Chez Zimmer

Why Are We Funny?

2011-12-01T01:05:00.003-05:00

Above is a clip of one of the funniest guys I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. And I know some ridiculously funny people.

I went to high school with Don Harmon and he, it is widely agreed, had a comment, joke or sarcastic remark for every situation. On top of being just plain funny without really trying, he was also kind, smart and, I will admit, a cutie patootie.

He committed suicide this week. Leaving behind a wife and a very small daughter.

Thew news of Donnie's passing shook our mutual friends.When word broke as to the cause of his death even those who hadn't seen him in decades were (are) devastated. How does someone who appears so happy - I would go as far as to use the word jovial - decide no one will care if he no longer exists?

Last week my family watched "A Gaga Thanksgiving" (mock me now, I'll wait). Gaga has spoken often and publicly about being bullied and I asked the question (or no one in particular) "What is the difference between someone who is bullied mercilessly and becomes Lady Gaga and someone who is bullied mercilessly and decides they just cannot stand to live in this mortal world one more minute?" I honestly don't know. Maybe one really good friend or family member who keeps an eye on you and makes sue you know they love you. Maybe it is finding a place - in the nick of time - where your square peg finally fits perfectly. I just don't know.

Here's what I do know: A vast majority of the funniest people I know use comedy as a defense. When swearing like a sailor didn't work for me in Catholic school (go figure), I had to get funny fast, in order for people to laugh at me and not, you know, AT me. Lots of comedians are overweight (RIP Patrice O'Neal, Candy, Belushi, et al). Get funny or get picked on. Some are compensating for other reasons, perhaps reasons only they know or can see.

As I think about Donnie tonight, I wonder why he was so damn funny. Smart, talented, kind and handsome, I'm sad not only because the loss of his life is a loss to us all, but because I feel sure there was something that made him funny and I worry that this is the thing that finally pushed him over the edge.

The truth is, I was not close to Donnie. I have friends who were. Likely none of us are close enough to him now to ever have really know the demons he may have been fighting with a well-timed one-liner. But I have friends that share Don's sense of humor, who battle ghosts of their own every day and tonight, I vow to make sure they know they are more than the sum of their comedic material. You are special. You are loved.

Half-Assed is the new Fabulous

2011-11-21T21:30:00.002-05:00

It has been almost a year since I last posted on this blog. A lot has happened in that year. Jack started real school. My grandfather died. We renewed our wedding vows. I went to Vegas. Twice. Sisterhood imploded. It's been a year.

J has had a stomach bug since Saturday night. The poor kid can't keep anything down. Cheerios finally went and stayed down tonight at 7:30. Because I have the ability to do most of my job from home, I emailed my boss last night, explained the situation and tried to work best I could with a puking kid from home today. I had already arranged to work from home on Wednesday, because J doesn't have school. So I have to go in tomorrow so this week won't be a complete wash.

I received a couple of disturbing emails from my boss today. Nothing in-your-face, but with a definite edge to them. Maybe it was my guilt, but I was sensing his irritation. So I will g in tomorrow, even if J is sick.

To review, I feel like I am not doing an adequate job at my job because of the two days I have to work from home this week because of the kiddo. I will go in tomorrow and if J is still sick, I will feel like I am doing an inadequate job as a mother because I won't be with him to rub his head just the way he likes, or get vomited on for a 6th time in 48 hours.

I am completely burned out on volunteer work, so that has been suffering as well. Three years at the head of the organization was too much to bite off. So I have just shut down on that front and am really not taking in any new information. Oh, and I serve on the Board of that organization with some of my best friends, so I am feeling like a shitty friend for stepping back from those duties. (Side note: I have an awesome co-pres who is picking up the slack this year. She rocks and I would meltdown without her.)

Thanksgiving is in three days. We are going into Cincy on Thursday and leaving Friday because it is chaos when J and D are there together and I can't stand the tension. So I am feeling like a pretty crappy daughter, aunt and sister.

It is has not been a good week for the self-esteem.

I am thankful that I have family to visit. And that they are all healthy (puking Kindergartner aside). I am extremely thankful for my husband, who does his best to pick up the slack when Sisterhood responsibilities and work call me away. I am thankful beyond words for my girlfriends, who are acutely aware of my faults and love me anyway. And even though I feel like I am doing a half-assed job lately, I am really thankful for my gig. I love my job, genuinely like my boss, enjoy the members I work for and the fact that I get to do what I love daily.

I hate doing things half-assed. Although I don't think I'm a perfectionist, I want to do everything I do well and leave things better than I found them. Lately, though, I feel as if I am treading water in a pool that is getting increasingly deeper. Something's gotta give.

I've already started backing away from Sisterhood and pray that my friendships don't suffer because of it. The rest of it is kind of non-negotiable. Do I want to be a half-assed employee. No, I sure don't. I half-assed friend? Absolutely not. A half-assed wife? Nope. A half-assed Mommy? Makes me sick to think about it. So where do I find some give?

Praying for the answer.

The Look of Shame

2010-12-27T18:20:00.003-05:00

(Warning: Not a funny post, for those of you looking for that. This one is for me.)

I should have known better. Really, I should have. We'd been at The Grams' since Thursday, immersed ourselves in a weekend full of bacchanalia and then put him off his routine with the aide out on vacation this week. To think I could introduce this particular version of The Prince to new friends was asinine, really.

I was so glad to see an college friend and so eager to meet her three kids, that the thought of heading over to her house after all of the above sounded like a grand idea, rather than the pipe dream it was.

We encountered an accident, resulting in 25 minutes stationery time on I-70, and J fell asleep, snoring soundly. When I attempted to wake him, he was dazed. Better I should have let him sleep in the car while I visited.

I kid.

Sorta.

The melee that ensued was nothing short of one of the most fantastic meltdowns ever witnessed. There was slamming of doors, spitting, yelling, crying - and that was just me. When my friend's four-year-old daughter gasped when J slammed the front door, I knew ignoring him was no longer going to work. he followed that up by spitting at this little blue-eyed angel.

The piece de resisantce, however, is what gets me every time. He wound up and smacked me hard in the face. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught my friend's reaction and it was - maybe- worse than the blow.

Not being a naturally patient person, I know God gave me this particular boy because I have prayed many times for Him to help me be more patient. Keeping calm and not throttling my child when he sinks his teeth into my leg means I have come a long way in the patience department. But it makes me seriously wonder how far I have come in the parent department.

He continued to rage all the way home. I pulled over twice - both to re-buckle him back into the car seat. It bordered on ridiculous when he wouldn't stop kicking me so I took his shoes. After a while, there is something just funny about a boy sobbing "I want my shooooooeeeesssss." But calm I kept.

I vent here so that I can work through things and, more importantly, not kill him. I know I am not a great mom. I know I let him get away with things that other moms would have nipped in the bud. The worst part is knowing this and then having it confirmed just by a glance. I wonder, sometimes - on bad days in particular, how this child is ever going to become part of a class in a structured classroom.

Today was bad. Tomorrow will be better. I have to believe it.

This Things We Leave Behind... And Those We Gain

2010-12-19T20:41:00.002-05:00

I am feeling a distinct Christmas-shaped hole in my aura this year.

The year before I converted, we nixed the tree (which was getting progressively smaller, anyway) to see how it felt. It was OK, although, as I reported then, I was caught off guard by some carolers and wept openly at a shopping center that first year.

Last year was all abut the joy of choosing Judaism - and Christmas and Chanukkah were close, so it all felt like a big love-fest. All was well.

This year, though, Chanukkah started on Dec. 1. By December 9, the menorah was aglow with all nine candles, all the gifts had been given, Ma'oz Tzur sung (and sung, and sung) and then darkness. Chanukkah was over.

Meanwhile, carols were on the radio, Christmas lights (yes, Melanie, they ARE "Christmas" lights) were being hung and the buy-buy-buy-frenzy was reaching its peak everywhere I turned.

I don't miss the pressure to out-do last Christmas every year. That's never what it was about for me, anyway. Christmas has always been a state of mind. An extra smile or an extra bit of patience, and remembering to treat each other like human beings (except, apparently, during black Friday sales. All bets are off then). It's just that all of that was wrapped up in the packages and the lights and the singing and - for what its worth - the smell of cinnamon pine cones.

In theory, I should be able to transfer all of those feel-good feelings right on over and celebrate with the Maccabees, no? I'm finding it not quite that easy in practice and I don't know why.

I guess I am mourning a little bit of my childhood: Singing in the choir at midnight mass, matching family PJs and the sweet anticipation of Christmas morning. I will not ever forget the Christmas that Santa brought facepaint and Dad painted my sister and I up like members of KISS. (Dad was cool even then.)

I know that on December 26 I will feel better. Not only because people tend to go back to being rotten to each other, but because I have gained so much more than I lost when I left Christmas.

Let's begin with a place and a service where I truly feel close to God. I like that Jews are taught to treat everyone the way they would treat God not for some promise of a glorious afterlife and rewards, but because we are obligated to - it is the right thing to do and that is why you should do it (vs. you should do it to get into heaven).

While the list of things I have gained from conversion is vast, I'll end it with the friends I have gained. I didn't gain them because I converted - in fact several spouses are still Christians. I gained them by being involved in Temple Israel.

This (I like to think) close group of friends are the ones you can call at midnight when a squirrel is squatting in your living room (Bucy is packing and I have him on speed dial) and the ones who will then show up with many squirrel-themed gifts to mock you and your fear of small, furry wildlife after the terror has passed.

They are the friends I want around me when we deal with things that seem too big - loss of family, financial ruin, serious illness. These are the women and men I want in my corner because some of them will hug me, most of them will make me laugh and many of them will then pick me up by my shoulders and give me a push to move forward (when progress is the last thing from my mind).

If I've lost Christmas, it was a small price to pay for getting a soft, warm and often funny place to land when the holiday spirit inevitably wears off.

Nature: 3; Zimmers: Naught

2010-11-29T12:44:00.004-05:00

It has been a while since I have gone back to the hilarity that is my blogging roots. It is time, friends. If only because we have had a chaotic November and some of it is too funny NOT to share.

Many of you may be familiar with Osi's sordid past with the local wildlife. he has been taunted more than once by raccoons in several zip codes. It's as if they have a poster of him in the local raccoon post office with a sign above it instructing wildlife to "Get This Guy."

The raccoons have branched out, my friends. The word is out and the Bexley squirrels have risen to the challenge.

On a random Wednesday night a few weeks ago, I was awakened by a frantic stage-whisper calling my name. "Chris!" my Great White Hunter of a husband called, "CHRIS! THERE IS A SQUIRREL IN THE HOUSE!"

You may, at this point, stop (as I did) and ask yourself what am I going to to do about this that the GWH can't do himself? While you are pondering this, please keep in mind that this is a man who once annoyed a raccoon off of our deck by a) poking it with a fireplace poker and b) spraying same raccoon with "Clorox Clean-Up." I felt as if it was up to me to defend the family home against this obviously rabid beast.

Let us first agree that squirrels are just rats with better costumes. Let us also agree that while they may be cute and cuddly outside, squirrels do NOT belong on this inside - with the people. And they most certainly do not belong ensconced under the guest bed, which is exactly where Osi found him.

Upon sitting on the bed to remove his shoes, Osi saw our friend Mr. Nutters scamper from beneath the bed in search of escape. This sight sent Osi, also scampering, out of the room, closing the door behind him. That brings us to the stage-whisper alarm I received at midnight that night.

After searching fruitlessly for an animal removal service that would answer our midnight distress call, we (and my WE, I mean I) decided to take matters into our own hands. I Googled "How to get a squirrel out of your house." Here are the directions I received.

Step one was "Don't Panic!" Well, shit. That ship had already sailed. Step one also helpfully instructs you not to get bitten. Thanks, genius.

On to step two, which was to secure your pets elsewhere. Well, now, funny you should mention the pets. Because we have one of those. One whose only job is to alert us to intruders, say, of the rodent variety. Here is Frannie, The Wonder Mutt's, reaction to being told there is a squirrel in the house and she should do her doggy duty.

Step three instructed me to "Gingerly work around the squirrel." Check. That I can do. Donning Crocs and brandishing a broom, I entered the room, skirting the edges, and announced loudly to the squirrel that no one wanted to harm it, I was just opening a window to aide in his escape. There was no need for HIM to panic, because there was no one here by us squirrel-lovers. I proceeded quickly to step 4,which was to open the windows in the room, remove the screens and get the hell out. Actually, get the hell out was step 5 (and 6, if you want to get technical. They were pretty clear about getting the hell out).

At 2 am, we heard a good deal of noise, followed by several thumps. Upon entering the room in the morning, pictures on the wall were askew, our dresser was trashed and the squirrel appeared to be gone. We even called Critter Control to come ensure that the squirrel was gone. They assured us that the squirrel was, indeed, GONE. We determined he came in through the open fireplace flue and scampered upstairs after taking one look at the dog (who, I am assuming, was dozing on the couch through the entirety of Mr. Nutters' entrance). Critter Control secured the flue and left us confident that we were no squirrel-free.

Flash forward to Saturday, when I am once again awakened from my peaceful slumber by the now screaming Great White Hunter: "CHRIS! THERE'S ANOTHER SQUIRREL!!"

Osi had seen a squirrel in the living room, and saw it dart across the room, but didn't see where it went. Another call to Critter Control ensued. (For those keeping track, we are now $300 in the hole for squirrel surveillance and removal). Critter Controller arrived and, after some scuttlebutt, emerged from the guest room victorious, with the squirrel in a cage.

The Great White Hunter cursed at the squirrel all the way out the door. While we relatively certain that - this time - we are squirrel free, I know I live in fear of the day that TGWH calls me to defend Chez Zimmer once again.

Volunteer Coordination 101

2010-10-11T20:46:00.000-04:00

Do you work with volunteers? In charge of a committee or two? Do YOU volunteer? I am a fan of finding a cause you can get behind and giving your time to help move that cause forward. We need check-writers, too, but the muscle behind the movement is where things tend to get tricky.

Since I have worked with volunteers in some capacity for the past 10 years, as well as volunteered myself, I feel like I have a pretty good grasp on what makes for a successful volunteer experience. And, equally important, what does not. Here is a brief list. Do you volunteer or work with volunteers? Feel free to add your own thoughts. As a membership director, I would love to hear them.

1. Involve the volunteer where they want to be involved. Even though a volunteer may own a web design business, they might not want to "work" for your organization. While you should always try to take advantage of specialized skills and strengths, it should be up to the volunteer where they get to spend their donated time. If they ask to be on a specific committee, put them there.

2. Communication is key. Setting realistic expectations is crucial. You should have a volunteer job description detailing the kinds of skills needed to successfully work with the committee or project, as well as a description of how much time a volunteer can expect to work on the particular assignment.

Once key communication is laid out: FOLLOW-UP. You likely cannot communicate enough with a volunteer. Making them feel "in the loop", getting ideas, letting them know progress on goals, publicly acknowledging them and getting feedback throughout their time as a volunteer and after. I can;t stress this enough. Volunteers are giving you their time because they believe in your cause or vision and they want to know they are making a difference.

3. Involve them. All points hereafter are just crystallizing communication. If you have a committee, USE THEM. While it may be tempting to try to handle things yourself as staff or the volunteer leader, people, again, want to feel like they are contributing. Please let them.

4. Acknowledge their time and effort. While many volunteers do not want or need the recognition that isn't why they do it), it is a public acknowledgment of the time and effort they put in. Send a thank you card or e-mail and copy your supervisor or CEO. If they helped plan an event, thank them at the beginning and end, so that attendees know who to thank as well (or complain to!). Most importantly, it is much easier to get volunteers once you acknowledge that you have volunteers. Lots of people don;t realize committees, etc. exist. By thanking your volunteers publicly, you make the volunteers feel good and have a good chance of capturing more volunteers.

I have been involved in too many bad volunteer experiences to let it keep happening. Do you have advice? I would love to hear it!

Friendship Fissure

2010-10-02T08:51:00.004-04:00

I can tell you the exact moment I heard it crack. It wasn't an ear-splitting lightening bolt, more of a seam splitting on a long-worn garment. If you think about it, you probably heard it too; muted by the clinking of glasses and witty repartee.

I am never sure if friends are reason, season or lifetime friends. I guess no one knows until the friendship either combusts spectacularly, dies a slow, neglected death or one of you actually dies and the other is there to mourn. I have had many of the first two kinds of attrition. Who knows how many more will come and go.

I have made more stupid mistakes than I care to admit. I've lost friends that could have been in the lifetime category over some crazy things (boys come to mind. Being psycho over a boy, also). I've also walked away from my fair share or friendships because there was just too much drama (although the same has been said, sometimes correctly, about me).

Through Facebook, I have been able to find, connect with and apologize to most of those to whom I was an ass and felt terribly about it either the minute it happened, or 10 years later, when I grew up.

In real life (as opposed to Facebook), I struggle with leaving relationships behind these days. I want to believe the best about people, even when they show me something else entirely. Is it because I am loyal or because I won't admit my own mistake in judgment?

Or maybe that seam ripping was the final thread of commonality holding us together.

Facebook Fast

2010-08-28T21:07:00.003-04:00

I've deactivated my Facebook account. I may be back, I may not. Here is why:

I have had an incredibly shitty week, which caps off a pretty crappy 5 years. I am tired. Tired of being in charge of everything on all fronts. Tired of putting on a happy face for people who could not possibly care less. Tired of being the Funny Fat Girl.

After what was quite possibly a nervous breakdown of some sort today, I came to the realization that there was no one but my mother I could call. At 37, my mom is my best friend. I have about 4 girlfriends can really count on and I am thankful beyond words for them, but I can't say I have a best friend.

Those 4 people and I talk on a regular basis. As for the rest of the 136 Facebook "friends", most of them are purely surface. There are a few - former teachers I am close to, former co-workers, distant family, too - that I will keep up with via e-mail. All the rest of them couldn't care less.

So I deactivated the account. If you want to know how I am doing or what's going on with me, you'll have to do it the old fashioned way - via e-mail.

The Sound of Regret

2010-07-08T10:32:00.002-04:00

Everyone has regrets. Those who say they don't lack a conscience, in my opinion, because no one is batting a thousand in the judgement and life decisions arena (please pardon the mixed sports metaphor). Some people regret things they did, things they said. Others regret things they didn't do.

My top three regrets in life fall into the latter category and both have to do with music, my passion thanks to my high school band experience.

Anyone who knows me even a little knows I am a way-out-of-the-closet Band Geek (capital B, capital G). I dated a music major in college and hung out at the school of music so frequently that more than one professor thought I WAS a music major that they just hadn't had in their class yet.

I actually made an audition tape in high school to send to colleges because I was thinking seriously about music as a major. I wanted - and still want to this day - to be a band director. Auditioning with the likes of Matt Hickman (I'm lookin' at you, Aire-Gai) intimidated me and I ended up not sending the tapes. I majored in English because I didn't think I had the chops to get through the performance portion of the curriculum. I majored in English. Regret number one.

During my sophomore year in high school, I had my first experience with Drum Corps, International (DCI). I was smitten. All of the power of the so many brass instruments backed by some of the most amazing percussion you will ever hear. The precision, pageantry and artistry of what they did was astounding. I fell in love and followed The Phantom Regiment religiously. Our band director had hired one of their visual designers to write our drill.

I saw them end the season ranked second with their New World Symphony program. I wanted to be one of them. I sent away for the audition packet, received it and tossed it. I knew I had the marching skills, but again lacked confidence in my playing. I pitched the packet. Regret number 2.

All through high school, I knew I wanted to attend Ohio State. For one reason and one reason only. The Best Damn Band In The Land. In fact, a friend and I contemplated switching to tuba (damned the fact that I didn't yet have a firm grasp on reading bass clef) just so we had a shot at dotting the i one day. My bags were packed, I was ready to report early for marching band auditions. Again, my confidence failed me. I wanted it so badly that if I didn't make it, I would be absolutely crushed.

I went to summer sessions (an insanely and stupidly hard practice session for both current marching band members and those who want to try out). I went a few times, got ridiculously frustrated and convinced myself that I would have to be satisfied with the Spring and athletic bands, who take anyone (and still got to be under the direction of Dr. Jon Woods - eh!). In my 5 years at THE Ohio State University, I never auditioned. Regret number 3.

Last night I attended a Drum Corps show at a local high school, where at least two, if not all three, of my regrets collided. The Ohio State Pep Band did the Star Spangled Banner and then I watched as musicians not as talented as I was 20 years ago (and I wasn't, just trying to make a point here) got to march with a Corps. I could have made at least two of those Corps without blinking.

Coulda. Shoulda. Woulda.

My regret is strong enough that several times in the past few years I have seriously contemplated trying to talk my old trumpet instructor (now the Associate Dean at OSU's School of Music) to once again take me on as a pupil, get my chops in shape and go back to school to become a band director. If I started now, I could be done by the time Jack is ready to be in his marching band :) What I wouldn't give to write a drill, choose music and see 150 high school students come together to perform it and (most of them, anyway) enjoy it.

I've shared mine, Band Geek to the finish. What are your regrets? Something you've done or DIDN'T do?

The Things We Almost Forget

2010-07-05T17:46:00.003-04:00

I've recently had a few incidents of what may be early-onset dementia. There have been brief glimpses of something that triggered a long forgotten memory. It's like mental whiplash.

This afternoon I saw a guy on a motorcycle. I've seen people on bikes probably every day for the last three months but for some reason, today's biker lead me down the "I wonder if I might like to ride on a motorcycle...?" path.

All of a sudden, and only for an instant, I flashed back 20 years. I was speeding across the Williamstown bridge in Jason Burfield's car. We may or may not have been going over 100. I can neither confirm or deny. I had that top-of-the-roller-coaster feeling - thrilling and intensely nauseous.

And - BOOM - I was back. In a millisecond I had had that memory and was back with my definitive answer: No, I would NOT like to ride on a motorcycle.

This is a memory that I had no idea was retained. A memory I literally hadn't thought about for 20 years. It was like it was on the verge of being forgotten until I saw the motorcycle and then it came slamming to the front of my brain. There have been several of these almost-forgotten memories lately, and I find it disconcerting.

Is it my age, the nostalgia for my teens and early 20s, that is yanking me headlong into these memories? Is there some kind of connection I am missing that links to the thing I am viewing and the memory and emotion that comes with it? Am I losing my mind?

I have no idea, but it is weird.

Some People Hate Tea

2010-07-04T06:52:00.002-04:00

For those of you who have been following along, you may have realized I have some self-esteem issues. If I couldn't be the prettiest, then I was going to be the funniest and if I couldn't be that then I would try something else to make you like me.

I've always marveled at people who can be so authentically, sometimes outrageously, themselves and just go on about it without giving it a thought.

