.  While you're at it, buy yourself a lottery ticket too -- because you never know.

Until tomorrow….

 

 

What Light through Yonder Window Breaks

That light would be my daughter.

Last evening, she was the “narrator” of her school play—a highly unusual and funny 6^th grade spin on Romeo and Juliet. 

Let me tell you how awesome that is.

As those who read this blog know, my husband and I adopted our daughter from China at the age of 2.  The first few years were troubling and traumatic for her and for us –  she developed this major case of hives that were sheer agony and impossible to control (helpless parents slathering Aveeno lotion all over her body – we weren’t in great shape, either).  She cried constantly because she didn’t know what the hell we were saying at any given moment in time.  She kicked and threw things.  (See Mommy File:  “Attachment Issues").

As the months passed, we became increasingly concerned about our daughter's lack of responsiveness to our questions, her mood swings and impulsivity, so we took her to be tested.  It turned out that she couldn’t hear us, for starters, and might have some developmental challenges.  That’s when things started to go from worrisome to worse.   I won’t go into the details, but let’s just say, we weren’t very encouraged by the professionals with whom we consulted.

School started and we began the yearly process of “Individualized Education Plans,” special education “at home services,” speech and language therapy, a tutor and family counseling.  We ultimately moved from a house we loved (one with not great schools) to the one we’re in today because our neighborhood elementary school had a good reputation (not really deserved, as we discovered) for “mainstreaming” kids with learning differences.  

She grew older and worked harder to learn what seemed so easy for her friends and classmates to “get.”  She struggled, floundered, got angry, called herself “stupid,” was depressed and withdrawn in class, and ultimately felt defeated.  Finally we made the tough decision, on the cusp of retirement, to send her to a highly regarded private school for bright children with learning differences. 

I will write again about our journey at this school, with its devoted and talented team of teachers and therapists – but not tonight.  Instead, I want to celebrate success and not “process.”  My child, who started 5^th grade reading at several grade levels lower -- whose language-based learning differences are complicated by short-term memory challenges – is now reading at grade level and was the narrator of her school play.

Ok, she really wanted to be Juliet:  The star.  Next year, says her over-achieving helicopter Mom.

Proud, proud, proud. 

Tea Party Cred

 
I’m a little upset with the IRS.

Before I complain, I want to be perfectly clear:  Grover Norquist and I have nothing in common, other than our mutual downtown D.C. office building. 

I have always fully believed in the importance of paying my fair share of taxes because public schools matter.  Safe roads and bridges matter.  Cops and postal carriers matter.  But in recent years, I’ve had a few issues with our US tax system and the agency which governs it.

1.       I pay nearly twice as great a percentage of my income in taxes as Mitt Romney does and, I suspect, in all likelihood, most Tea Party members of the Congress, who are currently in a lather because Tea Party-affiliated political organizations aren’t getting tax-exempt status as non-political groups.  But that’s our kabuki political culture for you.  Go figure.

But let me add, however, that I suspect many of you have this complaint, too --  so back to the larger point about income tax disparity:  As my husband would say in his best rural Indiana accent (which he only uses when he wants to make a point), “That ain’t right.”

 

2.       I believe there is a small possibility that the IRS may be (perhaps) unintentionally, but, in fact, sexist from time to time.   Long story short:  my husband and I file separately but married.  I usually have to pay a relatively modest (ok, not to me, but I don’t want to go there) amount of estimated taxes each quarter.  Last year, the IRS put those advance payments in my husband’s account, not mine – say wha???  Then they sent me a penalty letter demanding a not insignificant sum of money, including interest.  I finally got the problem fixed but it took the better part of a day on the phone and 2 or 3 separate (I lost count) “customer service representatives” to fix it. Ugh.

3.       Now to the present:  I just got a notice from the Social Security Administration about an irritating error the IRS made regarding salary I pay to the wonderful woman who cleans our house every 2 weeks and has for nearly 10 years.  What’s really irksome is that if I paid her what the IRS says I’ve said I pay her, she’d be coming to our house every week.  And that would be sweet.  But she’s doesn’t, alas ….and double alas, I now have to deal with 2 government agencies!  I see at least 8 hours on the phone in my future trying to remedy the problem – one probably due to a “keystroke” error made in a rush to get on to the next return.  So how come I’ve got to fix the problem when they created it?