I've had extensive conversations with one friend in particular about this and while his advice was sage, I could never apply it.

There was no "Aha!" moment (sorry, Oprah). There was no life-altering epiphany. One day - and I can't even tell you what day it was - I just decided that some things aren't worth compromising. I've tried to be the nicest, the funniest, the most whatever, and there are people who still don't like me. As a recent FB post recently stated "I am just not some people's cup of tea and I am beginning to be OK with that." In fact, I've realized some people HATE tea. The tea doesn't take it personally. In fact, I think the tea probably says "OK, then, enjoy your coffee."

For a very long time I've been stuck in the teen angst years, just trying to fit in. Now, as I approach 40 faster than I'd like, it isn't about fitting in. It's about authentic friends for whom you'd do anything and who might even return that favor. The people who will always tell you the truth, even if it isn't popular or what you want to hear.

The friends I've had for decades and the friends that I see most frequently (not necessarily the same people) have made it safe for me to be me. They've seen the good, the bad and the downright ugly behavior, and they love me anyway. And made it OK for those who who may not even like me to have that opinion, too.

So now I find myself, in my late 30s, trying to be who and what I really am. Is this when most people find out? I feel like I may be coming late to this particular party, but I'm OK with that. I have a few more decades to evolve and get it right - for me.

Deja Vu Parenting

2010-06-28T18:37:00.003-04:00

I recently started to realize that we all parent tainted by the experiences of our own childhood.

One person may have been an overweight child and therefore is super-vigilant about what they feed their kids. Another may have moved frequently throughout their childhood and is now determined to keep their kids in one place throughout their childhood.

One friend has commented more than one "Oh, come on. Your childhood could not have been THAT bad. Your parents are great!" Indeed, they are and in many way I had a fantastic childhood. I had a large family that loved and nurtured me, never wanted for anything and the support of many. I have a lot of great memories.

But many times, the not-so-great memories shape who you are as much as the great memories do (helloooooo... I AM a band geek, no?).

My personal demon is being a social pariah. Moving into a small Catholic school where everyone had been together since Kindergarten was not especially easy in the 5th grade. Adding to this was the fact that there were definitely "Mean Girls" who delighted in the sport of Chrissie Bashing.

Because this was so much of my formative years I am admittedly a bit paranoid about perceived snubs and how Jack is treated. Not great, I know, and I am aware that I do it. Admitting you have a problem is the first step, yes? And to be sure, my fabulous experience as a member of the marching band is sure to color how excited I will be should Jack choose to play an instrument (after he is, ahem, strongly encouraged to do so).

So I am curious, what moments from your childhood color your parenting?

Back in the Saddle

2010-06-20T01:06:00.002-04:00

I was surprised to realize it has been over three months since I posted here. I stopped because someone mentioned that my posts don't sounds happy anymore.

In the three months since I have been here, lots of things have changed. Jack's aide Austin started at the JCC. He is helpful but not as aggressive in stemming the troubling behavior as we'd like. Our star Kyley starts in the afternoons with him on Tuesday. She is the one who made such strides in December and we have big hopes for her this summer.

Speaking of Jack, we've experience a lot of "firsts" this spring. We attended our first movie in a theater (Shrek Ever After), attended Kabbalat Shabbat services for the first time and J had his first solo sleepover and Grammy's. I simply cannot believe that this time next year we will be gearing up for Kindergarten.

I have had several "Sunrise, Sunset" moments in the last few weeks. At a recent Bat Mitzvah, a couple had a weeks-old baby at the service. I had a mini panic attack looking at the baby thinking it was only a matter of months - weeks, perhaps - that Jack was that small. I blinked at looked at the Bat Mitzvah gal and realized it was only going to be a matter of months - weeks, perhaps - until we are celebrating Jack's Bar Mitzvah. I literally could not breathe for 30 or 40 seconds.

This morning, we went to see "Toy Story 3" with Little Dude. I'm not ruining this for anyone, but we all know Andy goes off to college. I cried like a baby for the last 5 minutes of the stupid film and and getting a bit teary typing this now thinking of how short the weeks and months are (even though some days seem interminable). I try to play more, hold him close while he still lets me and kiss him every chance I get, but I still have Bad Mommy Moments and I fear those are the ones that will send him to therapy.

Work continues to be good and busy. I took over the e-news in May and, by all accounts, the members are very happy with it. I went to 25 hours in May as well, and am supposed to be jumping to 35 in July. My house is a disaster at 25 hours. When I add 2 more hours a day, I imagine FEMA will be called in by mid-August.

Osi and I are plugging along. We'll be married 10 years in November. We're hemming and hawing over a vow renewal with an actual person of God to witness this time, in the fall. I swear to you that my Italian Catholic grandparents still have no idea what happened at my wedding. There was "Ave Maria" and the breaking of the glass. I'm pretty sure when everyone else yelled "Mazel Tov" they murmured a "gesuntheit."

That is all the news fit to type for now. Here's hoping it isn't another 3 months until I speak again.

PS - See, Shan. Every work is not a masterpiece, comic genius, profound or even funny. Sometimes they're just brain droppings :)

Time to Bust Out the Bikini - It's March!

2010-03-16T08:40:00.002-04:00

Ohioans have a complicated relationship with our weather. When it hits 50 degrees in March, we start wearing shorts. When it hits 50 degrees in November, we turn on the furnace and drag out the parkas.

Another thrill of being a Buckeye? The tail end of cold season dovetails nicely with the beginning of allergy season. I still can't tell you if the congestion in April is from a lingering sinus infection or the beginning of allergies (yes, I KNOW nothing has bloomed yet. Please note the sarcasm.).

In February, you cannot find a pair of gloves in any local store to save your life, but if you need a string bikini fr Valentine's Day, Columbus is the place to find it.

Let us discuss snow for a moment, shall we? Granted, we do not get as much as Buffalo or Cleveland. However, we DO get enough each year to a) be prepared when it is coming (The White Death!) and b) know how to deal with it when it gets here.

Allow me to clarify: "Prepare for it" does not mean stripping the local shelves of bread, milk and eggs (apparently, Ohioans crave french toast when it snows). It also does not mean canceling events 48 hours before the snow is supposed to hit.

Now that the sun is out, after, I swear, a month of gray days, we don't know what to do with ourselves. Teenagers are showing more skin walking to school than I do at the beach. I actually saw a lawn crew mowing last week. People. Please. I implore you, just buy your mulch at the local BP station and wait it out.

Spring is upon us. If it is March in Ohio, it must mean sprinklers and kiddie pools! It will be 57 today. I guarantee I see some nimrod in shorts. People, pace yourselves. I cringe to think what you'll be wearing in August if March is shorts weather.

Follow the Yellow Brick Road...

2010-03-05T12:19:00.003-05:00

After months of getting our head around Jack's diagnosis, researching, and talking to psychologists, teachers, aides and administrators, I think we may finally be on the road to help.

It feels a little bit like Oz's Yellow Brick Road. It started when something unexpected dropped out of the sky and into our family. While there was no singing or dancing or odes to The Lollipop Guild at the outset (aside from the musical stylings of Mr. Marc), we were in a strange land, no question about it.

Now that we've started our journey to the Emerald City (that being a healthy, adjusted Jack who needs no additional help in the classroom), we have found friends along the way. We call our teachers, psychologists, aides, social workers, family - everyone involved in Jack's care - TEAM JACK. Some of them have helped us to understand with our minds what is going on. Some of them have taught us to open our hearts. All have given us courage to move forward as a team.

We added another member to Team Jack this week. We met Austin, the young man who will be Jack's aide in the classroom for the foreseeable future.While he doesn't have experience with special needs kids, he seems like a great guy.

I am unconcerned about his minimal experience for several reasons: 1) Haugland is giving him a crash-course in behaviors and autism, 2) Our care coordinator Amanda will be in the classroom with him frequently during the first month to show him how it's done, 3) It is really the personality of the aide that matters to us and 4) Jack is so high-functioning that he doesn't need intensive intervention, just prompts, which anyone can provide. And Austin coaches Little League. How cute is that? A 20-something single guy who volunteers as a Little League coach. Bonus points, Austin, mad bonus points.

We also have a few people along the road who have thrown up obstacles. People telling us that Jack should be in an MRDD classroom, telling us what he can and cannot do. Only Jack is able to tell us that, really. Mixing my metaphors, we also have a resident Frau Farbissina. Who makes faces at our suggestions and, indeed, could be a sergeant in "the militant wing of the Salvation Army." While I wouldn't go as far as saying these folks are "Wicked" I would say that they are well-skilled in the art of throwing an occasional fire-ball in our path (we have yet to see the Flying Monkeys. I wait.).

Austin is an excellent (I know, you totally thought I was going to say "awesome" there, didn't you?) addition to Team Jack. Only time will tell how long it will take us to reach The Emerald City, but I know we are well on our way.

More Things I Have Learned

2010-02-28T20:36:00.007-05:00

It has been an interesting week here at Chez Zimmer. I have been so wrapped up in getting past the Temple Israel Purim event on Saturday, that I haven't really looked ahead - which has been refreshing.

I peeked at the calendar this morning to find that I really have nothing this week. NOTHING. A rare occurrence, indeed. The only evening activity on my calendar this week is a much anticipated girls' night on Saturday.

This past week was the polar opposite. I was sick, had many Jack-related appointments and the stress of a temple-wide bash on the weekend. So this week, I learned that I will work for less money in order to work in my jammies, heavily medicated and with a tissue stuck up each nostril at home. The worth of this particular benefit is immeasurable.

Having worked with volunteers - either in a paid position or as a volunteer and volunteer leader - I take some things for granted. For instance, that volunteers should be a) listened to, b) made to feel as if their contributions are making a difference and c) recognized. This, along with utilizing a volunteer's expertise and passion in any given area is the key, IMHO, to getting them to stick around. This week - actually, this month - I learned that this is not common knowledge. Every organization that works with volunteers should have a basic volunteer management training program. Just my two cents.

Also learned, don't try to have an impassioned conversation filled with heated emotion - either positive or negative - with an intellectual. They either don't want to get it or will try to talk the impassioned individual into the logical, reasonable point of view, which anyone giving an impassioned diatribe doesn't particularly want. Don't kill my buzz, man.

Finally, extraordinary days are possible. Had one today, in fact. My Jack Jack had a perfect day. Grammy and Grandpa were here when he woke up, he went to temple dressed as a pirate where he saw both Mr. Marc and cavorted his most favorite playmate, Mr. Stone.

Here is the beauty of my kid. In the midst of the chaos that was the Purim carnival, my shining star found a balloon and spent a good deal of time batting in around, drawing others into the game with him. He was surrounded by games galore, jumpy houses and about 200 other kids and my fabulous little friend made up his own game and was fantastically happy to be playing it.

After we got home, he was happy to remain dressed in his Purim costume and was incredibly lovey all night.Very snuggly and huggy.He fell asleep as I sung the last song in our nightly bedtime repertoire: Hey Jude. An end to a perfect day.

Already learned, but bears remembering: Be thankful for days like these. Lock them in your memory and draw on them for your strength and your happiness.

Crap I Eat in My Car

2010-02-23T14:46:00.002-05:00

Although I love my new job, I work weird hours: 10-2. It's awesome, but completely eliminates lunch - which the Fluffy Girl NEEDS. I end up trying to scarf down a snack on the way into work and then, by the time I am done, I am so hungry that I feel more than a little like Godzilla rampaging through the streets of Tokyo.

To this end, I have crammed a lot of crap in my face between work and home. Here is a representative, but incomplete, list of that crap:

More Raisin' Cane's chicken fingers that I can count. And fries. Drowned in that special sauce which, I swear to you, must list "crack" as the first ingredient by volume.
Hummus and pita.
Yogurt parfait.
Peanut butter crackers.
Maple roasted walnuts from Whole Paycheck
Sushi. No, not with chopsticks (but I DID use the soy sauce - big mistake).
A startling amount of coffee and Gatorade. Apparently, I am also parched.

While I am completely embarrassed to be seen driving down the road gorging myself on various ethnic foods, a girl's gotta eat. And between the job, the house, the kid, the marriage and the 12 volunteer projects I work on, sometimes that has to happen in the car.

Just thought I'd share. Now excuse me while I see if I can fit this Thai Curry in a go box...

Burned by the Blog (and the 'Book)

2010-02-17T10:27:00.002-05:00

I haven't blogged in several weeks. Not for lack of anything to say (HELLO, have we met?) but because of The Incident.

My last post was entitled "Back in the Saddle Again" and was generally a love letter to my new job. I love it. I do. I also am being completely spoiled for any other boss by my current Executive Director. However, in the last post, I mentioned that he seemed a bit scattered and that his desk was messier than my husband's - something I thought impossible.

Hey, guess what?

One of the board members has a Google Alert set up so that anytime someone mentions the name of the organization I work for on the web, he gets notified. Guess who e-mailed my blog post to my brand-spanking-new boss?

Oh yes, you are correct. The board member in question (and other board members that he e-mailed the post to) thought that I was presenting the organization in a poor light. I have summarily deleted both the blog entry and the note on Facebook that pulls directly from this blog.

Let me first explain that 98% (and that is a conservative estimate) was explaining how much I love my job and how lucky and happy I feel to have found this organization. But because my boss has a messy desk (which, in my opinion, leads to the seeming scatteredness... he could find stuff if he cleaned it...) this reflects poorly on the organization? That confuses me. Doesn't EVERY company or organization have at least one person who works under piles of notes and documents? I know my husband is That Guy in his office and I don't think it reflects poorly on him.

Much to my boss's credit, he laughed it off and told the board they were over-reacting. It is worth noting that he has since also cleaned his desk. But I think that is out of fear of what I might do to his office while he is on vacation next month. We joke about it. (But I am dead serious about getting major filing and organization done while he golfs in Florida.)

Do I regret that I called him "seemingly scattered" all over the interwebs? Sure do. He is seriously one of the nicest guys I have ever met and is awesome at his job. The fact that I may have offended him or made him look bad to the board really does pain me. The board didn't take the other 98% of the post into consideration - my screaming from the electronic rooftops about how fantabulous this organization is.

So, I have been cautious. For all I know they now read this blog on a regular basis (which is part of the reason for this post. Really, the organization and the Exec are just awesome and I feel so in my element here.). If they do, I am guessing they won't find me funny, or even amusing. They will just be looking for more ways that I reflect poorly on the association. Which sucks, because I thought I made a pretty good impression in Florida last month. To have undone that with a silly blog post is stupid on my part. I now have to work twice as hard to get back to square one with some of them.

That thudding sound you hear? That is me alternately kicking myself in the pants and banging my head on the desk.

Having an "Aha! Moment"

2010-02-06T09:42:00.003-05:00

Columbus experience Snow-megeddon yesterday. Granted, we received less than a foot of snow, but you wouldn't know that from all of the local stations preempting regularly scheduled programs to remind us that it is still, indeed, snowing. That public service announcement was clearly aimed for those living in homes without windows.

We were scheduled to usher at temple last night. While we are quick 10 minute straight shot down Broad St. to the temple, we were worried about the well-being of our babysitter. We called (three times, actually) to cancel her. In what can be viewed as Divine Intervention, she never checked her voice-mail and showed up right on time, so off to temple we went.

Literally 10 people showed up for services in a congregation of 600 families. While I felt bad for the clergy, it did result in a very intimate service. A service that included the Torah portion of the Israelites receiving the Ten Commandments at Mt. Sinai. The ten congregants, plus three clergy, gathered in front of the open Ark, peering in at the Torah while Rabbi Rosenzweig read the parsha. Rabbi Zinkow explained that God spoke to each person at Sinai in a voice they could hear. In the voice of a parent, for instance - a voice that should sound sweet to each listener.

After the reading, the rabbis asked what God is asking of each of us. "Oh!" the voice in my head proclaimed, "That makes sense."

When praying every evening, I always do the thank you prayers and the I-would-appreciate-Your-help-with-this prayers. But I have never included the "What do you want me to do?" prayer. It makes so much sense to me.

And upon asking the question, there, in front of the open Ark, I immediately heard the answer. Patience. Tolerance. Kindness. I had heard that voice only once before in a moment of incredible need while we were trying to get Jack safely into the world.

I will certainly be asking this question more frequently and hope that I have the patience, tolerance and kindness to listen to the answers and act.

Facebook: Friend or Foe?

2010-01-07T15:17:00.002-05:00

Hello. My name is Chris and I am addicted to Facebook.

Not as badly as I was at first, mind you, but I still waste enough hours on the social networking site to be a wee bit embarrassed about it. The thrill in the beginning is all the new "friends" you find. Everyone wants to invite you to the virtual party and you feel like the belle of the ball with all the waiting invitations out there.

Look! A friend from grade school! Oh joy, a former colleague! What ho - an ex-boyfriend! Everyone so eager to reconnect after years, possibly decades, apart.

I don't deny that Facebook has helped me track down and chat up friends with whom I have lost touch for one reason or another. It has actually strengthened family ties as well, as my long list of cousins and I can now keep track of one another and comment on each other's daily musings.

The seedy side of Facebook, however, out there. I have "friended" old friends only to realize why we weren't Honest-to-God real life friends anymore. Some have a propensity towards political views and religious opinions as their status updates. Since this is a "social" networking site and religion and politics are topics I was taught to avoid in polite company, I don't get these folks. I have "unfriended" more than one person because their rhetoric was offensive or just plain annoying. However, if you post something on Facebook - just like any other public forum - you had better be ready to back it up or defend it. It is out there for public consumption and debate.

Then there is the "to friend or not to friend" question. Also commonly referred to as the "friend or ignore" query. Do you ignore a request from someone you volunteer with? Surely they will notice and take offense. How about the college roommate who drove you nuts (not you, Feeb)? And what of the ex who left you emotionally wasted for months and now wants to be "friends." (Note: this situation is so aptly synthesized in this song on youtube. Another note, that link would be NOT safe for work.)

Sometimes you accept their friendship out of curiosity. Other times because it is a social or work obligation (this is what "Lists' are for, people. Use them!). Other times, "ignore" just feels good. I ignored my grade school nemesis and in my ignore message, sent her a personal note something along the lines of "are you f-ing kidding me?" (Thank you, Kate Mill-Heidke.)

Despite the pitfalls, I am still a Facebook addict. I tend to have very funny friends and their status updates alone are worth the price of admission. Add to that their comments and photos and I rarely log on without being thoroughly and genuinely amused by at least one of you fine folks. I follow their blogs and they follow mine and we generally have a high old time having virtual coffee and kibbutzing about the rest of you who, sadly, we have likely "ignored." :)

Small Group for Small People

2010-01-07T11:04:00.002-05:00

Down the Rabbit Hole we go, folks, into the land of tiny group therapy. Completely surreal and yet I am thankful it exists.

Jack started his group classes yesterday with the STAR (Social Training and Rehearsing) Group at Children's Hospital. While it was heart-wrenching to walk into the room and see five tiny chairs arranged in a circle, just like I imagine adult group therapy to be, it was a relief to talk to some of the other parents there.

Our new friend Ryland had a complete meltdown when it was time to enter the room. "This is completely normal," explained his nonplussed mother, "Transitions are the worst for us." HALLELUJAH. Are you telling me people look at YOU like you're a horrible parent, too?

As we were leaving, I heard another mom having a heated debate with her 4-year-old son about how they were NOT going on the elevator this afternoon. I smiled silently. I had relented upon arriving and explained to Jack that we will go up one time and down one time and then we are done with the elevator. However, this is the kid who goes to the mall not for the play pit, but for the elevators and whose favorite part of the zoo is the door to the aquarium. I feel your pain, sister.

Misery loves company, it is too true. None of parents are miserable. Just challenged. A PDD-NOS diagnosis ( or any diagnosis on the autism spectrum) brings with it many things. Answers, questions, fears and frustration. It was a relief to be sitting among parents who share many of these challenges.

Jack did really well. I was so proud of him for not melting down when I left and for participating at all. You really can't compare kids on the spectrum, since autism affects each and every kid in a different way. That being said, I was so happy to see that none of his "behaviors" flared yesterday.

This morning, we were on to bigger things. The Occupational Therapist from the district was in J's class when I left today. I am eager to hear hat she has to say. She explained that she was going to work with Jack on tracing and shapes (to which I thought, good luck, lady. Why don't you just throw scissor use in there, too??). I hope she gets to watch him play as well. Both the office manager at the JCC and my friend Julie understood that Jack is fine one-on-one. If she wants to evaluate him for school, though,l she is going to have to watch him in a group, where he tends to get a little squirrely.

Today I am spending the morning calling therapists to see if any of the ones on our insurance are taking new patients. Was it Confucius who said that "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step"? If so, it feels as if the baby steps are starting to actually amount to something. Being Jack's mom is the most rewarding, challenging and worthwhile thing I could ever hope to do with my life. Though our journey may be of a thousand miles, I am glad to be on it with him.

2009: The Year in Review

2009-12-31T17:34:00.005-05:00

Everyone else in the world is doing a "best of the decade" and "what happened this year" list, so I thought I would throw my synopsis out into the ethos.

A lot of my FaceBook friends have status updates today indicating that they are glad to see 2009 go. While the past 365 brought us a lot of conflict and confusion, it also brought us some answers, closer to our friends and found us more involved in temple life.

While Jack's diagnosis has certainly been the central theme of 2009, we were happy to have some fantastic diversions as well.

January found my back in the Big Easy courtesy of Sisterhood. My friend Pam and I got the opportunity to travel together to New Orleans for a fantastic leadership conference. It also gave us some one on one girl time, which was really nice.

In May, Osi and I both got a chance to participate in the roast of our outgoing music director, Bryan Zive. It was a great chance to give the kid some flak, drink with our friends and generally throw, or be a part of, a fantastic farewell party. In May we also got to see the fogies from "This is Spinal Tap." An amazing concert of just about every different kind of person you can imagine. We had a great time yukking it up and singing along with our friends the Baskinds and the Howards.

June found us in Marietta, on a much needed getaway. Well, sorta. It was the marching band reunion I had helped plan. While it was a headache while it was being planned, it was completely gratifying to see the former director and assistant director and so many of the people whose lives they had touched come together to reminisce. It also allowed me to catch up with a lot of old friends and see who they had become. Always interesting.

Our summer was filled with a lot of family time. Trips to the zoo, the Popcorn Pops, the Bexley July 4th parade and the temple picnic were all opportunities for us to spend time together as a family doing some pretty fun stuff.

One of my favorite traditions (is two years a tradition?) is picking apples with my college girlfriends and their kids in the fall. I remarked to my friend Erin as we lifted our sons to reach an especially juicy fruit that this, in the orchard with my son and friends, was my happy place. I look forward to it every year and I hope we continue to frequent the orchard for years to come once the leaves start to turn.