What’s going on at the IRS these days strikes me as a manpower problem and crummy customer service -- and not a deliberately partisan issue despite all efforts to whip up a political frenzy.  So let’s drive that unemployment number down by 1/100^th of one-half percent and hire a few folks to qualify those “social welfare” organizations that pass legal muster for their 501(c)(4) tax-exempt tax status and stop screwing up my tax file, ok?  I, for one, would be a grateful citizen.

And Grover, don’t call me for a contribution.

 

A SMART Cookie

In follow-up to last Thursday's post ("Skype Me Up!"), I'd like to share with you a handwritten powerpoint presentation prepared by the 11-year-old daughter of a friend.  In this well argued document, she makes a strong case for having her own smart phone.

I predict great things ahead for this child...a career in PR?  CEO of Something? A nomination to the Supreme Court in 2052?  

A smart phone??? 

Save in your "Kid Technology Management:  Phone" file for future reference.  You thank me later.

And...Happy Friday to all!

 

Longevity

According to the Social Security Administration, I will likely live – all other things being equal – to the ripe old age of 83.97 years.

For those among you who like numbers, I have approximately 209,402 hours or 12,564,115 minutes left to enjoy life... I mean, 12,564,114 minutes.

X#%*! (Insert expletive of choice).  That’s a whole lot of time to kill.

I ruminate about retirement almost every day – am I ready emotionally for it? Will I get bored away from the controlled chaos of office life?   In my daydreams about it I swing from the euphoria of thinking about all the things I’ll be able to do that I haven’t had --  or made -- the time to do…

Gourmet cooking! Travel! Painting! Pottery! Writing! Losing weight! Studying for a PhD in Something Not Too Terribly Challenging! Losing weight!

But the reality of daily living sets in…

Will my husband be able to stand being around me all that time? Who’s going to pay the mortgage while we’re blowing all that cash on travel?  Has anyone seen my 401K balance lately?  How will we manage our daughter’s college expenses and beyond? Will time on my hands lead to a round-the-clock, uncontrollable urge to snack?

…And then I settle myself down and start to focus on practical things associated with long life in retirement. 

·         When should I stop coloring my hair?

·         Is it challenging to be a barista?

·         Are water aerobics effective?

·         Should I start researching hip and knee replacement surgery?

These are just a few of the big, burning questions I need to address in the months (years?) ahead as I begin to imagine, and then design, the retirement I aspire to enjoy as well as the retirement I can pragmatically expect.  I will look to you for good ideas too about how I might to this -- and I'll share any interesting tidbits I pick up along the way.

Long-term care insurance, anyone?

 

 

Ying and Yang: Wednesday Edition

Here’s to “hump day” – the perfect time to reflect on the good and bad of recent days with an eye towards the future and Friday, whichever comes first.

So, drum roll please…for the “Ying” of things on a Wednesday….

       1.  Payday, today.  Hooray.

       2. Monthly “early release” Wednesdays at my daughter’s school – a lovely excuse to take the afternoon off!

3.       Are You Game?, a 2011 Chardonnay from Victoria, Australia.  Nice and crisp, not “oak-y” – just how I like it.  (As an aside for those who follow my blog:  this “white” has brought my husband’s Mother’s Day Report Card grade up to a A-)

4.     Leo DiCaprio.  Oooh-lala, he is a GREAT Gatsby in every sense of the word....and he just raised nearly $40 million at an art auction he organized for his environmental foundation.  A very cool guy.

5.       Weight Watchers.  Because it gives me hope.  

However, for every “ying” there is usually a “yang”…

1.       Credit card bills due…like yesterday.

2.       Early release day.  Because it’s not every day.

3.       Bordega Tamari Reserve 2011, a Malbec from Mendoza, Argentina.  I know it’s good for me in moderation (did I really say that?) and quite smooth, but I’m not that big a fan of “red” other than Pinot Noir.  (My husband’s Mother Day grade point average slipped to a “B+”)

4.       Leo DiCaprio.  Why Django Unchained? (Although you were good in it, what little I saw through the hands covering my eyes...) 

5.       Too many points = too few pounds.  Those who practice Weight Watchers understand this.

 Until tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

Call Me Unavailable

I guess I've always had the gift of gab.  When I was my daughter’s age, you couldn’t get me off the telephone.  I’d yak away with my favorite girlfriends for an hour at a time, driving my poor parents to distraction because they wanted to know how it could be possible for me to have that much of a life to discuss for that length of time at the age of 13.  

As luck would have it, I landed in a profession that for the past 35 years has required me to talk on the phone a lot – to clients, colleagues in offices around the world, and in the earlier days of my career, the media. Doing all that talking, day in and day out, has tired me out.

Which is why, in the evenings at home, when telemarketers call, it makes me absolutely insane.  You know the drill:  you just sat down for dinner and the phone rings. You’re carrying your pot roast with those pitch-fork things and you know you’ll miss the plate if you make the slightest move to answer that ring tone that’s drilling a hole in your brain. You’re in the middle of a…discussion…with your daughter over what you’ve planned for school lunch the next day, or heatedly reminding each other that the (unnecessary, in her view) tutor is coming tonight because we’ve had to cancel the last 2 sessions at the last minutes, and that costs money, blah, blah, blah.  And the phone rings.

You grab the phone without checking the phone screen and a chirpy young man says, “Can I speak to…”

You know they want money for your alma mater or his, our daughter’s school, the local police auxiliary and Widows and Orphans Fund, clean water, blue skies, your political party’s congressional-senatorial-local-state campaign committee or candidate, Boys or Girls Club, etc., etc.  All worthy causes, many of them you already make donations to, but do they really have to call Saturday afternoon at 4pm, Sunday evening at 9pm, or Christmas Eve at 7pm, or any night –  and every day – when you have more important things to do?

We’re on the “Do Not Call List” which does help to weed out smooth talking crooks (we hope), but honestly, I don’t think it works that well because we still get LOTS of annoying calls.  I hate to say this, but they bring out my evil twin, Rude Jan, who responds with a hyper- exaggerated friendliness that “He isn’t here and I don’t know when he will be!” or growls, “Not tonight” or scolds, “I can’t believe you’re calling on Mother’s Day!” 

My husband has settled into a pattern of just ignoring the phone when it rings, but he will check messages to make sure we haven’t missed a call from someone who matters about something important.  Me?  I’ll let the phone ring, stare at the screen that says “Unavailable” followed by some unrecognizable "444" number, then pick up the phone ready to rumble – or, I’ll stay on the line just long enough for the 5 second pause to expire and a person to speak before I hang it up with a flourish that only I can fully appreciate.  

So, when I’m feeling reasonably sane, or haven’t spent a solid 8 hours at work talking to folks in 3 different time zones, I remind myself that robo-callers are real people most of the time and hard-working, tax-paying Americans.  But if you want to reach me, I suggest you text, email, or call my mobile. Maybe.  Because in our household, when the phone rings, no one’s home.

 

 

The Report Card

Welcome to my Mother’s Day report card for 2013.

1.       Reading:  My husband knows me like a book -- roses, a fine meal out on Saturday evening, and 2 bottles of wine.  I was originally annoyed about the wine (on Mother’s Day??) but then I thought about it a bit…

Grade:  B (until I taste the wine, I’m grading tough.  Plus, no jewelry.)

2.   Writing:  From my daughter, an original poem.  Happy Mommy sigh.

       Mom

      Lovely, helpful

      Cleaning, working, laughing
      Every time I need help, she is always there for me
    
      My silly champion.

      Grade:  A+++

3.   Math:  The blessing of another Mother’s Day with my 85-year-old mom who yesterday was pretty sharp and so happy to be with 2 of her 3 granddaughters.
       Grade:  A+++
 
4.   Art:  Making pizza with my daughter, dough and all!
      Grade:  A for effort, B+ for execution (The pizza could have cooked a little longer)

5.    Science:  Yes, my oven is filthy.  Self-cleaning clearly overdue!!
       Grade:  D (but only because it still works)

Overall grade:  A+ 
Comments on 2013: 
A wonderful celebration, all in all.  But I better clean that bloody oven before I set the house on fire.