Jack actually "got" trick-or-treat this year, so it was wonderful to watching him all spiffed out in is Top Gun costume and use his manners. i was a very proud momma and he was a very sugared-up boy.

Among other things Jack "got" this year, was Hanukkah. Or at least the candle lighting = gifts concept of Hanukkah. It was really nice to have him look forward to it every night and, in fact, on December 31, he is still asking if we can "do Hanukkah" tonight.

So, as much as I want to rail and rage against 2009, it has produced some pretty fantastic memories and time together with some of our favorite people. I hope we can be so blessed in 2010. Happy New Year to all of you!

"Crisis" Management

2009-12-30T08:05:00.003-05:00

Since Thanksgiving, the JCC has had a third teacher working in Jack's classroom. Kylie is a senior at Ohio University majoring in Early Childhood Intervention. She has made tremendous strides in eliminating Jack's flight risk, keeping him away from doors and helping with his meltdowns. We still need work with using out words when we are mad, frustrated, sad or jealous, but, hey, he is four.

Meanwhile, Osi and I have been trying to find an aide to help in the classroom to shadow Jack and give the teachers some help. We interviewed a gal whose resume was impressive, but who was not at all the "warm and fuzzy" we were seeking. She seemed unenthusiastic to be on the interview, yet alone in the classroom. We were going to give her a shot anyway, out of desperation, but she also decided it wasn't a good fit and waited until yesterday to tell us she wouldn't be taking the job next week.

Jack has two teachers in his room. He had two teachers from August until Thanksgiving. While this did present logistical challenges while he was a flight risk and constantly at the doors, they managed (Again - not ideal, but they did it).

Kylie's last day at the JCC is today. Yesterday I informed the social worker, teachers and administration that our aide had flaked on us. Apparently now we need to meet to formulate "A Plan."

Well, folks, the plan is that we will continue to pay the $600 JCC membership fee that is required to get into the preschool. We'll continue to pay almost $1000 a month for Jack to attend preschool. In return, how about you teach him some shit and quit complaining that he is acting like a four-year-old when he is, you know, FOUR-YEARS-OLD.

My beef is this: I feel like 90% of the behaviors this group has a problem with is because Jack is a 4-year-old boy, not because he is diagnosed on the autism spectrum. however, because he IS diagnosed on the spectrum, they find it an easy excuse to say "Jack made sad choices today," or "Jack has quite a few meltdowns today." You know what? So do other four-year-olds. You know how I know? I have stood in the classroom and watched them do it.

So man up, educators, administrators and social workers. A diagnosis is NOT an excuse to sweep all undesirable behavior into the "developmentally disables" category. Sometimes he is just pissed because he is 4 and boy, that can really suck some days.

We have a meeting with the school system at the end of January to discuss Jack's IEP. Once we have the IEP, we can apply for the Autism Scholarship. This is $625 a week that helps meet the child's education needs as stated in the IEP. This is MORE than enough to hire an aide for the amount of time we need them in the classroom each week. However, we don;t get that money until the IEP is in place and the scholarship approved - probably late February.

This delay in getting an aide - about 6-8 weeks, caused "increasing concern" with the teachers and administrators. So we are meeting at 4 pm today to discuss "A Plan", as mentioned above.

I'm sorry, did you not sign up for a 2:14 teacher to student ratio? And, I'm sorry if, though your poor planning, 10 of those 14 kids are 4 year old boys - rambunctious all.

So tell me again how it is my responsibility to pay $500 for an additional aide in the classroom when I am already shelling out about $13,000 a year to you to play with my kid from 9 am - 4 p.m.? Maybe I am the developmentally disabled one, because I just don't get it.

The Director reports Jack is not the first PDD-NOS kiddo the JCC has had and that he certainly won;t be the last. My question - was each of the previous kid's families responsible for providing their own teacher on their own payroll> I think not, but I guess I'll find that out today.

I think they don't need help specifically with Jack (although I acknowledge he has challenges, most of you have met him and were surprised that anything was diagnosed because he is so high functioning). I think they need help because they have 10 hyper 4-year-old boys for 8 hours a day and 4 kind of emotional little girls. I would pull my hair out. But you know what? I didn't go to school for this and sign up for it as my chosen profession. You did.

Man up. This is not a crisis and we do not need "A Plan." We need for people to have learned from the extremely capable Kylie while she was there for a month. How was she able to keep Jack in classroom? Well, maybe the two other teachers should model that, ya' think? We need for you to acknowledge that we cam into this school year with no diagnosis and 2 teachers and, while it was a challenge, it was workable.

What has changed? The diagnosis and the fact that the two teachers saw how much easier a third set of hands made their lives. Would someoen please tell me how it is my responsibility to pay for that third teacher now that Kylie is back at school? If I am going to shell out $1500 a meonth, I just as soon take Jack someplace where the teacher ratio is 1:3 and he is getting intensive therapy.

And if you don't want him here, you should have told us this months ago. We will gladly spend $13,000 a year somewhere else.

Defending the Dogma

2009-12-22T11:02:00.003-05:00

I expected to have to defend, or at least explain, my decision to convert to Judaism earlier this year to a handful of people. My parents, devout Christian friends and rabbis to name a few. Never, however, did I think I would find myself defending my decision to the gal who cuts my kid's hair while he is seated in a toy airplane.

We have been going to this particular hair-cutter ("stylist" hardly seems appropriate when she give the kid a buzz every 4 weeks) for about a year or so. My first clue that I might be in trouble was in the fall, when she was uber excited that her kid got to read "The Christian Pledge of Allegiance" on a local Christian radio station. I had never heard of this and asked her about it. She enthusiastically explained that the kids all pledge their allegiance to Christ, Our Savior. "Hmmm...." I thought. After looking it up, I found the words "with life and liberty to all who believe" inserted in the end. So much for separation of church and state.

So last night we were in for my son's monthly shearing (seriously, the kid's hair grows like a Chia Pet. And in about the same pattern and texture). She asked how our holiday went and when I said great, we are headed down to Cincinnati this weekend to celebrate Christmas with my parents, this sparked a look. I can't describe it exactly, but maybe she thought she could save me back. She asks, point blank, which I believe MORE. Sticky situation.

I explained that while I have always been a questioner (really, Catholics? Unbaptized babies can't get into heaven? That seems a bit harsh), I felt as a Catholic I was never really allowed to question. Judaism allows me to question, encourages it, even. We also believe that you shouldn't so much worry about what is going to happen to your soul after death- that you should act here on earth like your soul depended on those actions. That our job is to heal the world - whether the inhabitants are Jews or Christians (although many seem split on what we do with Muslims).

Her answer to that? "Right on."

It was not the first time this week, even, that my beliefs cam into question. Christmas - this beloved holiday celebrating the birth of the Christian Savior - seems to bring out nastiness in people.

A friend on Facebook joined a group called "It's Merry Christmas NOT Happy Holidays." I felt the need to ask "Why not be inclusive?" A few others echoed my point and this particular person got all righteous, saying that I had pissed her off and that she didn't join the group to have her moral integrity or, and I quote, "diversiveness" questioned. Short story - she was hot about having her beliefs questioned, but didn't hesitate to plaster them on Facebook.

(For the record, I think if you put something out there on the interwebs, it is up for public debate and consumption. Since this blog is on the Web AND posts to FB as a note, feel free to comment, disagree, etc.)

I knew Christmas would be a challenge for me this year,since it is my first as an official Member of the Tribe. But it has turned out to be difficult in a different way than I expected. I don't miss the tree. I am, even as I type this, waiting for cookies to come out of the oven and I persuaded Sisterhood to adopt a family or two for Christmas, so I got to wrap and deliver gifts.

The holidays are difficult for me this year because it is the first time I have had to publicly say "I am different than you." For a kid who, for 30-odd years has wanted nothing more than to just fit in, this is a difficult, but absolutely necessary statement to make. I really do believe that it is only when we ask questions of one another and at least TRY to understand the other point of view, it is then that the world will run a little more smoothly.

So thanks, Jennifer G., for asking the questions. I hope my answer made sense and that you got a peek into what makes this particular Jew tick - and Merry Christmas (AND Happy Holidays)!

Commitment

2009-12-16T15:30:00.002-05:00

I am a firm believer in follow-through. I don't accept tasks, committee positions or other things that will add to my "to do" list unless I can commit to them and give it a decent effort. I also believe you get out of things what you put into them. This includes relationships.

I am beginning to realize that not all adults function this way. Which make me wonder how people hold jobs, maintain relationships and avoid being a social pariah.

I enjoy volunteering. I do it for selfish reasons - to help shape policy, make an event better than it was before, etc. I also do it because I like being a part of a larger whole.

I was recently mocked for the number of committees I am on at Temple. That's OK. I generally don't mind it - EXCEPT when those who also volunteer aren't getting things done. As a former volunteer coordinator, this drives me bonkers. Not everyone has to be as committed to a cause as everyone else. We need people at all levels f time and interest. What we DO need is for everyone to be on the same page. If you agree to sit on a committee, TRY to show up at the meetings. You know what, do more than try. Be at one or two of them. I don;t need you at every meeting, but I DO need you to be on the same page as everyone else on the team.

If I am your friend, I generally try to be a good friend. And, as a rule, I am usually pretty darn loyal. I try to keep plans for social engagements, to listen when you are having a rough day to spend some time with you. Relationships sink quickly when left on auto-pilot.

And so, friends, this is another rant. A rant about just saying NO if you are over-committed, or busy or - frick - just want to sit on your couch rather than attend a meeting with me. Just say no. It is that easy. Please don;t avoid the calls and e-mails. Please say you are going to be somewhere and habitually cancel. Don't set me up for disappointment and frustration. Just say no. It will save us both a lot of time, trouble and blood pressure medication.

The Many Meanings of "Blue"

2009-12-02T10:59:00.002-05:00

Blue is my favorite color. But it is so much more than that.

If you look up "blue" on Webster's, no less than 19 different definitions for the word come back to you. For instance, you knew that if you clicked on that blue link right there, you'd go to Websters.com, didn't you?

I have been in a bit of a funk lately. A blue mood, so to speak, which has me thinking about this. It is my first holiday season as a full-fledged MOT and, while I do not for one minute regret my conversion, I do feel a twinge of sadness for the loss of my childhood traditions. Let's be honest - taking down the Christmas tree and accompanying decorations is a huge pain in the ass. That I will not miss. But the glow of the lights against the snow, the presents stacked beneath a well-decorated tree and the smell of cinnamon pine cones, these are all things for which I am in a little bit of mourning this month. Add to this the colossal fiasco that was Thanksgiving (not unironically, revolving around the decoration of my parent's tree), and there is the indigo icing on the blue cake.

The blue mood has made my fuse even shorter than usual (as if, notes my husband under his breath, that were possible). That, in turn, has caused an increase my cursing a blue streak. Not something of which I am especially proud. I do appreciate the line in "A Christmas Story" where Ralphie refers to his father as working "in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay." I think it might say something about me as a human being that my favorite part in that entire movie is when the dogs run through the kitchen and steal the turkey and the father yells "Sonsabitches! Bumpuses!" (Side note: I cannot believe I couldn't fine a clip of that moment to post here!!)

This time of year also brings the ubiquitous Christmas music. I do not say "Christmas Carol", which implies angelic looking children with beatific faces singing happily at your door. No, no, friends. I speak here of the auditory assault that is "The Christmas Shoes" and, well, anything Mariah Carey puts out this time of year. What we need here is a little Christmas Blues. A little FUNK - another word with multiple meanings. Let's get Doctor John and B.B. King up in here to do up Christmas right. (OK, admittedly, that Dr. John clip has Christina Aguilera singing. But it IS blues and, c'mon, girlfriend has some pipes.) So, in case you didn't get my inference, I am a fan of blues music as well. Stevie Ray Vaughn. Mm Hm. That's all I'm sayin'.

So, to wrap it up an in a nice little blue ribbon; while this post might seem out of the blue, it is an offering in contrast to all of the Christmas red and green popping up this time of year. (Oh, HEY! Hanukkah - blue and white. Not a bad tie in.)

Frustration: Not a good color on me

2009-11-05T11:42:00.003-05:00

I have been planning a fund raiser for Temple Israel Sisterhood and Brotherhood for the last 3 months. It has been frustrating. That is an understatement. Let me say upfront that Pam Chambers and Lisa Goldsand have been amazing in their efforts to help pull this event together. They rock and I would choose them first for any team I am on (professional, volunteer or dodge ball - you gals ROCK.)

Bingo-Rita - an evening of bingo games for prizes and a few Mexican libations, has been a hit at other temples. The lack of support we are getting here in Columbus has been maddening. If it were only from our general members, I could understand that, perhaps, the idea is not a good one and what works in Boca Raton does not work in Columbus. What I find most disheartening is the lack of support from temple leadership.

Sisterhood (and Brotherhood) do amazing things for the community. We send kids to camp for weeks at a time. We provide donations for Temple Israel functions. We provide more financial backing for temple than you might even comprehend. These are organizations filled with people who want to make a difference and who volunteer their time to help support Temple Israel and its families. We do it happily and with open minds and hearts. We also make really great friends.

Is $10 per person really too much to ask for you to come out and support an organization that supports you? I really don't think it is. We're even providing babysitting - so there is an excuse and extra cost - off of your plate.

We need 60 people to cover our costs. After that, it is a fund raiser for the 'Hoods. Money in our coffers that go directly back into the Temple Israel Community. Is it that hard to shell out a $20 for you and your significant other to come play a game of bingo, have a drink and just generally support our efforts?

Apparently so. Lack of support from leadership is enough to drive volunteers to burnout faster than you can say BINGO! As someone who managed volunteers professionally for a large chunk of my professional life, I can tell you that it is your job to nurture volunteers and help them succeed. Many of the leaders are volunteers themselves. But when you accept this position, you agree to lead by example. I am disappointed that so many are choosing NOT to participate.

So, is this rant appropriate for Facebook - where temple leadership (and members) can see it? Probably not. But I am posting it anyway. Despite the fact that it likely sounds as if I am a harpie and a tyrannical leader. Perhaps Jewish Guilt will kick it and you'll buy your $10 ticket to support the organizations who support you.

Things Jack Did..

2009-11-02T13:43:00.004-05:00

Boy Wonder, The Manchild, Jickety, Munchin. The Little Man turned 4 a month ago and he has had a month full of adventures already.

The evening of his birthday, for instance, we gave up the binky. I explained that the Binky Fairy came and took it to a baby who needed it. That binkies are for babies and he, being 4 now, is a Big Boy. This lead to the following announcement: "I don't like fairies." That, my friends, is a loaded statement.

Last week, as he was playing in the bathroom sink, J dropped one of the shapes he like to play with. It landed between the toilet and the cabinet. While reaching for the shape, Boy Genius managed to get his head stuck. Next to the potty. (ew) I came running when I heard frantic crying and Osi screaming in a high-pitched panicked voice. A few quick maneuvers and he was free of his potty prison. But still, not his most shining moment.

We made the move to big boy pants this weekend. If, by big boy pants, you mean underwear with Disney characters grinning at me from the area of my son's tushy, then yes, bog boy pants are what we have. Only one accident during the weekend. My parents graced us with their presence for a few hours on Sunday. Dad thought the phrase "Listen t your body" was the most hilarious thing he had ever heard. Hearing Jack say it was, apparently, even funnier. This led to my father making all kind of obnoxious man noises and saying that he was just listening to his body. Unfortunately, so were we. (I guess that falls under the "Things my dad did" category.)

Life with a 4-year-old boy is always an adventure. I have a feeling it only gets more exciting from here.

Dear Neighborhood Idiots...

2009-10-29T10:52:00.005-04:00

It is once again the eve of Trick-or-Treat; that sacred tradition of shaking down people you barely know for obscene amounts of sugar. As I survey my neighborhood and those around me, I see a host of ghosts and goblins, a few witches and one or two undead. Which brings me to my rant...

Last year the dufus across the street sat on his porch in a full body werewolf costume waiting to pass out candy to little kids. His son, the youngest of three knuckle-dragging brothers, lurked in the tree suspended over the driveway. As we were just beneath him, the little shit jumped down - in full on "guy from Scream" outfit and scared the bejeezus out of our troop, which ranged in age from 2 - 4.

OK. I get that you L-O-V-E Halloween. I get that you like to scare people (I live across the street from you and, let me tell you, you terrify me on a weekly basis). I am asking, for the sake of 4-year-olds with vivid imaginations and savant like memories everywhere - Could you PLEASE tone it down this year?

Should we not participate in Halloween? A lot of orthodox religions don't. Lots of right wing Christians and most orthodox Jews just ignore it. But, to me, it is part of being a kid. It is FUN to dress up and parade around the neighborhood and get free candy. So who is wrong here?

I really do believe that Beggars' Night is for the kids. My rules are 1) You must have a costume, 2) You must say Trick-or-Treat (followed promptly by "thank you") and 3) You must not yet have boobs or a baso profundo vocce. I think this keeps us to the 11 and under crowd, no? So if trick-or-treat is for the kids, why are we trying to scare the hell out of them. How, exactly, is that funny?

The real world id terrifying enough. Cripe, I honestly thought I was going to have to explain the concept of war to my 4-year-old during "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!" I don't remember questioning my mom about why Snoopy, the "WWI Flying Ace" was being shot at. Maybe that is the part of the show when I went potty or retrieved my Dolly Madison snack cake from the kitchen. My kid, however, looked a little concerned and I sat there, waiting for the question (which, thankfully, did not come).

So I am asking, pleading, nay, BEGGING on this Beggars' Night to please tone it down. Remember that these are little kids with bog fears already. Let's not add to the mental and emotional scars Mommy and Daddy are already amassing.

A Sunday's Worth of Thoughts

2009-10-18T21:40:00.003-04:00

There is a girl who does the weather before the football games on CBS. Her name is Marisol. She is very pretty. But do we, at home and ensconced in our couches and flannel pants, really care what the weather is doing in Denver?

To add insult to injury, she got it really wrong today. A little wrong would be that she called for 70 and sunny for the Pats games and it was 80 with clouds. Really wrong is calling for rain and getting snow throughout the game. While she called for rain in Foxborough, she mentioned that it was going to be "really chilly" in Pittsburgh for their kick-off with Cleveland. It was going to be 43 degrees. Does this woman watch football? Because "chilly" is having you ass frozen to the bleachers in The Dog Pound in December with a brutal wind coming off the lake.

My point is, call a spade a spade. Marisol clearly has no idea what the weather is going to do and I don't think she was aware that there are tight ends other than her own until she started this job (probably still isn't). But damn, she looks fine out there in front of a green screen, doesn't she? So let's give the girl something to do like bring the guys who know what they are talking about drinks or something. I find the "meteorologist" facade insulting. So should you, Marisol.

And now for something completely different...

I am having a moral dilemma. I think the moral dilemma has made me ill. In my last post I told you that I gave notice at work. Now I am champing at the bit to get going on figuring out my kid already.

Whoever came up with "Two Weeks Notice" was a moron. When someone has given notice at a job, they are telling you they are done. Do you know how much damage a facetious employee with a gripe could do in two weeks? They could do some pretty damaging sabotage.

I am not that kind of employee. I am not even that kind of person. When I commit to something I see it through. I finish strong. But...

This is about my kid. This is about what is right for not only me but for my family. I go a little more insane just thinking of the minutes I will be sitting in a cube, unable to do anything about it during the week. Add to this that the president of the company and his wife a friends (if not family) and I really don't want to leave on bad terms. But this is not a job that is going on my resume because I have been there for such a short time. I am not trying to screw anyone. I am just trying to get some momentum on The Jack Situation.

Today was spent compiling phone numbers, browsing websites and making a list of who to contact. Can't do any of that from work.

And so I am torn. And I am literally sick about it. It's only a week. But it is my reputation. I know what society and my employer expect me to do. And I know what my gut is telling me to do. They are at odds. Thus the gastrointestinal distress. And I am beginning to see the truth in the old addage that it is easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.

Ah, if I were only a beautiful weather girl. I could walk off the set and no one would even notice.

So Here's The Deal

2009-10-12T21:34:00.003-04:00

In July, Jack was diagnosed with PDD-NOS, which is more letters than he is old. Pervasive Development Disorder, Not Otherwise Specified. Osi and I thought maybe we were looking at a kid with some OCD tendencies, what we got was a diagnosis that placed us squarely on the Autism Spectrum.

If you read back about a year, I was railing against people who thought Jack needed tested because of the constant fascination with doors. As time wore on, however, and we met with the social worker at Jack's school (yes, his preschool has an in-house LISW, and we are thankful every day for her), it became obvious that the door fascination was just the beginning.

So in July, we had him tested at Nationwide Children's Autism Center here in Columbus. People always ask if it is Asperger's Syndrome. It is not. Not that glamorous, folks. It's just Autism. Not "capital A Autism" as some people refer to it, but again, on the spectrum, which is scary enough.

You never want to hear that your kid is anything less than perfect. So it has taken months for us to come out with this info. We literally told my parents, Osi's sisters and 2 sets of close friends in the first month. We were in denial and after that we were grieving. We didn't tell people because we didn't want people to treat him any differently. But if you're reading this, then you have likely met Jack and you know him. Great kid - a little quirky. You likely love him anyway.

Now I am in the let's kick this thing's ass mode. Which is why I have given notice at work and am devoting myself full time to getting Jack the help he needs. The longer I sat tied to the phones, unable to take or make calls or do any research or any kind, make appointments or get information for 8 hour stretches, the more I felt like the worst mother ever. I knew what my first priority was, and there I sat, not doing a damn thing about it. So, my last day of full time employment is Oct. 23. Can I afford to quit? Sure cannot. Can I afford not to? No way.

Already I am beginning to feel the heaviness lift. I feel ready to fight, rather than the crushing whirlwind I was caught up in just a week ago. With a decision made, I feel we at least have a direction. Is it the right one? Only hindsight will tell us. It is the right decision for us with the information we have right now.

Some people are in denial. Saying that if you ask for a diagnosis - whether or not anything is wrong - they will give you one. That there is nothing wrong with Jack. Others say"my kids misbehave, too." We're all resilient. Jack most of all. Hope you'll support us in our journey - it should be an interesting ride.

Trying to Learn, trying to grow

2009-10-03T22:42:00.002-04:00

The last few weeks have been very busy here at Chez Zimmer. We were in the crush of the High Holy Days and with all the repenting and atoning, one has litle time for blogging.

Honestly, though, I have tried very hard to take the themes of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur seriously. I am a believer that we should try every day to be a better person that we were yesterday. But these two days, and the 10 days in between, really crystallize that feeling for me. My heart aches with the wrong I have done and the potential I have not fulfilled. I want so much to be what God expects of me, but fall prey all too often to my human faults - anger and bitterness the quickest to come. So I find it hard to sit through a service during this time of year without shedding tears - if not all out sobbing.

Which makes that fact that I was asked to sit on the bima (altar, for all you goyem out there) all that more challenging. My Sisterhood co-president, Mel, and I - along with the Brotherhood president, were all guests on the bima for the services beginning Rosh Hashanah (think of it at the Jewish New year's Eve). My focus, for most of the evening, was keeping my knees closed, adjusting my dress so my gut didn't look larger than it was, and being mildly amused at Artie Isaac knocking the rock of Lary Pliskin as he came off the bima from closing the ark. All of these led me to to reflect on Reform Judaism.

Some things you won't see at an Orthodox temple:
a) a woman on the bima.
b) a woman in a dress short enough where she is worried enough to have to keep her knees together
c) Artie Isaac knocking the rock of Larry Pliskin

At least 2 out of 3 of these things make me very proud to be a Reform Jew. You can decide which 2.

The last two weeks also also afforded me another opportunity to try a children's service with Jack. Once again, several of his JCC classmates were thee, sitting quietly. Once again, Jack had the attention span of someone half his age and we had to leave the service because he was disruptive. It is very difficult to watch. To have your kid not physically be able to act his age and not be able to explain to other parents that he is not a bad kid and you are not a bad parent. I want to get a little "We're On the Spectrum" yarmulke for him. While Jack is, what the doc called "high functioning" it is unmistakable that he is NOT like other kids his age when you see him in a room with them. It is then that this knowledge smacked me in the face; at 9:45 on the morning of Yom Kippur, throwing me into full emotional meltdown in the staff bathroom. Thank God I have connections or I would have been sobbing on the floor of one of the 20 stalls of the public restroom.

It has been a hard two weeks, but not without its triumphs.

Today was Jack's fourth birthday. We had a small party with just family and four of Jack's buddies at the JCC playground. We played pin the tail on the donkey, ate cake and climbed/jumped/slid until our hearts were content. We are thankful for every day with Jack - even the ones filled with challenges. But more often than not, they are filled with cuddles and laughs.

For instance, when trying to decide, in the 11th hour, what kind of cake to make for his birthday, here is the discussion my son and I had last night:

Me: What kind of cake do you want for your birthday?
Jack: Chocolate. With chocolate icing!
Me. Right. But what do you want it to LOOK like?
Jack: A CAKE, Mommy.

Because, yeah, I'm the idiot.

I am still learning.

Week 5: Still Learning

2009-09-20T14:28:00.002-04:00

1. When a preschool teacher says your son has gotten dirty - so dirty she had to change his clothes - put said clothes in the wash to soak immediately. Jack's beige shorts are on wash #6 after I left them for 3 days waiting for laundry day. A mistake a will not repeat. How do they get so dirty? At school???

2. Do not talk at customer service goal meetings. I have not yet learned this first-hand. This was a friendly heads up from someone who likes me and would like to see me keep my job.

3. Fresh, warm apple-crisp goes a long way to making friends in the office. Especially if your boss has a sweet tooth.

4. Wear a long skirt when your scheduled to sit on the bima (altar) for High Holy Days. I spent most of the 2 hours I was up there Friday night trying to make sure I wasn't pulling a Sharon Stone on about 500 or so congregants. "Happy New Year! Have a Peek at My Goodies!" I am pretty sure the rescind the conversion certificate for stuff like that.

5. Confirming what I thought I learned last year - one of the major reasons I converted were the prayers in the Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services. Very powerful and meaningful for me. Avinu Malkeinu (Our Father, Our King) has made me cry every year since the beginning.

6. Finally, I learned that if I am to take this repent and be a better person thing seriously, I am going to have to come to terms with my parent's second-class treatment of my son. I cannot both be a better person and hold a grudge. I need to make my peace with the fact that they will always love Donovan more - not differently, just plain MORE - and move on. They love Donovan like a near suffocated person loves air. I wish my son has a grandparent who loved him like that. It will have to be enough that his dad and I both do. I don't want to spend my life bitter about it, but it is really, really hard not to be mad and sad about it. I am struggling with this. Avinu Malkeinu, shema kolleinu.

An Enlightening Week: Week 4

2009-09-13T22:39:00.003-04:00

1. A sick day is sometimes completely necessary. Management may not believe this, but let me assure you, I should have taken one on Wednesday, when I found the following words escaping my heavily medicated mouth:

Customer: Well, how big is the 16 quart colander?

Me: (Wanting to avoid the obvious answer of "well, dude, it's about 16 quarts, giver or take") Well, you could wash a baby in it, but I wouldn't recommend a teenager.

Hand to God, I have no idea how I am still employed. After going in and feeling even worse on Thursday, I left an hour into my shift. I think after reading this they should thank me. I might have actually been COSTING them customers all day Wednesday.

2. Sometimes I overreact and it may be harsh but it also may be completely justified. This can also be read as Billy Joel's excellently worded "You may be right. I may be crazy." After a week of a pesky sinus infection that has had me on large doses of antibiotics for that long and has caused vertigo and headaches for longer than that, I had had enough of hearing about a particular Sisterhood issue. I snapped, man. I threatened to resign the presidency should a particular member not remove herself from my bottom (in no uncertain terms). This is a member, God lover her, who is very involved and also believes that I have a right to her opinion on everything. In 2 words: I overreacted. On the other hand, I haven't heard boo since. It was completely the wrong way to handle the situation and I have since apologized, but there is really only so much a gal can take.

3. I may have found my happy place today.

Erin, Naomi and I took our boys apple-picking for the second year in a row. Jack did OK last year but thoroughly enjoyed himself this time out. Being in the warm sunlight, lifting up my son and the sons of my oldest friends, listening to them squeal with laughter and shout with excitement...it was just this side of heaven. Seeing Jack have such a good time, interacting with his peers and watching them all grow up together made me extraordinarily grateful.

I am so thankful that these girls have stuck with me through thick and thin. These are the women I call in a childcare crisis, in a personal crisis, when I need mommy advice. I am so very thankful for them and I don't tell them that often enough. I love you guys and are so glad you're part of my happy place :)

What I Have Learned: Week 3

2009-09-05T16:36:00.002-04:00

Continuing in The Education of Mrs. Zimmer, I would like to post a few nuggets of enlightenment gained this week.

1. Helen Gurley Brown is full of shit.

Really, need I say more? Ladies, we cannot have it all. And really, do we want to? It exhausts us, if we allow ourselves to admit it. I don't like to half-ass anything. Unfortunately, since once again becoming employed, everything has been half-assed. Friendships, the housework, relationships with my husband and kid, volunteer work - you name it. Some of my dearest girlfriends summed it up as such: you get used to it. We laughed and toasted half-assed as the new all-the-way. I simply cannot have it all. Nor do I want it all.

2. This job was the absolute right choice for me. Had I made the choice to pursue the better title and all the grandeur and stress and driving and travel that comes with it, I would hate myself right about now. I would be making slightly better money, be in my chosen field and have a fabulous title, but wake up every morning hating myself. That's one helluva compromise. I will settle on saying the name Wasserstrom about a million times in a week.

3. Grilled cheese is still the world's best comfort food. Don't even try to argue with me on this one. When, as Paul Simon so aptly put it, I am weary and feeling small, I just want a grilled cheese sandwich and a piping hot bowl of tomato soup. Preferably Campbell's. I have had people try to soothe me with chicken soup, spaghetti, and meatloaf (not all at once, mind you). While thoughtful, all of these were far inferior to the humble grilled cheese.

4. The people in my group at work are pretty cool. They roll with my stupid mistakes and are really trying hard to help me. We laugh a lot and try hard to work as a team. That's really nice.

4a. One of the aforementioned cool person's names is Roxanne. I have to stop myself about 18 times a day from singing her name out loud a la Sting. She don't have to put on her red light. In three weeks there, I have only done this twice. Considering the number of times I have WANTED to do it, this is an amazing feat of self-restraint.

5. Who my friends are. I have not completely learned this yet, but I have a feeling it is coming (not unlike Eli). These are the people who don't lose touch, who are the support network and who roll with it when I have been out of touch for three weeks. As Jack grows and develops, these will be the people we rely on - the people who will be in pictures at his birthdays and family gatherings. They may or may not have kids, or kids his age, but they love us and him no matter our challenges.

What I Have Learned: Weeks One & Two

2009-08-30T05:10:00.004-04:00

I have just finished my second week back at work. Since my schedule will alternate, we'll be in a constant state of flux with J's pick-ups and drop-offs; something I hope he learns to roll with.

I am already learning some important lessons, both on the job and at home. I thought I might share some of these with you.

1. I have wasted a good amount of time in the past four years folding pajamas, socks and underwear. None of this is necessary. Wrinkles on your feet, underpinnings and bedclothes are rarely noticed and if they are, points are rarely deducted.

2. Few things beat the first time you share un-baked batter with your kid. Nothing like raw sugar mixed with a possible salmonella scare to heighten the taste of goodness. Jack and I baked brownies together this week and, although he was leery of the batter at first, the look on his face when it passed his lips was something akin to pure bliss.

3. "Scrubble" is an incredibly fun word to say. It is a new cleaning product one of our stores is using for cleaning and I swear I want to ring a bell and shout "SCRUBBLE!" every time someone orders it. Now, let me also say that the people in charge of loading the information into our system are idiots, or at least not user friendly. When a customer is looking for "Scrubble", it comes up as "pad, cleaning, steel wool." Come on, folks. Work with a sister, will ya'?

4. I have forgotten the general mentality of the stereotypical mass cubicle dweller. They are paid to push a button and follow the rules. Not to think of NEW ways to push said button or to think of ways to improve the button. Also, they will get upset if you suggest that you might be thinking of these newfangled ideas. Push the button, get the treat, man. Don't rock the boat.

5. There are just not enough hours in the day. I knew this as a stay-at-home mom, too, but working outside the home has given it a new dimension. Work has a very strict Internet/personal e-mail policy as well and I get 30 minutes for lunch at 2- 10 minute breaks (they are not mandatory, said my trainer, so I can choose not to take them). So between 8 a.m. and 4:30 p.m. I am pretty much on information lock down. I respect that this is a business, but it also means that there is no checking personal e-mail during lunch, which means that, on average, I have 35 e-mails to be answered (generally Sisterhood-related) when I get home. I don;t have time to do that because Jack and Osi are m priorities, so e-mail has to wait until 10 pm, which means I am not in bed until almost 11:30. Here's what I am saying: If I could just check personal e-mail during lunch, I would be a more well-rested, ready-to-go employee in the morning because I wouldn't have to be up until midnight taking care of stuff I could do in my lunch half-hour. Just sayin'. For my birthday I am asking for a phone with a QWERTY keyboard and Internet access. Booyah.

6. My crock pot has become my new best friend. If you have any tried and true crock pot recipes, I BEG OF YOU, please send them my way. We can only eat post roast, brisket and BBQ chicken so many days of the week.

So, that's what I have learned this week. How about you? Anything new?

Blahhhhhhhg.

2009-08-22T15:26:00.002-04:00

I have survived my first week of work. I find that, while I am not catching on as quickly as the other 2 people in my training class, I am enjoying learning new things. While the "things" I am learning may be mundane, I am still learning. Feeling useful and helping a company - which is locally owned - do a decent business. I feel that if I put my best into it every day, I can be proud of it. I am having actual conversations with adults and using my brain to earn income. PLEASE - how am I not paying them???

Osi stayed home with The Prince all week, as the JCC was closed for teacher training and general cleanup. I am happy to report that everyone came through with flying colors. Osi is sad to go back to work on Monday and Jack has been in his glory hanging with Daddy all week. They've been to the grocery store, the post office, Target and McDonald's. Everyone was happy. Jack has been mad at me all week, but that is to be expected. It hurts my feelings, but we'll get into a groove, I'm sure.

I am finding that I very little time for ANYTHING else, though. I leave the house at 7:30 in the morning, have 30 mintues for lunch, am not allowed to use the company computers for personal e-mail or Internet use and get home at 5p.m. Between 5 and 8 there is dinner to get on the table, laundry to do and all the Jack and Osi time I can squeeze in. I find myself turning in shortly after Jack does, at 9:15. I have no energy left for anything left.

So the Blog, Sisterhood e-mails and responsibilities and all other non-mission-critical items have been put on hold. Hope you'll all bare with me as I transition...

Feh.

2009-08-13T22:19:00.002-04:00

I may be in the midst of an existential crisis. Or a panic attack. Or, I may just be freaking out a little. Either way, something is going on with a) my tummy, b) my blood pressure and c) my tear ducts (as in, they are leaking frequently this evening).

I start work on Monday. At a job. Outside of the house. With adults. Who expect me to LEARN STUFF. And then answer questions for other adults in a clear and concise manner. WTF? Have they met me? OK. The job outside the house I can do. Probably. At least, I won't get fired in the first month or so. That's a goal, right?

But then there is my OTHER job. My ACTUAL full-time, always-on-my-mind, on the clock even when I am sleeping job. You know the one: Mom-Wife-Maid-Cook-SupplierOfAllThingsAnyoneNeedsEVER. That one. THAT is the one I am freaking out over.

My husband comes home every night and, after a dinner I have, 90% of the time, made, promptly begins dozing on the couch. I mean complete with snoring. How many, by show of hands, believe that I will be able to get away with this?

Right. That's what I thought.

Because if I come home and - after a meal has magically appeared on the table - I start snoring on the couch, several things will happen. Well, several things will actually NOT happen:

1. Jack will not be bathed.
2. Laundry will not get done.
3. Floors will not get vacuumed.
4. Sheets will not get changed.
5. Dishes may or may not get done.
6. All potty-training and discipline ceases to exist.
7. Stories will not be read.
8. Songs will not be sung.
9. Middle of the night calls for Mommy will not be answered.
10. Groceries will not be purchased.

These are just the things I can think of while continuously typing. As you can see, my mind is reeling a bit.

I understand - in my addled brain, that women work every day all over the world and you know what? Their kids are fed and bathed and their homes do not fall down around them. Many of these heroic women are single mothers. I swear to you right now I do NOT undersand - just plain do not comprehend how these women do it. Hats off to you, ladies.

But this is new. And I am scared.

J-O-B

2009-08-08T22:37:00.003-04:00

I am officially employed. Well, I will be, anyway, when I start in the customer service center at The Wassersrtom Company. I am calling it a starter job. It is my first job out of the gates of the stable that is stay-at-home momhood.I am extremely thankful that we wil once again be a two-income household. It also likely helped that we not only know the president of The Wasserstrom Company, but that we reguarly attend his daughters' birthday parties. There is a fmaily entanglement there that is too complicated to explain here, bu I will say it again - I am very thankful.

I was a finalist for a job in Zanesville, 45 minutes away. The title - admittedly NOT a starter job - was Assistant Executive Director. As fantastic as that title tasted in my mouth, there was much more travel involved than I could stomach and I could spend 1.5 hours on the road three days a week, 45 weeks a year. Those other 7 weeks? Travel to the West Coast and elsewhere. So I swallowed my pride and took my name out of the running when Wassestrom offered me a position.

The down side is that this is a one year temporary position. But is it really a down side? Ideally, I would like to work my way up and be management again someday. Well, let's face it - ideally, I would like to be a director of membership somewhere, but I have apparently done irreparable damage to my career by staying at home with J for 4 years.

I would not trade a minute of it. For as much as I have second-guessed my ability to make a serious decision NOT having to do with family matters or dinner, I would do it all over again. I would stay home and be here for Jack as long as I could, and just keep volunteering to activate my "non-Mommy brain."

When I call this new job a "starter job" it isn't a dig. It really is. It is a job where I can do a great job in a familiar environment - I have excelled at customer service several times before. It is a job where I can regain my professional confidence. Where I can decide where we go from here. I am indeed, very thankful.

Stress Makes Mommy Flat

2009-07-26T22:51:00.004-04:00

My son has a repertoire of songs he asks me to sing before bedtime each night. For those interested, those songs are, in order, "O Seh Shalom" (Bryan Zive version), "Hashkiveinu" (Danny Maseng version), "Baby Mine" (from the movie "Dumbo") and "Hey Jude." That two of the songs are sung in Hebrew is both funny and sweet for me. It has forced me to learn the words are really know what I am singing and it lets Jack hear the words of the Jewish liturgy from a very young age.

The bedtime songs tonight, however, were off. They were flat, to be precise. No matter how hard I tried, I kept dipping a half step or so too low and everything sounded off...and awful. Haskiveinu, the prayer for peace, was especially horrible in my ears this evening. Jack, God bless him, didn't seem to notice or mind.

I just could not concentrate on the songs tonight with everything else racing though my mind.

I have a second interview tomorrow in Zanesville (about an hour's drive) for a job I very much want at 10 a.m. This is nerve-wracking in itself, but I know that I am qualified and would do an excellent job for this company if hired. This is really the least of my worries, believe it or not. (Prayers still very much appreciated, though.)

We went to Cincinnati this weekend to visit the folks. Once we got there, the AC started making a horrible racket and stopped blowing cool air. A slight problem, as it is July and we had a long ride both back to Columbus and then to Zanesville in professional attire on Monday. To tell the truth, I contemplated not getting it looked at because we really don't have the cash lying around to fix it. But we found a Firestone open on Sunday and took it in.

Good thing we did.

Once they replaced the compressor and started flushing it with freon, they found that the liquid (is it gas? I have no earthy idea...) was going nowhere. Apparently when the compressor disintegrated, metal started just free-flowing through our car's system. Now it is stuck God knows where, rendering the car un-drivable. In Cincinnati. On Sunday. At 6 p.m.

So you can see my predicament.

The current estimate on the car is well over $1000 bucks. The best solution we could come up with is that I bring Jack and my nephew (who had gone with us) back to Columbus in my dad's car and my husband would stay with the dog in Cincy and await the ever-increasing repair costs on the CR-V.

So here I sit, on the eve of a great (hopefully) opportunity, sans husband, dog and car, trying to figure out how to get myself interview-ready and out the door with a three and a half year old in time to be an hour a way by 9:45 tomorrow morning.

To quote Robert DeNiro in "Analyze This,"... "I got stress."

To top it all off, the darn stress ruined the bed time songs. When a gal can't do a proper rendition of "Hey, Jude," somethin' just ain't right in the world.

Lost & Found

2009-07-02T21:25:00.004-04:00

Today I received news that I did not get a job that I really wanted. A job that I thought, in my delusional thoughts, was perfect for me and vice versa. Not only did I not get the job, I didn't even get a second interview.

This has me questioning a lot of things. Like what I know and what I don't (both practical knowledge and that intrinsic, intuitive knowledge). Like what I have been doing for the past 36 years - more specifically, the last 8 years - when I have been A) doing association work, and B) raising a child; both of which I would like to devote a number of the rest of my adult years to.

I've lost some things and I've found some things. Is it an even trade? It depends on the day; sometimes the hour. It also depends on who you ask.

I've lost confidence in my ability to network effectively with other adults. Because there is no news scroll on Noggin, I am woefully unprepared to hold a conversation on Obama's health care plan, the pros and cons of getting involved in the Iranian unrest (do I get points for knowing there is unrest?) or the latest trends in change management.

I have found the ability to engage preschoolers in a game of Infinity Questions (adults know it better as "20 Questions") on topics as broad on why it is NOT raining, why the Play-Doh is red and what makes glue stick.

I have lost three years of my career, where I could have been promoted to senior manager or maybe even department head (again, have I mentioned I am delusional?). This includes professional development, trends in association management, opportunities to be mentored and, perhaps, to mentor.

I have gained three and a half exceptional years with my son. Years that I would not trade for all the professional opportunity in the universe.

I have lost a great percentage of my professional confidence. Do I know how to effectively recruit and retain volunteers? Can I still write a successful communication and marketing plan? Could I EVER? I don;t even know anymore.

I have found maternal instincts that I never thought I had and never believed I even wanted. This includes trusting my gut when it comes to discipline, nutrition, education and many other aspects of making sure my phenomenal boy turns into a happy, healthy, productive member of society.

I've lost confidence, found loads of doubt. Lost security and found a whole new world of worry.

I've lost time. And I've found it.

Menus as Memories

2009-06-24T15:02:00.003-04:00

I will admit to you, my friends, that I occasionally purchase O, The Oprah Magazine. Especially when she has summer reading lists, as she did this month. I am also a huge fan of her columnist Lisa Kogan. I think she and I are living parallel lives, she living in the more successful universe, apparently. This months, Kogan's column was all about her life through memories of food. It got me thinking that a lot of my memories are tied to food as well, and that I might like to share them.

My Grandma Fleming will always be peach Hi-C (out of a circular aluminum can) and Archway oatmeal cookies. She made a phenomenal apple pie, that certain women in my family can replicate, but for me, this juice and cookies snack will always be my memory of my maternal grandmother. We'd have a cookie or two and a glass of Hi-C and then she would play a game of checkers with me. Or let me trace pictures through onion paper. Or let me sort through the extremely cool glass squares she had collected. Good times.

From first through fourth grade, I attended Catholic school in an Italian parish. This meant that several times a year there would be spaghetti dinners. REAL spaghetti dinners. Not this crap the Irish parishes are trying to pull off over at St. Bridget of Kildaire. The pasta sauce and meatballs from St. Anthony's spaghetti dinners will remind me of my youth both at school and at my paternal grandparents' house. My dad's parents were heavily involved with the church and, thus, the dinners. Both grandparents had a heavy hand in the making of both the sauce and meatballs for the dinners - both at the parish dinners at at their home every Sunday - where we were expected to be at noon every Sunday. In Columbus, Carfanga's sauce comes about the closest (but you have to add red wine when you cook it).

When I converted in May, I gave up pork. To be honest, I am weaning myself from it. We don't have it in the house at all, but I cannot resist now - nor have I ever been able to resist - a good BLT sandwich. When I was pregnant, Osi and I went to Rooster's restaurant before almost every doctor's appt. and there I ordered what I believed to be the perfect BLT. Lots of crispy (but not burnt) bacon that is not the fancy stuff, either; two thick slices of tomato and a couple of leaves of iceberg lettuce topped with a healthy (ahem) slathering of mayo. On a toasted white bun. It is so simple and so yummy. Too many places try too hard and end up screwing this up. So, thank you, Rooster's, for providing me my pregnancy food memory - your perfect BLT.

And what is food without drink? Thanks to the Wandering Jews, and the friendships I have developed with them over dinners, drinks, wings and beer over the last year or so, Corona Light will always taste like friendship to me. It's my drink of choice during the summer, and we have had so many laughs over cookouts, fire pits, fireworks and hot wings, all accompanies with a Corona Light with a lime. It would be nice if this were the last thing I taste before I die.