 

All That I Want

Most of you who read this blog now know I became a mother rather late in life:  at the age of 50, to be exact.  My daughter was a toddling 2-year old, I had more energy than, and I was still a relatively new wife, too, having only married four years earlier.

As my daughter has grown older, she’s honored me on Mother’s Day by making some really beautiful  gifts:  A plastic dish from pre-school days featured an original work of art -- stick figures of my husband, me and my daughter (I was the scary looking one) with a big yellow sun and some ominous birds in the scratchy-blue, crayon colored sky.  A flower made out of green and yellow tissue paper stuffed in a fat spaghetti sauce jar in kindergarten.  A Popsicle stick picture frame with her photo in the middle, in second grade.  A small, well-proportioned pot in fifth grade, among other items through the years.  Sweet stuff.

I have also received some lovely jewelry from my husband, but in recent years, he has gravitated toward electronics; initially I worried that he was signaling the” spark” was gone, but no; he was just trying to keep me competitive as these were the electronics of the moment…a Kindle reader, then a tablet and the newest gee-whiz smart phone. Good ideas all and much appreciated.

I love receiving gifts as much as the next person, but the gifts I want now are pretty much those I have to figure out how to give to myself:  The gift of time…to be relaxed and loose and me.  The gift of optimism… for the health and well-being of my family and their future.  And the gift of gab…I mean the gift of listening first, acting later.

Nah.  I want jewelry, too.  And maybe another lovely little handmade pot.

Happy Mother’s Day, everyone.  

Skype Me Up!

Several events in recent days have led me to join the motherhood of cyber-snoops.

•  (1) A $330 mobile phone bill largely caused by my daughter exceeding her data plan (on my account) by more than 100%.
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• (2)  Some boy who sent a tween-aged smutty text message to my daughter’s girlfriend (I don’t know all the specifics of the message but it was enough to make my helicopter mom blades whirl just imagining it).
• (3)  The video calls via Skype and Face Time are taking precedence over “family time” in the evening.

I’ve become twitchy, a tad tech-wary and very good at telling small fibs so I can check out my daughter’s phone.  I’m not doing it all the time, but just enough to make sure she’s not the recipient of stalker texting and other inappropriate communications. Based on my recent recognizance of her messages, I don’t think we’re in the danger zone yet, i.e., signing up for uKnow.com.  But I’m not ruling it out in the future.

Of course we’ve discussed with our child our concerns about texting, social media, etc., etc. and for the most part she gets it because she’s a good kid and actually likes being a good kid.  She knows that Facebook is a big fat “no” for her, although Instagram does have its allure.  I don’t think she knows about Snapchat or Tumblr yet, but neither do I really.  This is a brave new world for me, and I have a lot of territory to cover in my cyber-snooping.

Regarding the phone bill situation, my darling daughter confessed to not doing anything deliberate to ramp up her consumption of data, and I believe her.  She asked me if we were running out of money, though (I lied and said “no”) while my husband reexamined the settings on her phone in a last ditch effort to slow our rate of cash flow into the coffers of our monopolistic mobile phone provider.

In any event, I am now in possession of my daughter’s private, 4-digit security code and am sufficiently capable of the most credible diversionary tactics, thereby allowing Cyber Dad or Cyber Snoop Mom to take quick possession of her lifeline to the virtual Queendom of Tweendom.  That said, I’m not sure what we do about those video chats each night – she loves it because she can see friends, who can see her, and they get to perform as they talk to each other, sharing lots of posing, histrionics and laughter.  Sigh.

Absent taking custody of her phone -- which we really don’t want to do unless she does something stupid that requires such a punitive action, like ride her electric scooter without a helmet or text at 3am -- I think we’re kind of stuck with my daughter’s virtual playdates.

But wait – if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em!  Each night, we can spend 30 blissful minutes of smart phone family “face time” from the comfort of our preferred quarters:  Her sanctuary, my big bed, and my husband’s family room throne.

Skype us up, Scotty!