My Boy Wants to Potty All the Time...

2009-06-21T23:34:00.005-04:00

BIG NEWS at Chez Zimmer: We have finally had some success in persuading The Boy to use The Potty.

Ah, when Boy and Potty meet, in a non-hands-in-the-water kinda way, it is a loverly thing, indeed. A thing for which Mommy has prayed, ney, bargained with the deity of your choice, would happen before all hairs on her once nicely-coiffed head turned gray and fell out. So I hope you will forgive me if I have not updated with any fresh material in a few days. We have been very, very busy here.

People, we have pee peed on the potty.

Now, my mother, with almost 40 years of child-rearing under her belt, begun arriving in my home with Pull-Ups shortly after J's second birthday...TWENTY, count them, 2-0 months ago. In her infinite wisdom, she thought it was time to get on with business, so to speak. J thought otherwise. And we all know, when a three-year-old decides something is NOT going to happen, well, if they have any control over it whatsoever, then, friends, it is just not going to happen. J had the ultimate control on if and when (oh, God, tell me it will be "when and not "if" I pleaded silently into the black night) potty training would commence.

Well, it commenced, with very little fanfare, on Thursday. The Boy announced, in the tub, no less, (in all his squishy boy nakedness): "Mommy, I want to wear underwear."

"Well, J," says I, " Underwear are for boys and girls who put their pee pee and poops in the potty, not in their pants."

"OK." Says Boy. "I have to go potty." And he did.

The little shit had it in him (literally) the entire time and no amount of pressure from Grammy or Mom was going to coax that pee into the potty before its time. Go, Diego, Go underpants, though? Well those are pantaloons of a different color! Why didn't you mention that before, Moms? (Actually, son, I did. At ages 2 years, 2 years 4 months, 2 years 6 months, etc., etc. ad nauseum.)

Now, I am completely aware that this all comes down to peer pressure. About a month ago, we were at the park with friends. Boy's friend Jake (a year older) had to use the potty. Of course, as soon as he emerged victorious, Boy felt the urge To Go. In Public. At a Park Restroom. (Have I not mentioned my horrific phobia of public restrooms before? No? Well, mommy is about to get over that real quick, methinks.) Boy Wonder pulled down the pants, the Pull-Up (thanks for the 3 year supply, Grammy) and was all up on that potty. I do believe not a part of him left that park without touching said toilet. ewwwwwwwwwww. We go to wash our hand and of course - of COURSE - there is no soap. Strike that. Not even a soap dispenser. Not even the illusion that they might expect some sort of basic human hygiene. That was it. Mommy collected Boy Wonder, made a quick goodbye to her friend and children (potty instigators!) and proceeded to damn near strip the Boy down and disinfect him within an inch of his life in the back seat of the CR-V.

That was out first experience with Potty Peer Pressure.

This underwear thing I am down with, though. Kids in J's class are, one by one, slowly catching on and graduating to big kid pants, leaving "baby diapers" as J calls them, and Pull-Ups behind. The Boy does not like to be left behind.

We have a full arsenal (arse-enal...heh heh) of Diego training pants and Diego and Thomas big boy pants. Some Lightening McQueen may be thrown in to balance things out. If this is all it took, I am all in. Somehow, I think he may be bluffing. Weekends are a little iffy and we have to ask every 10 minutes if he has to go. After almost four years, a diaper free existence is like a mirage to me. I think he's making it up just to mess with me.

So far, so good. More from the trenches, er, latrines, later.

If We're Rubbing Salt in the Wound, We Might as Well Make a Margarita...

2009-06-11T09:16:00.005-04:00

Since "retiring" from my career in association management, I have developed a crazy sensitivity to all things "Stay-at-Home-Mom" related.

Like the word "homemaker." Our CPA insisted on using that as my occupation on our tax forms. I lobbied hard for Chief of Operations because, let's face it, this place would not run without me (sorry, honey). I am in charge of

procurement (everyone has food to eat, clothes to wear and birthday cards/presents to give to recipients through no effort of their own),
event planning (I scout both play dates and date nights, arrange for all babysitters and likely have picked the restaurant),
development (the three-and-a-half year old has not yet lost limbs or digits, he has play dates and attends temple as often as we are comfortable taking him) and
about half of the finances (admittedly, not my strong suit, which is why we have a CFO here at Chez Zimmer).

So tell me how the title Chief of Operations does NOT apply here?

Now, I know a lot of working moms would kill or maim to be in my position. Truth be told, I would maim (although maybe not yet kill) to be in their positions, too. I have been trying to get back to work for about a year. I am the closest I have been, having had a great interview with COSI last week. But this SAHM gig was not ever intended to last forever. The fact that it has lasted this long has added mounting frustration to the gig.

So, you can imagine that when people assume I have loads of time to either just hang out or to dedicate to them and their pet projects because I do not "work outside of the home", I go a little, well, apeshit.

When a retired friend assumed I would be available to help with her latest pet project, it was fresh salt in the unemployed-mom wound. She did not ask if I would be willing to volunteer, it was implied that I would be there. This particular friend has chutzpah for days anyway, so usually i just roll my eyes and move on. This one, though, poured enough salt in the wound for a grande margarita.

I will be elated to return to work for many reasons. For one, I think I'll be one of those women who is a better Mommy when I spend time "outside the home." When my non-mommy brain is being stimulated, I believe I'll be grateful to come home to my family, the ones who really matter. For another, I spent way too much on an education to be making the world's best pot roast and failing miserably at potty training.

Everyone says that being a mom is the world's toughest job. I'm not here to agree or disagree. After watching "Deadliest Catch," I think crab boat guy has a pretty good shot at that claim as well. However, I think we do start to stop assuming that just because women are at home (and may or may not arrange for pre-school for their kids on some days) they have unlimited time to do your bidding. I, for one, am way too busy extracting all that salt and lime juice from my wounds and making margaritas.

Maybe You Can Go Home Again

2009-06-10T07:42:00.006-04:00

This past weekend, I attended what one friend lovingly (I'm sure) called "Geek-a-palooza": A reunion of some of the members of my high school marching band, in Marietta, Ohio. That is how big of a band geek I was - I helped orchestrate a reunion. And it was fabulous.

My planning cohort and I had planned a family get-together for families as a local playground and arranged for lunch - for those who wanted it - to be delivered. For three hours, we caught up, reminisced and gave our former directors a hard time. It was fantastic to see people who shared the same experience many years over come together. Band was a saving grace for a lot of us and, for me, it was where I made my strongest high school friendships.

Marietta is a lovely place to visit - lots of historical stuff, if you're into that. It was a mind-numbingly boring place to spend your adolescence, though. We has to travel 30 minutes to Parkersburg, W.VA. for a mall, a movie or a decent restaurant.

Lots of things have changed since I graduated in the, ahem, 90s. When we rolled back into town Friday night, I was impressed to see that they had built an Applebee's in the last decade. To the town's credit, they now have a movie theatre (and a Wal-Mart, although I don't believe that is entirely to their credit). Wandering around town Friday evening, there was live music by the river and several festivals and events promoted for the weekend.

I was amazed to see how the town had changed to my senses as an adult and as a parent. Was it me, or did the whole town smell of honeysuckle? I noticed that we couldn't travel more than 7 minutes in any direction without coming across a different set of baseball fields. It seemed quieter. Perhaps it is the nostalgia seeping into my veins, travelling into my nose and eyes and ears, but all of sudden, this one-horse town seemed like the perfect place to raise kids.

Of course, with 48 hours hindsight to my advantage, I realize that the school system is likely not that vastly improved. During the weekend, Osi noted that the entire city seemed "anti-credit," since the restaurant we were eating at offered a 10% discount for cash payment and the ice cream stand had a "cash only window." My response is that they are "anti-a lot of things here." That is still very likely true and I have no idea how my more liberal friends breathe in a place where gun racks are sold in Kroger.

But it was nice to drive around town, noting that many of the landmarks from my childhood still stood. Many of my friends from high school were still the same people and home can still be a nice place to visit.

Spoken To

2009-06-04T11:42:00.003-04:00

Last Sunday, we spent a lovely afternoon at a piano recital. The recital was not for our child, but for one of our friends' child. If you have ever been to a children's piano recital, you may be chuckling, but we attended for several reasons. A) We love both of this couples' kids as if I had birthed them myself, B) We have supported the musical endeavors of the young pianist's older sister, and C) It was going to be a good time to go watch the, ahem, expansive range of talent out there.

Said young pianist was brilliant. She was third from last, which meant she was clearly one of the more advanced players. No kidding, the kid after her played "Dancing on the Berlin Wall" by David Lanz. All in all, it was a pleasant way to spend an hour or so on a Sunday.

Not on the program was the piano teacher's grandson, who made a surprise appearance (in a "Bite Me" t-shirt and a scowl, by the way). He sat down and began playing "100 years" by Five for Fighting. Now, as cliche as this seems, this song always and without fail makes me cry. During my pregnancy, a credit card company had a commercial set to the song and I damn near barfed every time it came on. (Seriously. Watch it. If you are hormonal - watch out!) It just sums up how little time we have here (I KNOW. I acknowledged it was cliche, OK?). Couple that commercial with pregnancy hormones and, well, it wasn't pretty.

Here's the thing. Those of you follow me know that I have been having some difficulties with The Boy lately. He is at an age where, quite frankly, I want to knock his ever-lovin' block off at least once a day (you know the phrase "and twice on Sundays"? It applies here.). I have been praying about this. A LOT. I have tried all manner of prayer requests, from "Lord, please grant me the strength and kindness to be a good Mommy to Jack" to "Lord God, please do not let me kill this boy right now. We will renegotiate after nap time."

Cliche or not, when the Young Disgruntled Boy started to play that song, it sounded like a message straight from God (maybe because the recital was held in a church, I dunno). I started thinking (with no offense to our friends or their daughter intended) why else would I be sitting in a church listening to this slacker with the inappropriate t-shirt play piano? I was supposed to be sitting here, thanks to our friends, getting this message.

I honestly felt as if I was being reminded of the emotion this song stirs in me - how little time we all have here - and being asked how I want to spend that. Do I want to spend it in a rage over the door closing for the millionth time today? Do I want to spend it trying to win inconsequential battles with a three-year-old? No, I do not.

This song has literally become my anthem. Every time I start to get frustrated with J., I turn on the tape in my head and Five for Fighting is telling me that's he's only going to be three for a moment. A musical version of "This too shall pass."

The Doors

2009-06-03T21:40:00.002-04:00

I am a fan of Poe. Short stories, poetry, whatever. I'm down with it.

My door-obsessed child recently reminded me of one of my favorite Poe poems: The Bells. I swear I have heard my own version of it in my head the last few weeks, as the door situation - once better - has progressed to the point of possible madness for both Jack and me. Here is my take on the poem, specifically the last stanza...

Hear the closing of the doors
Wooden Doors!
What a world of agitation their monotony compels!
Breaking the silence of my day,
How I quiver in dismay
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every slam that throbs
From the brass within their knobs
Is a groan.
And my boy - ah, the boy
He is my pride and joy
Flesh and bone,
And who, closing, closing, closing
In his room alone
Feels delight, I'm supposing
In MY throat, a groan
He is neither happy nor sad
He is neither good nor bad
He is obsessed
And his king is the door that crashes;
And he bashes, bashes, bashes
Bashes a cadence of the doors!
And his maniacal laughter pours
With the cadence of the doors!
And he dances, and he roars;
Keeping time, time time
In a sort of preschool rhyme,
To the cadence of the doors
Of the doors:
Keeping time, time, time
In a sort of preschool rhyme
To the bashing of the doors
Of the doors, doors, doors
To the crashing of the doors;
Keeping time, time, time
As he explores, explores, explores,
In a bizarre preschool rhyme,
To the thumping of the doors
Of the doors, doors doors:
To the pumping of the doors,
Of the doors, doors, doors, doors
Doors, doors, doors
To the slamming and the jamming of the doors.

In Praise of OPP - Other People's Parenting

2009-05-27T13:02:00.006-04:00

I spent some time this morning with my friend Erin. Something that I don't do often enough. Erin is the mother of three boys under the age of five, is working on her doctorate degree and is a beautiful, patient, funny and smart girl. Perhaps I don't spend as much time as I should with her because she is bad for my self-esteem...but I digress....

We were having yet another ill-fated play-date. Ill-fated because Jack, even at almost four years old, still does a lot of parallel play. And that is a best-case scenario. Worst case is he doesn't want to be around other kids at all.

My Bellas all do a wonderful job of handling this and not taking it personally. Their kids are all fantastic and go on their merry ways. I, however, get 27 kinds of embarrassed and frustrated. Even if Jack doesn't want to play with our hosts, I thin k he should remain, you know, in the same zip code.

Erin, in a true stroke of mothering genius, hit on a moment of bliss this morning. She brought out seven old time 50-cent water pistols and let all of us - moms and kids - go at each other. Before I describe the kids of joy and release this brought to all of us, I feel the need to for the disclaimer that both Erin and I are usually staunch anti-guns-as-toys for our kids. Since these were a) bright pink and purple, b) see through and c) we both had them as kids and didn't turn out to be mass murderers, we thought they might be OK. Also, we are the mothers of boys, who eventually turn EVERYTHING into a gun anyway (if you are the mother of girls, trust me on this. I have seen boys turn a Barbi legs, baby bottle and a Tickle Me Elmo all into semi-automatics, but again, I digress...)

The moment all of us were armed, it was a free for all. And once Jack understood that he could shoot me and he could retaliate when other kids shot him, there were gleeful squeals all around. None so loud as mine. Here was a chance to get my little stinker square in the back of the head with a cold burst of water - and have him laugh about it - GENIUS! I felt like I was getting frustration out and having fun with him all at once. Did I feel a little evil? Oh, most definitely. Did I feel about 1000% better afterward? Indubitably.

Now I know Why Erin is the one working on her doctorate. She really IS smarter than the rest of us. She takes it all is stride. I made the remark that I shudder to think what kind of monster I would be with three kids when I can;t even keep it together with the one I currently have. Erin;s parenting style is laid back and her kids are well behaved. Yes, we joke about her middle one, but he is "all boy" as our mothers would say, and she does a fine job with all of them - and her fourth boy - her husband. I am in awe of all of my friends and how they handle their parenting responsibilities and their relationships and, someone them, on top of that, careers.

Maybe I should really consider spending more time out there at Camp U. If only to suck up the Knowledge. I understand I can suck it up by osmosis - through water guns :)

Doing the Right Thing or Looking for Trouble?

2009-05-26T21:31:00.003-04:00

Emotionally draining. That is how I will describe today. I think my husband would agree.

On the suggestion of the LSW at J's preschool, we had an appointment with a behaviorist at Nationwide Children's Hospital this morning. To sum up, we were there for a number of behaviors. An obsession with doors (to the exclusion of all other activities), freaking out when broken out of his routine, still doing the parallel play thing at almost four, and absolute fetish for toes...these are only a few of my boy's idiosyncrasies. They are glitches and they are his glitches. I was hoping he would he would grow out of them (especially the toe thing. Cute at 3. Creepy at 13).

We began working with "Team Jack" last year, when J was 2 and the door thing became a problem. He was disrupting the class's activities with the constant door obsession. Both the Infant/Toddler Coordinator and the JCC and the LSW were able to offer some very helpful advice and the teachers were able to get J interested in classroom activities again. Our family outings were limited for some time, however. He didn't enjoy things other kids his age did. Not playgrounds or the "play pits" at the local mall. Not kids' concerts or bookstores. We couldn't get him past the doors. It was disheartening and sad.

We turned a corner early this year and things were looking up only to backslide a few months ago when J kicked it up a notch and not only remained obsessed with the doors, but now was opening them and started bolting from the classroom when frustrated. Ug. Now it was a safety issue. Our trusty LSW suggested we go tit for tat in the ramp up and maybe look onto a behavior evaluation at Children's. She said it could be nothing. She also said that if it is something (and she wasn't saying WHAT it could be) that we could learn some coping skills before he hit Kindergarten.

Today was the Day of Reckoning.

Nationwide Children's Hospital Behavioral Health Center asks that you show up for the evaluation of your child with possible behavioral problems 45 minutes before your scheduled appointment so that you can fill out a ridiculous amount of paperwork that could easily be mailed to you ahead of time. Luckily, mine was the only one going apeshit in the small waiting area. This could very easily be a Thunderdome situation. Get five or six hyperactive kids in there with anger issues and, well, Mad Max ain't gonna save yo' ass. While Jack melted down about three times in the 45 minute period, mommy was close to tears at least twice. This was my idea of hell. I could feel my blood pressure going through the roof. I could feel my heart trying to pound its way through my chest. And I could feel the hot tears of frustration and anger burning their way from the back of my eyeballs to the forefront.

Once we were called to meet the LSW specializing in OCD (that's a whole lot of letters, sorry), all went a little better, I guess. She was very nice and great with J. After 45 minutes of evaluation, she decided that yes, if he were older, he displays dead-on OCD characteristics. However, since he is so young, let's get a "full-spectrum evaluation." I don't like the word "spectrum" one damn bit.YOU know as well as I do what spectrum she;s talking about and I don't want my kid on it. I dont care if Jenny McCarthy cured her kid by giving her kid special bread or not, I do not want my kid anywhere near the word AUTISM.

But there he was. And here we are. Waiting for a call back from a lovely PhD to get a "full spectrum evaluation" later this summer.

On a side note, it turns out that OCD-like symptoms could have been caused by J's exposure to my Group B Strep at birth. It is an odd little thing called PANDAS. Check it out. Who knew. Wouldn't it be great if this could all be cured by a round of antibiotics (which a. Jack is mostly allergic to and b. it won;t be because I've already looked into this and am about 98% sure this doesn't describe Jack's symptom's because his aren't cyclical). Interesting all the same.

So I am left thinking - ARE these just J's little ticks? Am I just an older, first-time parent going over-board? Am I LOOKING for a diagnosis? Or am I doing the right thing by following the advice of the social worker who, I have to trust, knows more than I do, about child development. I have a feeling this nagging question will be with me throughout the summer.

Come As You Are

2009-05-24T14:13:00.002-04:00

On the way home from Culver's last night, I saw a sign for a Vineyard Church. It asked you to "Come as you are!." I think that is a great policy. For a lot of places, actually. First of all, let me explain that, yes, I understand that you show respect to God by dressing up when you go to your place of worship. My personal belief, though, is that God doesn't particularly care what you're wearing. He/She/It is just happy that you showed up to give thanks/ask for stuff/for the free nosh. What I DON'T get is all the parading around in fancy Easter hats or the over the top High Holiday suits in order to look rich and famous for each other. Just come as you are.

We're hosting a good old fashioned Memorial Day Weekend BBQ in about 2 hours. Come as you are is pretty much the theme here, too. The official start time is 4:30. We have friends who will no doubt pull up in front of the house at 4:30, right on the nose, bearing a casserole (you know who you are, Bryan). We also have a second wave, who will show up after softball games, or after enjoying time with other friends first, and that's OK, too. We're just glad they could join us. Just come as you are.

I hope as Jack grows, that he adopts a "come as you are" attitude. I want him to always be who he is, and accept people for who they are - first offer. No need to dress it up, hold out for a better offer or make excuses. Just come as you are.

Ladies and Gentleman, This is...Hip Replacement

2009-05-20T13:11:00.006-04:00

We spent an absolutely wonderful Sunday evening with friends in the company of Christopher Guest, Michael McKean and Harry Schearer. Otherwise known as Spinal Tap. Also, not ironically at all, known as The Folksmen. Aside from being hysterically funny, they are also incredibly talented musicians.

I get a wee bit jealous when some people get a double load of blessing like that. But then again, since they share it with the rest of us via the concert we saw on Sunday - Unwigged and Unplugged (GO SEE IT IF IT IS NEAR YOU) - I can forgive. Also, Christopher Guest has directed some of my favorite movies. If we are friends, it is not necessary for you to have see all of said movies, or be able to quote all of said movies. But you should certainly not mock any of the following movies and you should certainly appreciate the humor behind them.

Best in Show. Come on. A spoof about the Westminster Dog Show? Genius. Four words. "We both love soup." Osi and I are also big fans of "A Mighty Wind". A spoof of the time when folk music was trying to be pop music. I love that Guest has this cast of "players" that he uses in all of his movies. Eugene Levy, Jennifer Coolidge, Parker Posey, Ed Begley, Jr., Catherine O'Hara and Fred Willard, in addition to Shearer and McKean make Guest's movies always hilarious and unpredictable. The fact that they work together so often makes me think that they can improv often and come up with some of the best material in the movies. I've not even talked about "Waiting for Guffman" or "For Your Consideration." See them. We'll discuss.

But back to the concert...

I honestly wasn't sure what to expect. I mentioned to Tammy, she of Mommakin fame, who I was lucky enough to share the experience with, that it was going to be interesting to see what the demographic was going to be like once we were inside. Tam said she thought she was going to be it. Since I consider Tammy pretty dead-on normal (sorry, Tam), I thought to myself "Hm...".

Turns out, there were lots of Silver Foxes in the house. Thus the name of this post. Now Guest was born in 1948, making him a rockin' sexagenarian. And ROCKIN' he is. Dude wears it well. And Michael McKean? Let me tell you that anyone that funny is always, ALWAYS sexy. For those of you who may not be familiar with his latter work with Guest, let me re-introduce you to his earlier work: He was Lenny of Lenny and Squiggy fame on Laverne & Shirley. (Also, for those of you stuck in Noggin land, he is "Cousin Louie" on Oswald, and Maestro Bingo Bunny). Harry Shearer you know from The Simpsons. Mr. Burns? Ned Flanders? You can thank Harry Shearer for those. And let us not forget this is a guy who started on the freakin' JACK BENNY SHOW. He is 66 and still maintains the proper "I am rockin' this bass!" stance throughout the rock part of the show. Show some respect, people.

So yeah. At 35, I was feeling like a youngster in the room. I felt like Wayne and Garth in Wayne's World. "We're not worthy! We're not worthy!" There was way too much talent on the stage and they were really very humble about it. Guest even attempted - mostly unsuccessfully, but with great comic effect, I might add - to play the didgeridoo.

They were all up there having fun. Oh, and also probably making a crapload of money, too. Let us not forget that one of their encore songs was Gimme Some Money.

The Ghosts of Personalities Past

2009-05-13T09:55:00.005-04:00

As I have mentioned several times before, I think Facebook is a wonderful thing. I have been able to keep up with current friends, organize a reunion of my high school marching band members, find long-lost friends and find new friends who share my interests.

Like many, I have been many people during my lifetime. I am sure - or at least I hope to heavens - that I will continue to evolve and be a new, hopefully better, person in 10 years or so. This brings me to the "long lost friends" part of Facebook.

Are people frozen in time there? Like my not-so-friend from grade school, are people forever stuck with their last impression of you? If so, I, like Lucy, have some 'splaining to do.

I recently had the extremely good fortune to be able to locate college roommates from my freshman year at OSU. These gals were some of my first impressions of college life and they were (and I am sure, still are) fantastic. The problem is, I was a little less fantastic.

I suffered my first real broken heart my sophomore year of college. I went a little nutso and then took up with a boyfriend I would be with - on and off - throughout my college career. He was not a great influence. The problem was, I wasn't a strong enough personality not to be easily influenced. Long story short, I made bad decisions and the relationship with my awesome friends ended badly and it was completely my fault. (This may bring us to another post later on: Losing friends over boyfriends. But I digress.)

Flash forward: I've recently discovered a lot of those friends on Facebook and they seem genuinely interested in what I'm up to these days. I am enormously thankful for the opportunity to a) right past wrongs and b) show them that I am no longer a psycho hosebeast. I'm torn as to whether or not to acknowledge my behavior circa 1993. Fifteen years is a lot of water under the bridge.

I have actually apologized - via her husband - to the gal I feel I wronged the worst. Her husband and I go way back, to high school, actually, and I hope he passed along my regret and apologies. Other than that, I am thinking that I'll let my current life and attitude speak for itself.

Thoughts? Advice? Fashion tips? What would you do?

My Favorite Time of the Day

2009-05-12T21:11:00.002-04:00

It is tempting, as a stay at home mom, to say that my favorite time of day is 9 a.m. (Monday, tuesday and Thursday), as I wave goodbye to my little angel as he enjoys the day with his preschool friends. Or naptime. Yeah, naptime is good. Or when he goes down for the night, without an argument, usually, and quiet encompasses the house.

Nope.

My favorite time of the day is 8 p.m. almost every night. After bath time, and with The Backyardigans providing a musical backdrop, Mommy, Daddy, Farnnie and J all cuddle up in the big bed. We become one big pile of arms and legs (and paws), snoozing, laughing and talking. J lays there, perfectly happy, for 30 minutes and we can just BE. I can sniff his hair, snuggle up tightly to him and whisper sweet mommy nothings in his little ears. It is by far my favorite time of the day.

While it is easy to wish these 30 minutes could last forever, the truth is that the speeding mass of three-year-old boy that is Jickety Jack make that limited time each night what it is. The running, the sliding, the yelling and laughing all fade in that half hour. I can breathe in his sweetness and light and thank God that this is my boy and this is my family.

A Guy Walks Into A Roast...

2009-05-11T10:36:00.004-04:00

My LORD do I have some funny friends.

The temple's Brotherhood put on a Friars' Club-style roast for our outgoing music director, Bryan Zive on Saturday. Granted, Bzive is an easy target but some people just went above and beyond on their comic generosity.

Because my hilarious friend Mel hates public speaking, I was given the opportunity to do some shtick. Ironically, a line that I almost eliminated from the remarks ("This dais is a who's who of who cares...") got the biggest laugh of my set. Go figure.

My friend Shannon, though. Whoo! He absolutely killed. I mean killed in a way that he could seriously write jokes for a living. We are both what I would call "conversationally funny," but Shan just kicks it up a notch. I have real respect for people who can be gut-bustingly (yes, it IS a word...now) funny, especially on the fly. By the time he was finished with his 5 or so minutes of remarks, my face and tummy actually hurt from laughing so hard.

Funny friend Mel's hubby Jason was astonishingly hilarious. Astonishing because he is such a nice guy that you just don;t see it coming (Maybe Mel did and that's why she married him. You know, other than he is just a nice guy). There were other Roasters, too, who just made the audience roar. And I don't think I am exaggerating there. There were times when the amount of laughter in the room HAD to have been coming from more than just the 60 people in attendance. I think we all needed a good laugh.

And it was great of Bryan to provide so many good laughs. As I mentioned, he is an easy target. A 27-year-old music director in a position of some power at a fairly large congregation. His ego was a big topic of the roast. But he did, to his immense credit, take it all in stride. He laughed, he made witty rebuttals, and I think we're all friends after the fact (at least I hope we are).

I just could not let the day pass without a shout out to all the funny people out there who share their shtick with the world. Laughter really IS the best medicine. I am so thankful to have so many General Practitioners in my life!

The Good Kid Gone Bad

2009-05-11T10:18:00.003-04:00

Mother's Day was an interesting mix of sweetness and light and, well, my family this year. Osi and Jack made me the most delicious pancakes, let me sleep past 10 a.m. and presented me with lovely cards and a gift card for a massage. A fantastic morning!

Noon brought my own mother (towing dad) into town and my sister (now a single mother) right behind. Mom got straight down to business telling me what a frustrating day that had had yesterday and that I would Have to excuse her if she seemed "less than enthusiastic" today. Okaaayyyy...

My sister was in a funk all her own. She is in the middle of what is turning out to be a very nasty divorce with a man who turned out to be a really nasty porcine excuse for a human. She has had a rough year ans was particularly mopy. I guess, understandably.

let us remember that I was having a perfectly lovely Mother's Day. Until the sisters Doom and Gloom showed up.

Since it was lunch time, I thought I would start asking what people might like to do about being fed. I asked. And asked. And then asked some more.For about 35 minutes, actually. I was hungry, dammit! (Don't let momma get hungry, especially on a Sunday. She will eat her young and probably yours, too.) My family continued to ignore my request for information (and fed off each other's foul moods).

I snapped.

As my mother so eloquently put it in this morning's e-mail, I "stomped off" upstairs telling the remaining people to decide what they want to do about lunch. My sister, ever the drama-lover, said to my mom with Osi within earshot "Well the last thing I need today is for her to be bitching at me." Here is my thought on that: If that was the last thing you needed, how about you and Grumpy Grammy take your pity party on out to brunch?

My sister and brother - both younger - sarcastically refer to me as the good kid. It isn't that I am particularly good. It is that I made a lot of the same mistakes they did in private - either at college a good 2 hours away from mom and dad, or once I was living on my own. Since my sister didn't move out of their house until she was married and by brother just 2 or 3 years ago, mom and dad got to see - sometimes in gruesome detail - the mistakes they were making. Oh, I made 85% of those mistakes - just never felt the need to share them with the folks.

So here is the problem: Apparently by snapping yesterday, I challenged everyone's perceived role. Melissa is usually the one making the stink (ask me sometime about Christmas last year, the final straw on the Conversion Camel's back) and I try to make peace. I guess Gloom and Doom were the only ones allowed to think their Mother's Day was stinking. The irony is, mine would have been damn near perfect without their presence.

I think in every family, everyone has their role. What happens when you challenge those? In my experience, all hell breaks lose (thus the exchange of angry phone calls and e-mails over the last 12 hours). What happens when the good kid snaps or the family screw-up makes good?

After 30 years in these roles, I don't think people know what to do with themselves.

Happy Birthday to Jew...Part 2

2009-05-07T15:00:00.007-04:00

When last we left our Shiksa Goddess, she had successful "passed" her bet din - the court consisting of three rabbis. We now continue with "Happy Birthday to Jew...the conclusion."

With the bet din discussion over and my profession of faith read aloud and signed, I was ready for the part of the conversion process I had been dreading, literally, for months. The mikveh.

For those of you unfamiliar with a mikveh, please let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. The quick and dirty answer is it is a lot like an immersion baptism for Baptists (or some Universalists) except, well, you are naked. Not a stitch on. You immerse in the water the way God brought you into this world (only with more cellulite, which is my whole issue, here). Not all Reform rabbis require mikveh immersion to convert, but I am glad mine did. It felt as if I was humbling myself. So here is what happened.

You are required to be as clean as humanly possible when you enter the mikveh (I assume this is so you don't go fouling it up for the rest of those who wish to be ritually pure). So I showered in a small room next to the "pool." Everything - nail polish, makeup, lotion, perfume, lint - must be washed from your body in order to enter the mikveh pool.

After sanding myself down, I wrapped in the largest towel I could find (I brought a bath sheet from home) and knocked on the door to let Emily and my witness, Mel, know I was ready. I stood at the top of the stairs with Emily and Mel behind me. I removed the towel and Emily held it way up and way out, so she could see nothing. If this rabbi gig doesn't work out, she would make a great masseuse. They have that same trick in their book for when you roll on over on the table...but I digress.

As soon as the rabbi mentioned that I would be facing away from my audience for this ritual, I immediately felt better. But I was still naked in front of people so, you know, I was not 100% comforted. Emily had said that I needed to take each of the five steps into the mikveh pool slowly so that I could really soak in the experience (pun intended? Not sure.). However, once the towel was off and my naked tuches was exposed in the direction of both my spiritual leader and one of my best friends, I forgot everything and hightailed it down the first 2 steps. Remembering Emily's instructions, I slowed it down for the last three steps. But it wasn't quite the soaking in that she intended. because, literally, here are is my last thought as a shiksa as I descended those final steps: "Mel can see my tushy. Mel can see my tushy. Mel can see my tushy." Way to sanctify the experience, right? I'm pretty sure I sucked all the holiness out of the experience before it had even begun.

In order for the immersions (you do it three times) to be kosher, all of you must be submerged, with none of you touching a wall, floor or another part of your body. This is trickier than it sounds. Especially in a pool that is about 4 feet wide, 15 feet long and maybe 4 feet deep.

I dunked myself the first time, Emily approved and I recited the blessing for the mikveh. It was framed on the wall, so I didn't have to memorize that one. Dunk again. Emily approves and I say the Sh'ma - the most important prayer to the Jewish people. "Hear, Oh Israel. The Lord is Our God. The Lord is One." Dunk a third time. Emily calls kosher and we recite the she'hecheyanu blessing, thanking God for sustaining us and bringing us to this moment.

Poof. I am now Jewish.

For my first act as a Jew, I try to concentrate really hard on walking, wet and naked, back up the mikveh steps toward the rabbi (once again, spreading the towel in an incredibly modest manner) and my witness. I can think of nothing more embarrassing that falling headlong (and I can't underscore this point enough) wet and naked, into your spiritual advisor. That mission accomplished, both Emily and Mel wish me Mazel Tov and I go dry off and get dressed.

Once rejoining the crowd in the waiting area (the bet din, Mel and my husband Osi), Emily reads a statement that calls me by my chosen Hebrew name - Rahav Leah. I think THAT is the moment in which I feel Jewish. I have a name among these people, now my people. I am now a daughter of Abraham and Sarah.

Poof. I now feel Jewish.

Hugs, pictures and congratulations are offered and we exit. The rest of the day is mellow. Osi takes me to an incredibly cool restaurant (Luce -try it if you are in Columbus!) and I nap. We pick up the cake ("Welcome to the Tribe!" it reads) and a deli try for the party for the evening. Many friends join us to celebrate. Some of them say how proud they are of me. Which is nice.

I can't say I feel tremendously different, which is good. But I am so at peace with finding my place in the complicated mishmash that is religion. Judaism is all about "deed over creed." They really don't require you to believe in anything (not even God) as long as you ACT like you do. It is sort of the religion of cognitive dissonance. Perhaps if you act like a believer, you will believe. I prefer to think of it as even if you don;t believe, you are still acting like a mensch, which I am pretty sure a higher power would want us to do.

So that is my conversion tale, for those of you who asked. I am sorry it was so long, but I really didn't want to leave anything out of this exciting, moving experience.

Happy Birthday to Jew...Part 1

2009-05-06T13:47:00.005-04:00

After many months of studying, thinking, practicing and writing about my impending conversion, the deed is finally done. I am officially a Member of the Tribe. Not surprisingly, I feel no different than I did on Monday. That's OK, though. It reaffirms to me, anyway, that this was the right decision. I have been living, as the rabbi put it yesterday "Jewishly" for the past few years. This just kind of cemented the deal. I will warn you now - this is going to be a loooong post.

I am thrilled to report that my rabbinic court, the bet din, when extremely well. I could not possibly have asked for a better group of rabbis to give me their blessing.

Rabbi Emily Rosenzweig was the rabbi with whom I studied for the past few months. She is one of two rabbis at Temple Israel here in Columbus and she is the whole package - incredibly smart, dryly funny and delivers a riveting sermon (oh she of sexting fame). Did I mention that I think she may just be a smidge over 30, if that? She is amazing.

I specifically requested Rabbi Elka Abrahamson as a member of my bet din. I am slightly in awe of her, actually. She is a presence. She is tall with this fantastic head of extraordinarily curly short, jet black hair that has a few wisps of gray in it. She smells of patchouli. If it sounds as if I am describing someone I have a crush on, you may be right, but in the wrong way. You've heard, maybe, of a "bromance"? This is maybe the girl equivalent. I want to hang out and have a beer with Elka, because she is really one of the most hilarious women I know (and I know a lot of gut-busting, fall off your chair and laugh yourself to tears kind of hilarious women). She, too, is incredibly smart and well-spoken. Also, she happens to be married to the senior rabbi at Temple Israel, so I am extraordinarily thankful to him for bringing her along for the ride to Columbus.

Finally, my "player to named at a later date" as Emily referred to the third position, was Rabbi Sharon Mars. I have met Rabbi Mars a couple of times and found her increasingly delightful. She, too, is very smart (seems to be a requirement for rabbis, eh?), soft-spoken and just seems genuinely Nice-with-a-capital-N. I would suppose you would have to be, as part of her work duties is ministering to Jewish inmates at various Central Ohio prisons. Good people, that Sharon.

Honestly, I was never very worried about the bet din part of the conversion. I have been practicing Judaism now for a number of years, eliminated the Christmas tree this year, make Shabbat on a regular basis and know more about Judaism than some people who were born Jewish. So the bet din discussion revolved around how I was raised, how I came to the decision to convert, my relationship with Osi's family (funny that a full quarter of the conversation should be devoted to my reaction to my orthodox families' reaction, but it was interesting to get these rabbi's views on that), and how I plan to move forward. As I step up to the plate a temple's Sisterhood co-president next year, have chaired the Outreach Committee and am fairly involved with Jack's class at the JCC, all of these women knew I was already involved in the temple and in the greater Jewish Community. No problems there.

By the way, did you notice that all three rabbis were women? How flippin' COOL is THAT? Loved it! That Sharon was able to step in as the third rabbi just felt right. Part of that is because some of my struggle with the more conservative sects of Judaism (orthodox, in particular) see women as "less." When counting the number of bodies in the room for prayer, they don't count the ovaries. There is a very intricate set of "purity laws" still practiced there that do not apply to men, etc. So the fact that Reform Jews see women as equal was important to me and I was beyond thrilled to have an all-female bet din.

The discussion went well and I apparently passed, because after I stepped out of the room for about 2 minutes, so the rabbis could discuss my readiness for conversion, I was called back in, asked to read and sign a profession of faith (hello...flashback to Catholicism!) and dress down for the mikvah.

The mikvah, dear friends, is another story all in itself. So it will be the topic of my next post.

I wanted to take this opportunity to let you know it went well, I am beyond thrilled to finally "be" Jewish and am so thankful for all of the support (and questions) I have received.

Cart (near) Collision Kindness

2009-05-04T10:53:00.004-04:00

I was absolutely stoked to get to the grocery store early this morning. I had managed to avoid the unending geriatric sea of people all wandering aimlessly, parking their carts mid-aisle to check out the speacial on prune juice. In fact, I made it through about half the store in record time. I believe that at one point, I may have been speed-walking down the cereal aisle. And then I hit a SNAFU.

A woman was traveling at an approximately equal rate of speed as I when we both wanted to turn into the baking aisle. I was making a right; she, a left.

Now, fine readers, let me ask you this: Do the rules of the road apply in the grocery store? Because if so, I believe we have a clear violation here. As I was turning, Bathsheba came, like a bat outta hell (I think I might have actually heard the cart wheels squeal) and darn near knocks into me. This would not have been catastrophic as I had not yet purchased my eggs, but still...

She actually looked annoyed with me. I stopped and said "After you..." and she proceeded on her way without acknowldgement of the near collision or my forfieture of what I believe was my legal right turn.

I believe that we rarely travel quickly enough through Kroger (or Piggly Wiggly, or wherever) to necessitate a road rules course in cart-coasting. However, we could all use a good refersher on common courtesy.

Wouldn't it be great if there were less tailgaiting (because those who refuse to bump it up to 65 on the highway actually stay in the left lane and no one really needs to be going 90)? Wouldn't it be spectacular if we cut people some slack because maybe - just maybe - they are having a bad day? Wouldn't it be awesome if there were more "after yous" and a lot fewer jockeying for the parking space 20 feet closer to the store?

Over the last year, I have really tried hard to be a better person. To really limit what I am saying about others, because how would I like it if I found out someone was sitting at a kitchen table discussing MY eyebrows (or gray hair or the size of my behind...) right now?

In addition to this, I would really like to start paying it forward, so to speak. I would like to initiate the thing that people pay forward - the random act of kindness. Wouldn't it be awesome if we could all just pick one thing today - one simple thing - that would make someone else's life just a little easier and do it? Not a big deal to us, but maybe a big deal to them.

Try it with me, won't you? For a week? L see if it's addictive. I bet it is.

Driven Batty by the Birds

2009-05-01T12:29:00.003-04:00

The birds in my neighborhood must be stopped. Clearly, like everyone else in the Belxey school system, they are overachievers.

Yes, I have heard the stupid colloquialism about you being early and the worm...yadda, yadda. But listen - 4:45 a.m. is too damn early to be ingesting worms. In fact, I think all of the fat, lazy, slow juicy worms are still nestled waaaay down underground at that hour because, you know, it is still the middle of the freaking night!

For the past week, there has been a very vocal bird outside my window searching for breakfast at 4:45 in the a.m. This makes me want to go all Dick Cheney on his ass. Just go out there with a large gun and start firing scatter shot until I nail his little ass. I am very cranky if I do not sleep. It is not pretty. It is not happy. In fact, it is mean and short-tempered and rightly referred to as "it" because, without sleep, I am not quite human.

Now, I am not a nature lover to begin with. I have been camping exactly once. On that trip I received bite of an undetermined nature all over both butt cheeks. Seriously, we counted. 26 on one cheek, 32 on the other. That is just nature telling me to get the hell indoors and stay there. So, I do not camp. Hiking seems like a long walk with no destination in mind, which sounds a lot to me like what dementia patients do when they escape their assisted living facilities. That, too, makes no damn sense to me. Picnics are OK, I suppose, if they are in the shade and involve copious amounts of wine. It usually helps if there is good live music to accompany said outdoor feasting.

So what to do about the birds? I lie awake silently cursing them. Actively wishing that the neighborhood tomcat would sneak up on them and have himself a tasty snack. In the end, that's all I really can do. Nature is clearly out to get me. It was clear from that camping trip. It is clear from the migraines I get when I spend too much time outdoors in the summer. And it is clear from the tiny chirping outside my window mocking me at an ungodly hour.

Swhy-not (or... Swine Not)?

2009-04-29T21:45:00.002-04:00

There sure has been a lot of talk about the Swine Flu. The alert level has been raised and news channels are asking if a global outbreak is imminent. As I understand it, there are about 3000 confirmed cases of the the Swine Flu. It has killed about 150 people. Am I wrong to be blase about this? It's the FLU. The flu can kill you if you don't catch it. Diabetics are especially susceptible.

There are two "probable" cases in Columbus. It will be a few days before we know if it is confirmed as swine flu. I had to take Jack to the doctor today. He was running a low grade fever, not sleeping, no appetite and coughing/sneezing. Now I am wondering, by taking him to the doctor's office, could he have possibly picked up something worse? Well, that is always a possibility, but is the swine flu really worse than any other kind of flu? It doesn't seem like it, other than it is really contagious. So I guess that is why I'm not really panicked.

The most "interesting" theory I have heard comes courtesy of my certifiable sister-in-law. She thinks that it is now small coincidence that Obama just left Mexico, where the swine flu originated. HER theory is that Al Quaida released the virus while Obama was in Mexico and he brought it back with him. So there you have it. That's how they're gonna get us - Al Quaida is sending the pig bug home on Air Force One with The Prez. Of course, she also swears that she saw on CNN that one of the president's body guards dies of the swine flu. Like I said, she is certifiable.

So here is my question - why are we more concerned about a flu that has killed 150 people than AIDS, which has killed millions over a period of decades? Is it because it isn't in our backyard? It isn't infecting OUR kids (anymore)? Where is the panic and outrage over that epidemic?

My delusional mother (who is purchasing a handgun because she feels the government is out to get her) thinks i don;t understand the history. She believes things like Cholera and the Bubonic Plague have killed more people than AIDS ever has and that the swine flu is comparable to those other plagues and THAT is why the government is panicking - they know we are due for an "Outbreak" type of situation that kills millions worldwide. That is my mom's theory anyway.

I don't have a theory yet. Just lots of questions. I don't blame you for being cautious and I don't blame you for paying just a modicum of attention to it. I'm not sure what to make of it yet.

Not My Tale to Tell...

2009-04-27T13:53:00.002-04:00

My sister, 10-year-old nephew and parents traveled to Akron yesterday to visit my "grandparents." Please note the sarcasm implied in the use of the quotation marks. I believe there are certain obligations and responsibilities that come with being able to call yourself Grandparents, with a capital G, and my father's parents have fulfilled exactly none of those in the past ten years (at least for my siblings and I) , thus the text dripping with sarcasm. Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

My nephew is 10. My sister had only been married 6 years when she divorced. Catching the point of my "grandparents'" discontent there? How dare she besmirch their good name? Yeah, well. I have always referred to these people as excellent Catholics and horrible Christians. Their treatment of my father, CERTAINLY my mother ad most seriously my sister and nephew pretty much drives that point home. There are a long list of moral atrocities I could list here. Things you just don't do or say to family. But I won't. I will say that Dad's Mom wrote a horrific letter to my sister about 8 years ago, damning her for all eternity. I don't think any of my dad's other family knows about said letter, so they think the family estrangement has been our decision. Basically, there is the back story.

For reasons that are still not clear to me, my sister, parents and nephew went to visit these folks yesterday. Let me be clear that my dislike of them is only out of allegiance. I really have no personal beef, except that you just don;t treat people like that - especially family. So I thought it was pretty big of my sister to try to forgive.

Interestingly, nothing happened. The report all around is that everyone in Akron acted as if the last 10 years had not happened. How do you look at my gorgeous, intelligent, loving, kind and thoughtful nephew and not die a little death that you have voluntarily missed 10 years of knowing this fantastic kid? I don't know. It may have to do with the fact that I don't believe that my father's parents actually have souls.

My aunts - my dad's 2 sisters - are another story. I really don't know what to make of them. I truly don't think they know the letter ever existed. But why would they not ask what was up? Why would they not show support when our family was clearly in crisis? I really don't know.

So this is clearly not my tale to tell, but I am up to my neck in it. I have spent a decade of my life actively disliking this entire wing of my family (cousins excluded, got nothing against them) out of solidarity. What happens if those to whom I am bound decide to call a truce? How do you untrain yourself from such a strong distaste? How do you learn to like people you decided - long ago - were poison to your family? I just don't know. I just don't know.

Here is what I do know: If that is the way it shake out, that is what I will do. I will hop back on the Bratta train just as quickly as I hopped off. Out of solidarity. Like I said, I have no presonal beef with these people (other than my aunt calling me a piss ant when I didnlt tell her I was engaged and dad had to tell her...bygones, right?). But I am already struggling with how to automatically become a family after 10 years of distance, a decade of chosen banishment. I think it is going to be an interesting year.

Bucket List

2009-04-15T10:14:00.002-04:00

I got a note on Facebook the other day. A list of activities that I was supposed to check if I've done. The thing is, I had no interest in doing probably half of these things. Many of them involved going very fast or very high. Two things I am not fond of - especially in combination. Some of them involved travel to places I have no interest in going (because I don't like the food or the government. I know, I know...).

So, I thought I would start my own Bucket List. You know the premise - things I would like to do before I kick the bucket. I thought I would start keeping track of them. Not bcause you particularly care, but because it might prove helpful for me one day to have them all in one place. So, here it goes.

1. See Jack happy, healthy and successful.
2. Take in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade with my family.
3. See La Boheme at The Met.
4. Spend a month in New York in the fall just taking in art in all its forms.
5. Visit Italy for an extended period of time.
6. Travel to Israel and actually feel safe.
7. Grow really, really old, fat and happy with my husband.
8. A week in California wine country.
9. Write a memoir.
10. Make peace with my past.

Ten seems like a good starter. Have things you might like to share? I'm looking to grow the list and overflow my bucket :)

Blog Envy

2009-04-15T09:52:00.006-04:00

I don't think of myself as a competitive person by nature. That could be an admittedly biased view, but I am just putting it out there. I do like to have an especially tasty dish at a potluck and that, as my friend M. puts it, may be my one "thing."

I must admit, though, that recently, Blog envy has entered my consciousness. My friend J., who was my editor in Charlotte is, in fact, a superior writer. Her blog, Welcome to My Momplex, has almost 40 followers. I am guessing this is because she a) as already mentioned, is a superior writer and b) writes about more interesting things than her 20 year internal struggle with her grade school nemesis.

I realize, of course, that this is not a competition. This blog - ironically - started as a way to let said Momplex author know what was going on in my life without writing her e-mails that took three days to read. (Side note, J and I only worked together in Charlotte for six months, and have now been friends for over 10 years. Funny how fate works out, huh?)

My question to all of you out there in the blog-o-sphere is this - how does one build a readership? How does one grow your following to almost 40 people interested in what you have to say on a daily basis?

Now I will address what my friend T. - she of Momakin fame - has called "Comment Crack." Sooooo aptly put, friend. (She, may I add, also has a nice cache of followers. But I'm not supposed to be counting, right?) It is funny what I put out there that I think will engender a lot of debate among friends, or at least commenting. It never does. It is the post that is the throwaway that ends up with either a silly string of comments that I love or thought provoking notes from friends, some of whom I wasn't even aware stop by at all. Ahhh, the Comment Crack. So addictive when you get a taste, and yet something you cannot - or at least should not - force.

So I will continue brain-dumping, as I used to call it in my pre-baby life in the workplace, and you all do with it what ya please. I'm glad you stop by and happy you read. :)

Turn it off...

2009-04-14T12:03:00.002-04:00

1. In the afterlife, will everyone be judged by the effect their offenses had on others, or just by the fact that they committed said offenses? It certainly would be interesting if you were held accountable for what someone else becomes because of you.

2. Who are we going to get to fill the Resolutions Chair for Sisterhood next year?

3. If I don't get rest tomorrow, the next day is Wednesday and Jack is going to, almost literally, wear my ass down into a puddle.

4. I wonder if she even thought about the note or if she is just laughing. Probably just laughing. People have the capacity to chance, but rarely do. I hope her kids are mocked. No, I don't. Yes, I do. A little. No, really, I don't wish that on any kid, even hers.

5. Why is the dog dreaming about running? This dog NEVER runs in her awake hours, why would she save all of her running up until she sleeps?

So ends a brief list of things that were running through my head as I tried to fall asleep last night. I wish the brain came with a "power down" mode. Don't you?

A Message a Long Time Coming

2009-04-13T09:27:00.013-04:00

So any of you who have read this blog for at least a few months know of my emotional angst over my childhood tormentors locating me on Facebook. I made the mistake of asking Annie's older brother - a truly nice guy - her whereabouts (I know, I will admit it - honestly hoping she was a boozing homeless woman somewhere. I am glad to hear this is not the case, though). Her brother told Annie about my inquiry and took this to mean I would now like to be her friend. Wrong assumption.

The contact I have long dreaded was made yeasterday - Easter of all days. Jodi M. I will let my reply to her "Friend Request" speak for itself. This is the actual message I sent her. By hitting the send button, I think I am finally free of the demons. Or at lest starting to be...

Jodi -

You have got to be kidding me. Do you have any idea how much in therapy you, Erin and Annie have cost me over the years? You three made a sport out of making my life absolutely miserable for at least three years, and I hope it gave you at least as much pleasure as it did me pain.

It has been over 20 years now, so I suppose I should let it go. And I think I can actually say that with this e-mail and the ability to say my peace as an adult, I will. You three - and I have always thought of you as the ringleader - changed me profoundly, for better or worse. I'm still not sure, twenty years later, whether to thank you for that or not.

I am many things these days - a busy mom to a three-and-a-half year-old boy, a happy wife and what I consider to be a successful woman. What I am not, and can't imagine how you figure I could be, is your friend.

I wish you no harm. In fact, I wish you well. I also wish you, Annie and Erin would just leave me alone.

Chris Zimmer

The Rabbi Rocks

2009-03-31T12:35:00.007-04:00

If my posts have taken on a distinctly Hebrew flair lately, I apologize. I have been consumed with conversion. Between the Friday night Shabbat potlucks and the writing and editing of the Personal Statement (you don't know how badly I want to re-write the song "Personal Jesus" and sing a whole chorus about my essay... Reach out, write me...), I have a whole lot of Judaism goin' on over here.

This past Friday, we attended services and were treated to a sermon by Rabbi Rosenzweig. Now, both rabbis do a nice job when delivering a sermon. Emily is always a little more political, and her jokes are always more liberally sprinkled about, so I knew I was in for a treat. As the Torah portion was Leviticus - dealing with rules and exactly how one should sacrifice what and when, etc. etc., she didn't have a lot of tantalizing material to work with. Or so I thought.

We were about 7 minutes into the sermon when she started making comparisons to the AIG honchos who cashed their checks (or rather the money in those checks) and the "treif" or ritually unclean meat which Jews are forbidden to eat. It was about a 60 second leap before the word "Sexting" left her mouth for the first time. Sexting, for those of you who may not know, involves people - usually young girls, it seems - sending sexually explicit photos of themselves over their phones via text message.

In the course of the next five minutes or so, Emily must have said the word "sexting" about 7 or 8 times from the bimah (the Jewish equivalent to the altar). General shifting in the seats and nervous laughter was heard the first time she said it. The next seven times or so, people, I think, really tried to hear her message.

Which is great, because, as it so happens, we had visitors in the congregation that night. A group of teens from Saint Mary of Cortona Church. A group of young people that likely knew exactly what Emily was talking about, even if she had to explain it to the rest of us. Emily stood there and explained to them, and to us, that the lax morals and the lowered bar of socially acceptable sexual behavior is, in a word, treif.

How refreshing to have someone think through a seemingly mundane passage of scripture and find something so thoroughly modern - even shocking - that she made us pay attention. Dude, our rabbi ROCKS.

I am sure there are folks in the congregation who would disagree. Who were possibly offended by the content of the sermon on Friday. I say, keep on preaching, sister. That is exactly what the pulpit is for. Making ancient, seemingly outdated words modern. SHE GETS IT. I cannot tell you the number of Catholic homilies I have sat through. At least once a week from first grade through 12th, a few in college - mind numbing. Not once did I ever have an "Aha! Moment." I have had several in the 5 or so years I have been attending Temple Israel. That is one of many reasons I am converting.

Another, very minor reason? Because the Rabbi Rocks. :)

Ahava Who?

2009-03-21T15:14:00.002-04:00

I spend a lot of time re-playing conversations in my head. For no reason, usually, than to berate myself over some stupid thing I have said. This past week, it was an interaction with another pre-school parent.

I am finding that Judaism, with all of its streams and sects and levels of observance, is a veritable minefield for someone who trips over her tongue as easily as I. Last week I congratulated a father that I thought went to the synagogue (Torah Emet) that just built a new building on a "beautiful new shul." He looked at me for a split second before he said "Oh, no. We go to Ahava Sholem." Ahava Sholem is the most Orthodox of the synagogues in town. I am now replaying and earlier faux pas from over a year ago, when I extended my hand to this same man to shake. A no no in many orthodox circles. To his credit, he shook it and didn't make me feel weird, but now I am going to think about THAT one for a week. But I digress...

We briefly discussed how beautiful the new shul looked from the outside and how we would both love to take a tour of the inside. Pleasant enough stuff. But I spent a good 30 minutes shouting down the voices in my head (no, not literally) for having assumed he went to Torah Emet. I thought I had seen an article with him in a picture of their fundraising committee or something. I guess it was Ahava Sholem. Simple mistake and I am really quite convinced that he got into his minivan and literally did not think about it again ever. (Not then, not 30 minutes from then and certainly not 48 hours from then, now blogging about it.)

So why am I still thinking about it? Other than the already-established fact that I care way too much about pleasing people, I think this picking-over must be a woman thing. I caught a friend of mine doing it the other night.

I realized she wasn't saying what she was saying to get me to disagree with her or affirm her. She really believed that what she had said was the most idiotic thing that could have come out of a person's mouth. That was a head-scratcher for me, because this is one of the most put-together, on-top-of-things, intelligent women I know.

Fascinating that even we look to as models of togetherness still have those moments. It makes me feel silly for having thought about it for so long (wait, am I now going to have to blog about THAT?! I think not).

Haiku

2009-03-17T12:55:00.003-04:00

Made a lovely meal
Hot kibble breath on legs
Steak now less tasty

Jack is friend not food
Why is shampoo so tasty?
You lick your butt, too

So much thawed dog poop
On a lovely Spring morning
Should have got a cat

OOOOKLAHOMA!

2009-03-11T20:42:00.003-04:00

Where the wind goes whipping down the plains!

Holy hell, people. I live in Ohio, but for all the the air moving through my neighborhood at alarming speeds lately, you'd think I'd either landed in Tornado Alley or in Kansas, as Dorothy Gale's kooky next door neighbor.

We have had ca-razy weather here recently. As an example, I offer this: It was 77 degrees yesterday. Tonight, the low is forecast to be 25. My barometric head has been in an invisible vice for most of the last 24 hours.

You don't get a 50 degree drop in temperature without some atmospheric disturbances. While mom and dad got raging thunderstorms two hours south in Cincinnati, we got the wind. The sweet, dulcet tones of my wind chimes, tuned to Pachabel's Canon in D, turned into AC/DC's "Back in Black" at about 2 a.m.

So what is going on with the weather this year? A year ago last weekend (and, last weekend we again had temps in the 70s) we got almost 3 feet of snow here. I'm used to snow in March in Ohio. It's what we do. In February, we'll usually get a few 70 degree days where the nutballs bust out the shorts and tank tops and then Mother Natures laughs her ass off by dumping several inches of snow on us Easter weekend. Ha ha. We get it. We live in Ohio.

This year has seemed like a never ending game of weather double-dutch. You've got your spring/summer wardrobe right there - looking at it longingly. And like that game of double-dutch you keep trying to time your entrance right. I'm jumping into the t-shirts. No, wait. Maybe next weekend. No, wait. I missed it. Crap. OK, here it comes. I'm ready! Nope. Before you know it, it's June and you have a closet full of turtlenecks and Land's End sweaters that don't go so great with your newly-purchased flip-flops.

On the upside, it looks like next week we'll be starting our warm-up for real. Our slow ascent into the 50s, where we'll remain, happily for awhile, because the words "wind chill" are absent from our forecast. By Passover, we will be in the upper 60s, and sleeveless tops will be en vogue - way too early, if you ask me. My thought is, if you are wearing shorts in April, what is there left to wear in August, when it is 102?

Ah, Ohio. You have to love a place with 100 degree fluctuations in temperatures in any given year and a population still large enough to boast three major cities. I think it's the weather that makes us crazy, actually.

Seeking Shabbat

2009-03-10T20:51:00.004-04:00

In Hebrew, the only day of the week with an actual name is Saturday - Shabbat. Every other day is simply "One day towards Shabbat" or "Three days toward Shabbat..." etc. This is how much Jews are supposed to love, honor and anticipate the celebration of their Sabbath. It is a fantastic concept.

In Judaism, days start on the previous evening. So the Sabbath starts Friday evening. since we've begun "making Shabbos" at home, I have begun looking forward to Friday nights. We wanted to make sure Jack understood the significance of the Friday night ritual of lighting candles, saying the blessings and taking time out to be extra-special thankful. He has finally started wearing his kippah - yarmulke - just like Daddy and takes special pride in his job of placing the candles in their holders. It's nice to know that he is "getting it" in some small ways.

We've recently begun what I hope becomes a very long-standing tradition. We have started a Shabbat pot-luck with a group of close friends that, for the most part, we consider like family. Everyone goes to services beforehand and e all convene at the hosts' home for dinner afterward. The hosts provide the main dish and everyone else takes care of sides, desserts, etc. We all make it a priority to get to services and it takes the burden of making a huge meal every Friday off of a lot of working moms, who now only have to do a crock-pot dish once a month.

My bigger point is this. I have now started to look at Shabbat the way God intended. I look at Sunday as "One day towards the next Shabbat!" or, more like "Oh man! Six more days until the next Shabbat!"

At our inaugural Shabbat gathering, not only did we have some laughs, but we discussed the history of the Holocaust and the future of synagogue auxiliary groups. So there are so fairly serious Jewish-themed discussions going on as well.

One of the things I have been struggling most with during my conversion is a sense of family, a sense of roots. Since my husband's family really won't view me a Jewish even after my conversion, (much as they don;t view Jack as Jewish) they can, or won't offer any help in forming any solid ground in which to plant my Jewish roots.

These people, though, my Friday night Shabbat Friends/Family - They are my home. If I am seeking an authentic Shabbat experience, where I think God is present and looking in on Jews and thinking "This is Good," I have found it. Here is where I think we can all plant roots and continue to bear the fruit of friendship and faith.

Ode to Mucinex Full Force

2009-03-04T09:28:00.002-05:00

Oh Mucinex Full Force, Drano of the Nose
How mine nasal membranes doth shink in horror when thou doth appear.
Oh blast of freedom from congestion
How doth does free me from another endless night staring into the abyss; mouth breathing.
I know not where the nasal yuckiness goes, nor do I care.
Oh cool gust of inhalation
I thank thee for the use of my probiscus once again.

Time in a Bottle

2009-02-15T08:33:00.003-05:00

I have lately been obsessed with my job search. It is coming up on a year of seeking meaningful, long-term employment. The cloud of desperation has parted a few times in the past few months, to reveal what I should actually be focusing on. How truly blessed I actually am (Yes, it is going to be one of THOSE posts).

In spite of the fact that nearly everyone warned us that "three is worse than two) when it comes to The Toddler, he has been a particular joy lately. He is just the most loving, funny kid. I'm not sure there is anyone on earth who enjoys silliness, tickling and laughing as much as our son. Jenny, bless her, was the only one who said that once E hit three, she was having a fantastic time. I have to agree with her. J has come into his own and I marvel daily at what an actual person he is. When did he develop a sense of humor? Opinions on fish ticks and tomatoes? The ability to lie about farting?

After talking to a close friend with a 16 year old, I want to keep Jack right here, right now forever. I want to keep the kid who doesn't want to go downstairs on Saturday morning to watch cartoons, but would rather snuggle in bed with mommy for a half an hour instead. I want to forever keep the kid that, for no reason, grabs my hand and tells me "I hold hands Mommy. I wuv you." I want to keep the tiny, falsetto voice who sings "Baby Mine" and "Hey Jude" - word for word - with me on so many nights before bed. I've stopped wishing for "when will he be potty trained?" and started wishing for time to stand still.

I have mentioned my group of friends here before. This group of fantastic people who make me laugh until I literally pee a little. These good souls who have offered encouragement, hugs and advice. Oh, and I asked earlier "how do I get a kid like that?" It turns out there is a book! A book most of them have read (1,2,3 Magic...reading it now) that will actually help me raise kids as fantastic as theirs! Amazing. I literally thank God every night for these people. No irony there, since I met them all through temple :)

Then there is the Cashmere Mafia. These are the girls who have come and gone, moves through zip codes and area codes, boyfriends and babies and have all come back to me. I say me, because they are my angels. These are the girls I can call at 3 a.m. in a crisis and who would be packing a bag saying reassuringly "I am on my way." We don't see each other as often as we'd like, but the Girl's nights are my treasured oasis, where I can say anything, give true opinions and they love me anyway.

Finally, there is The 'Wald. The man has the patience of a saint. I am a handful. A moody, sarcastic, passive-aggressive handful at my worst. Most days, he takes it in stride. Ours is not the storybook romance or public displays of affection, but it is the comfy "Hey can I grab that deodorant while you're on the potty" kind of contentment. It works for us the vast majority of the time. Osi is a good dad and incredibly supportive. He loves me when I can't stand myself. I'm grateful he kept pursuing me after I told him - many times and in no uncertain terms - that it wasn't gonna happen. Again, the patience of a saint.

So I'd really like to help Jim Croce find out how to put Time in a Bottle. Yesterday was a pretty good day - I'll take that one, please.

The Scoop on JFS

2009-02-11T17:18:00.002-05:00

I thought this would be easier than answering the phone or e-mails over and over this evening, so I'll give you all the scoop at once.

I feel like I knocked the JFS interview out of the park this afternoon. I talked to four upper management folks at the the agency - all very delightful. We talked for an hour and I feel like I answered all of their questions spot-on and finished up with a real sense of accomplishment...

Until we got to the hours and salary portion of the show. I was originally told that the position would be close to 30 hours/week. Totally doable at the pay they are offering. This afternoon, the gal who would be my supervisor told me she misspoke and it is a static 20 hours a week. Not so doable.

I would so rock this position. I know I could be a phenomenal volunteer coordinator. i would love going to work every day (or on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, since I would be able to set my own hours). Sadly, I just don't think we can make it work financially.

So, I have to call the wonderful woman who is my would-be supervisor and tell her the news tomorrow.

I know another opportunity will come along. I just have to take a quick minute to mourn this loss and move on.

Just wanted to let everyone know. If you know anyone looking for an excellent volunteer coordinator - give me a call!

Motherhood, or, "Gird Your Loins!"

2009-02-09T02:56:00.002-05:00

We had dinner this weekend with Bubby and Zayde, also Bubby and Zayde to Jack's friends Chelsea (3 months younger than J) and Emily (1 year). Dinner conversation turned, as it often does with a mother of a toddler, to bodily functions.

I will say it right out loud: Zayde is a big old chicken. The man hunts bucks with a bow and arrow, and then proceeds to field dress them, but I have seen him nearly lose his lunch over a particularly rancid diaper. Don't ask me how we finished dinner over this talk, but apparently snot bubbles are his particular weakness. He finds them the most horrid, offensive things in the universe. Snot bubbles.

I have seen my father - all 6' 5" Italian Stallion of him - break the sound barrier moving in the opposite direction of helpful when Jack starts to gag. I believe he actually left a puff of smoke shaped like his body, like a cartoon character. He maintains that he was just going to get paper towels. Liar. He still believes that anyone with enough moral fiber can talk themselves out of throwing up. He once left the room green and quiet when the dog barfed after eating too much snow.

I mention all of this because this weekend I was awakened by the sound of a vomiting child. At 2 a.m., I was able to change the sheets, and clean, change and comfort said child all by the glow of his Curious George nightlight. Daddy slept through the entire thing. Or pretended to sleep - one of the two.

I think the last time another person's bodily misfortune made me gag was long before Jack was born. Perhaps once you grow an entire person within your person, you are no longer able to be grossed out by the unfortunate things said tiny person does with their body.

I have cleaned up more puke than I like to discuss. Jack, to this day, has texture issues with his food. If there is an unexpected texture to something, he will hork it up without a second thought. I once saw him hit the dog from 10 paces with the remnants of a bologna sandwich. The kid does not mess around.

We have a special term for those diapers that can make any non-parent beg for mercy - it's the ooey gooey pooey. We must laugh, lest we cry and he mere stench. And snot bubbles? God bless them, kids just can't help it until they learn the mechanics of blowing their noses.

So what is with these men? What makes their stomachs turn as they - almost literally in many cases - run screaming from the room? Man up, people! It's just a little (insert favorite excretion here)!

I've said it before and I'll say it again - only your mother loves you enough to pick your nose.

And She Was

2009-02-07T08:15:00.003-05:00

I write this as my palms continue to grow clammy. Isn't that insane? I was on Facebook this morning and in the "People You May Know" box, there she was. Jodi Marshall Boyd. All I need now is Erin Murray and the unholy triumvirate is complete.

I've got a voice in my head that is saying - yelling, really - that it has been 25 years, why are your palms sweating, you idiot? I know exactly why. There is a quote from someone, I don't know whom, that says something like "People will not remember what you did, or what you said,but how you made them feel." That is exactly why my hands are clammy right now. Even though it has been 25 years, the way Jodi, Erin and (sometimes) Annie made me feel was pathetic.

Even more ironic, Annie just posted our 6th grade class picture on Facebook and here's the thing. I wasn't only NORMAL looking, I was kinda cute for a buck-toothed, pony-tailed 11 year old. I was not, in the least, the most homely kid in the class. (Second row from the back, third kid from the left with the red dress and the barrettes. That's me.) So it begs the question "why me?" Out of 30 kids in that 6th grade class, why was I the target? My guess is because a lot of these kids had been together since kindergarten and it was just plain fun to pick on the new girl.

I used to be thrilled to be invited to sleepovers, only to realize that I was only there to be the target of childhood pranks. It's like they invited the human pinata, who was so happy to be invited anywhere, that she just kept going.

My friend J. says that by growing into a decent human being, having a great family, etc., I actually got the last laugh. While I know on some level he is right, I'd still like to pants all three of these gals in front of a large, unfriendly crowd (which is pretty much what junior high felt like for me, thanks to them).

I am hoping this will be my last blog post about these three. I have talked about it pretty frequently, and I don't like to dwell on the past. It is funny to me that Jodi can still get this very real, visceral reaction from me. I have a feeling it is how an abused woman feels when she hears a male voice raised in her direction.

When Columbine happened, and for years afterward, the media was reporting stories about childhood bullying. Intelligent news people seemed supremely shocked that kids could be so horrid. But when you look at the limitless creativity generally found in kids, and couple that with hormones and burgeoning social status, truly heinous things start to happen. Every time I heard a new feature about bullies - girl bullies in particular, I laughed at the media's naivete.

You know why they are surprised? Their kids never got bullied. They were probably the ones doing the bullying.

My Dog is a Hot Mess

2009-02-06T08:39:00.005-05:00

When we were looking to obtain a pooch, I said I wanted one "with personality." Frannie the Wonder Mutt has that in spades. In fact, we often joke that she has multiple personalities.

When taken to the dog park, Frannie wants nothing to do with the other dogs. She will, however, go to up to each and every human and greet them. We have decided that Fran thinks she is a person - and she is NOT a dog person.

Ms. Francesca Grace was NOT down with the new addition to the family three years ago. As far as she was concerned, she had been replaced. For the first 2 years, Fran basically let Jack live, because he seemed important to us, and also he drops food. You know the old joke that the kid is so ugly you had to tie a pork chop around his neck to get the dog to play with him? Well, give Jack a cookie and he has Frannie's' undivided attention. The vet once said that, because she is part lab, she is "highly motivated by food." That is the understatement of the decade. I once saw that little bitch complete a cookie-snatching drive-by, snatching a cookie out of our then 1-year-old niece's fingers. She never knew what happened. Fran never even stopped. Just walked by casually and the cookie was gone.

Osi likes to give Fran table scraps. A practice that I am OK with occasionally, but Os views as a "food = love" situation. Because of this, our 60 pound dog ways 85 pounds. She also frequently eats herself sick. Like a little canine bulimic. Ever try scrubbing freshly-regurgitated cottage cheese out of a rug? It is no picnic, friend.

Also on Fran's list of faults, she hates a bath like Cheney hates transparency. Jack and I attempted to bathe her royal highness on Wednesday. It did not go well. First off, her head is about the size of an underdeveloped coconut when wet. Stick that on the body of an 85 pound dog and what you have is just not pretty. he also gets what we call "crazy eyes" in the tub. So the entire time she is being cleaned, Her eyes are wide and they are constantly darting around the room, looking for a quick escape. Jack, for his part, stood in the doorway holding his ears (his sign of worry) and kept backing out of the room, as if to say "I want no part of this. I tried to talk her out of it Dude. I will not be a party to this."

Here's the thing, Frannie has such a cute face. She has come a long way since we got her over 5 years ago, in letting us love her to pieces. She would not tolerate a puppy hug for the first year. Now, she can lay in bed and be spooned and cuddled while only crying quietly. I mean really, what 5 year relationship doesn't have those moments? :)

We love our neurotic, hot mess of a dog. We love her because she is sweet and gentle and is happy to see us when we come home. We love her because even though she pretends to loathe Jack, she goes into his room every morning, tail wagging, to say good morning. We love her because, when we accidentally leave the gate open, we find her on the front porch, hanging out and greeting neighbors.

She's a hot mess, alright. But she's OUR hot mess. Really, she fits right in.

Rush Tells Women to Go F%#@ Themselves

2009-02-05T14:26:00.004-05:00

So I am sitting at the table this morning, bleary-eyed and trudging through the morning paper while Jack is fascinated by the Noggin website. The assault to my ears that is Rush Limbaugh came on to promote his afternoon show. I usually tune him out, since I have come to expect hyperbole, right-wing crapola and genuine trash to eminate from his pie-hole. Oh, but Rush took it to another level this morning.

Apparently done, for the moment, Obama-bashing, Rush started with Gloria Steinem. And not just her, but all "radical feminists." let's assume, for the sake of argument, that to Rush, "radical feminist" is anyone who a) wants equal pay for equal work, b) would like the goverment to stay the hell away from their uterus and c) maybe sometimes doesn't don a Playtex push-up.

In London, a Komodo Dragon has managed to asexually reproduce. A fact that I think is worth reporting on for the pure "how-the-hell-did-THAT-happen" angle, but as Rush took as a "women don't need men for anything anymore, not even procreation."

The mocking tone first thing in the morning is irritating, but the general gist of his 2 minute rant was that, Hey, why don't you "radical feminists" take a cue from his lizard and go fuck yourselves, since, you know, you don't need men for anything anymore.

I will proudly admit to being a Democrat, so Rush and I see eye-to-eye on exactly nothing, but, wait a minute here. This is 2009, people, how did feminists become a punchline AGAIN? I am baffled and a little sickened.

Two Rabbis Walk Into a Starbucks...

2009-02-03T10:28:00.002-05:00

I was at our local Starbucks this morning, awaiting a meeting that never showed. In walked the very lovely Rabbi Sharon Mars, a extraordinarily sweet woman with what I imagine to be an incredibly tough job. Among other things, she ministers to the area's Jewish prisoners. I introduced myself because she had given a lovely sermon a few weeks ago at temple and also, I was hunting her down to speak at the Sisterhood's upcoming Women's Seder . Funny, that, since I managed to track down Rabbi Abrahamson for the same reason on Sunday by lurking in the temple lobby at the right time (shhhh. Be vewy qwuiet. I'm hunting wabbis...).

We were having a cordial conversation when the apparent reason for her Starbucks rendezvous arrived - Rabbi Misha Zinkow. Misha is the Senior Rabbi at Temple Israel. An eloquent writer, academic and, as I am slowly learning, in possession of a sharp and dry sense of humor (not unlike a nice red wine, I suppose, his humor). He joined us briefly.

Had you told me even 5 years ago I would be standing in a Starbucks in the middle of Bexley chatting it up easily with two rabbis, I not only would have laughed you out of your own socks, I would have chided you ceaselessly for the mere suggestion. Lesson learned. Never say never.

This encounter occurred the day after my job interview at Jewish Family Services for the volunteer coordinator position (sounds a lot like community organizer, doesn't it? I like to think so. I suppose Rudy Giuliani will be publicly mocking me next.) I would REALLY like to get this job. Working with volunteers is my passion and I find the Jewish Community endlessly fascinating, if not amusing in its own little way - the way any ethnic community can be.

Example: when I was growing up and before we moved to Marietta, we belonged to a predominantly Italian catholic church. Kids in my class had last names like Frattioli, Maltempi, Sanzone and D'Andrea. Like any close-knit, ethic community, though, there was bickering on how things should be done (I learned this later). Italians, in case you hadn't noticed, have lots of opinions and prefer to share them at a volume that competes with the opera playing in the background. Since I grew up in the stereotype, I don't mind exploiting it.

Back to the Jewish community... Not a lot of people can agree on what is kosher enough, or observant enough. Orthodox Jews don't recognize Reform Jews as Jews at all. What I am saying is that the community, as a whole, has its quirks and I think it would be challenge and a hoot to work with that every day.

So, with my impending conversion, Sisterhood co-presidency beginning in May, and now a possible job at Jewish Family Services, have I achieved my own trifecta? I dunno, but I shake my head and chuckle when I think about where I have come from, where I am now and where I am headed. By the time Jack graduates high school and heads to Brandeis, will I be a full-fledged, wig-wearing, kosher-keeping Chasidim? I don't see it. But never say never.

Learning to Let Go

2009-02-01T07:25:00.003-05:00

I've recently had a bit of a revelation. Although it has long been a running joke that I can be bitter, in the last few weeks, I have examined just how angry a person I actually am. And it isn't healthy. Not physically, not emotionally and certainly not for my current relationships.

For some of you, this is no surprise. Others may think I am not that angry at all. Actually, I'm not sure what A LOT of people think about me, but sure do spend way too much time thinking about it.

There is an absurdly long list of people at whom I am livid, dating all the way back to seventh grade. Now, as a realist, I know there is an excellent possibility that these gals have grown up to be decent human beings. That their own children may even be suffering the kind of torment that they put me through and that, as mothers, their hearts are breaking. Even if that is not the case, they may be just decent people now. So I need to let it go. The hurt those seventh-graders did made me who I am today, and I can't really change that. Except I can.

There's the normal list of ex-boyfriends (just one, really) and people who hurt those close to me - some continue to do so an a weekly basis. The point, again, is that is an absurdly long list. I need to forgive those people in my heart and learn to KEEP forgiving (if those people happen to be family) and keep moving forward.

I wondered aloud last night if the funny was tied to the anger. To which Feeb replied "You're not really that funny to begin with." (She's on the list now.) Funny's what I've got. Funny's what I know. Funny is the armor AND the sword.

Then I think about my friend Sandy, who I believe really is centered, has her priorities straight, and doesn't hold grudges. She is literally the funniest person I know. So, that blows my angry = funny theory, which was my security blanket.

So, where to begin? Do I just say out loud: "Jodi Marshall, Erin Murray, I forgive you."? Will the universe accept that? I dunno. I guess that is where I will begin and hope that my heart lifts a little with each name I say aloud. If not, I'll just turn the whole thing into a stand-up routine (which Feeb, apparently, would not pay to see...) ;)

In The Navy

2009-01-29T15:26:00.002-05:00

I am currently seeking employment, which means I make the rounds on numerous job sites. Monster.com being ubiquitous, I usually start there. Apparently, so does the U.S. Armed Forces, which is a little disarming (ha ha, bad pun totally intended).

The Navy has a pretty sweet marketing copy person, because they have made me want to enlist a number of times. For instance, did you know that they are currently hiring photojournalists? They also need editors and people with marketing experience (although I beg to differ, their marketing campaign on Monster.com is genius).

Their current slogan, at least for the Reserves, is "Part time service. Full time life." Pretty savvy. Except, you know, there are, like, three wars going on and Reservists are known for getting yanked out of the "hey, let's help the flood victims" situations and plopped right down in the middle of, say, Kuwait.

Still, I wonder what editors and photojournalists in the Navy do. I mean, why did we have these folks embedded if we already had men and women trained in the arts over there ready to whip off a jaunty phrase and produce a Pulitzer prize-winning photograph?

Let me step back, because I think this is coming off in a mocking tone and let me be clear: I completely and totally respect the men and women defending our country. I respect the fact that we are, presumably, giving them training for a life after war. I just can't get my mind around someone snapping pictures in the middle of Baghdad.

But someone has to do it, I suppose. I was just surprised that they've taken their campaign to Monster.com. Like a middle-aged housefrau will be looking to get back to work and think, "Well, I have had no bite on the resume. The Navy says I can be an editor for them. Think I'll join up!" Maybe that happens. In these economic times, anything is possible.

Snowed

2009-01-29T06:13:00.002-05:00

I was in New Orleans this past weekend for a Sisterhood conference. Everything about it was nice. I traveled with a friend, we ate good food and learned interesting things. I came back with good ideas. However, being a realist, I realize that these are ideas that mat never get implemented because I am already over committed within Sisterhood, finding a job, at home at trying to plan this bad reunion I should have never signed up for.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Osi did an adequate job at keeping everyone alive. It was his first time being alone with Jack for an extended time. We did a test run this summer while I did an overnight run with my sister and cousins in northern Ohio. When I returned on Sunday, the house was not a complete disaster and both Osi and Jack were dressed.

Every now and again, I think every mom goes through the "I am so not appreciated" blues, and I am having one of those periods now. I am not the best housekeeper and I will readily admit it. But I do try to keep the clutter to less-than-my-mother's limit, dishes out of the sink and the bathrooms usable by company. I don't think guests have ever been blatantly grossed out by our house. (If you have please don;t publicly burst my bubble here.) I cook most nights - including preparing 3 days worth of baked ziti for when I was out of town. Osi does do the clean up when I cook, and vice versa. Still, most of the honest-to God child-rearing (bathing, teaching of manners, feeding, medicine administering, etc.) falls to me.

How will this work when I go back to work? How will I keep up all my other obligations when I have a 40 hour per week job to add to the mix? It scares me and makes me sad to think about it.

We're beneath a good (or bad?) 8 inches of snow today. Thus the title of this post. Jack came home from school Tuesday with a horrible cough that kept me up most of the night that night. It was much better yesterday and he slept through the night last night (aside from the usual 12:30 are-you-there-mommy? check in). However, he was up at 4:22 am. I SOOOO want to send the little bugger to school this morning, but the cough seems to be back. What to do?

I NEED sleep or I am GOING TO SNAP. Sending him to school exposes him to other kids, which is not fair to them or their parents. Though, I must admit, if I were working, he would be going to school today and i would be going to work.

Some days I feel like this whole motherhood thing was just a snow job. Some hours, literally, I am thrilled to be doing it. And some hours - say, like 4 am this morning - notsomuch. The scales thus fa are tipping to the positive. After spending the weekend with someone with a 16 year old boy, though, I fear the future.

Rants and Raves

2009-01-18T09:19:00.002-05:00

We have had an interesting weekend.

I'll start with a rave: Osi and I finally had a chance to spend a few hours together, sans little man, yesterday. We went to see Frost/Nixon. Now, I usually go to movies to get lost and laugh, so it apparently took The 'Wald by surprise when I suggested we go see the political/historical film. (Hey, the only comedies were entitled "Paul Blart, Mall Cop" and "Hotel for Dogs." Puh. Leeze.) The movie was exceptional! I was both entertained and educated during the 2 hour movie. I thoroughly enjoyed it and highly recommend it. Funny how there were maybe 2 people in the packed theater under age 30. Wouldn't it be GREAT if The Millennials plugged into a little bit of this interesting entertainment rather than sitting through $9 of crap about an inept mall cop? If you get a chance, Frost/Nixon is well worth the money. It won the Golden Globe for Best Picture and the guy playing Nixon (Frank Langella) won the Globe for Best Actor. Plus, it has Oliver Platt, whom I have adored sine the Three Musketeers in the 90s. I hope you'll see it.

(Rant:) We arrived for said movie a good 20 minutes early and found decent seats. The theater continued to fill in up until the opening credits. Here is what I do not understand: A woman came into our row during the lights-already-down previews and asked that everyone in the row move down a seat so that she and her friend could sit together in our row. Now, there were plenty of seats available in the strain-your-neck first three rows of the theater and all of us had gotten there in plenty of time to secure the fact that we could enjoy the movie without having to do the arm rest tango with a stranger. It takes a lot of chutzpah to come in while the lights are already out and ask - ney, demand - that the entire row scooch down for you. She actually got into a loud argument with the people seated next to us. She was not even pleasant about it. I just don't get people. Had it been me, I would have sucked it up, accepted we were late and sat in the second row. That is the price I pay for not timing my arrival appropriately.

(Rave:) We also enjoyed - or tried to enjoy - a wonderful dinner at the Buckeye Hall of Fame Cafe. Osi and I agree they have the BEST wings in Columbus. The bread them THEN fry and coat them. GENIUS! Also, they are large (bigger than Hooters? Don't know. Haven't been and won't go.)

(Rant): In the middle of dinner, we received a call from my sister, who was home with Jack. Apparently, the City of Bexley has stopped by (not the entire city, just a worker), and WE were the reason for the giant ice rink/puddle on our street. Oops. Some dumbass (that would be me) forgot to disconnect the garden hose from the outside faucet. Know what that means in -9 degree temps for several days? That is correct, friend - a burst water pipe. Yay! Luckily, our basement is, like, one of 6 in Bexley with a sump pump, so the water was running into the sump pump and then being pumped out to the street - thus causing the ice rink/puddle. Doh! And, even better news, it has apparently been broken since Thursday. We are both dreading the water bill.

(Rave:) Luckily, Super Duper Gary Cooper to the rescue! While neither of us is particularly handy, Gary (who basically raised Osi from age 8 or so on up) is the Jewish MacGyver. He came over last night and put a shut off valve on the offending pipe. We owe him a debt of gratitude and tiramisu.

(Rant:) With that crisis averted, we sat watching last night's news. The Director of OSU's Institute for Race and Ethnicity, made the following comment on the local news: "For a long time, African Americans have been on the wrong side of racism." What the hell? Is there a RIGHT side of racism that I have missed in 35 years on this earth? Last time I checked, ALL sides of racism were abhorrent. This is a man, theoretically one of the top in his field, implying that there is a correct side of racism? I just give up. Two steps forward, one step back. C'mon people. Think before you speak.

So, that was our Saturday. We are headed to Bubby and Zayde's for lunch today (rave, rave, rave!) so that Jack and Chelsea can play and relieve Bub and Zade of having to keep the kids constantly entertained. Let's hope the rest of the weekend shapes up to be a little less eventful.

Hair Slut

2009-01-15T11:08:00.002-05:00

I have to confess this - out loud, in writing, whatever! I cheated.

I had a what I hope to be the wonderful beginnings of an affair this morning. It was scheduled by that pimp Charles Penzone. My husband even paid for it! Yes, friends, I cheated on my hairdresser. Oh, the shame.

It started innocently enough. We, like the rest of the country, are tightening our belts. One of the things to go on my list was the $45 haircut (let us not even discuss the price of keeping up the delusion that this is my natural color...). So, I had grown long, and shaggy and, disturbingly, poofy, not unlike a Chia Pet.

Then, lo, during the wondrous holiday of Chrismukka not one but TWO gift cards to Charles Penzone salons and spas were bestowed unto me by. Those close to me (and now, I guess, you) know that I am a fool for the hot stone massage. Why bother with a human touch when you can be rubbed into oblivion by greasy rocks? Wait a tick, that is actually MUCH better than it sounds, but I digress. The gift cards were given for the purpose of said massaging, but my hair is just about as bad off as my nerves these days, so I opted for a "cut and design" instead.

Oh, the thrill of being someplace I shouldn't have been - the chair of another hair diva. I mentioned my relationship to the new girl. Like all Charles Penzone "working girls", she clearly had no conscience, because the mention of my old girl didn't phase her. I was a paying customer and she would give me what I wanted, darn it!

And she did. The results are fantastic. I love the new, more textured 'do. I had been with my old hair diva for almost 8 years. (Criminy - a time period I am now realizing coincides with how long I have been married. While I am completely satisfied with my husband, I had a wandering eye when it came to my hair.) I'm not proud of the cheating, and feel as if I may run into my old hair diva on the street with my new, short cut and she'll brand a bright red "A" upon my chest.

But it feels (and looks) so gooooooooood. ;)

I Am The Masked Avenger!

2009-01-13T10:58:00.004-05:00

Jack has had a rough month. It started with a double-ear infection just before Christmas. He now has a sinus infection and, over the weekend, all of his cranial orifices were so clogged that he ended up with pink eye. Ew. This has left me administering many medications to an unwilling child.

The last time J had an ear infection, we took him to a doc in our group who was not his usual pediatrician. He was a short, slight man, but had a nice bedside manner. When he tried to pin Jack to look in his ears, he needed help. As the then 2-year-old thrashed about, limbs flailing in all directions, the tiny doc looked up and said "Boy, he;s strong!" with the most weirdly intense, I-am-trying-to-hold-it-together smile I have ever seen from a physician.

I tell you this because now it is my turn in the ring with The Toddler. We started Saturday night with eye drops for the Pink Eye. After about 6 unsuccessful attempts, I tagged in my partner. Well, "tag" is not really true. It took BOTH of us - large-ish, grown people, to hold down The Boy and pry his eyelids open to administer the drops. I SWEAR he is going to have 2 black eyes by the time we're done with the drops tonight.

He also has what I call (God, forgive me) Wal-Mart Baby Nose. He wakes up with a thick crust of goop attached to both nose-holes. And this goop has multiplied, had a family, given them names. You know, taken root. This is stuff that cannot be sicked out by the Booger Ball (oh, what, you actually call it the "nasal aspirator?).

Here is something not a lot of people will say out loud: Only your mother loves you enough to pick your nose. This also involves me pinning him to the floor with my knees and holding his head in some kind of grip I must have learned from watching "COPS." I have tried sucking the boogies out with the little bulb aspirator thingny. I have tried having him blow. I have tried warm washcloths to loosen said goop. Aside from take a pick axe and a miner's head lamp up in there, this is the only way I can figure to get the job done, people.

Finally, there is the administering of the horrible tasting medicine. Even though we have had it flavored "grape," I have tasted it. It is BAD. This involves the aforementioned pinning, trying to get him to swallow the medicine while The Boy is basically blowing a constant stream of air out of his mouth so that nothing can go it (he's a smart little bugger). My only chance is catching him on the inhale. And to get him to swallow it, I have to hold his nose. Lord, it is awful. This entire routine takes a while each evening. And we've started bribing him with chocolate. It helps, but only with the taste afterward.

I'm not sure which one of us is going to come out of this latest bout of illness more scarred - physically and emotionally. I won't lie. The kid has a killer right hook. He land's it almost 50% of the time, because Mommy is old and slow. But I swear I need a drink every night after the trauma of having my only child scream "Noooooo MOOOOOMMMMYYYYYYY!!! STOP!" For a good 10 minutes.

OK, so that is my vent for the day. I am going to go pump some iron now, in preparation for tonight's match. God help me if that kid learns how to drop-kick.

A Completely Biased View of the Mid-East Situation

2009-01-12T14:04:00.002-05:00

I can't claim to have any insights on the Israel-Palestine conflict. Honestly, I have only recently started paying attention. If the truth be told, my attitude has always bee that there is going to have to be an all-out, to-the-death war to end the skirmishes over land and boundaries.

What I didn't realize (because I chose to ignore the information) is that, for so many people, it is an all-out, to-the-death war. On a daily basis.

An acquaintance on Facebook recently posted a really good note likening the Israel-Palestine situation to a U.S.-Canada relationship. He asked:

"Imagine this. The Canadian people elect a terror organization to run their government. That organization is sworn to the destruction of the United States. Its charter calls for us to be slaughtered. They hold large rallies at which they scream in unison “Death to America”. They animate their own version of Mickey Mouse for their children with Mickey armed with guns and rockets calling for our blood. They send suicide bombers into nearby Buffalo, New York and kill civilians indiscriminately."*

What would we do? Only what Israel has done - defend itself from the hatred and those obsessed with the country's destruction.

So it is through this paradigm that I now view the situation. How dare we protest? How dare people make a stink about dead civilians, when Hamas has been launching rockets into neighborhoods and schools for decades and Israel has tried - ironically - to turn the other cheek. The death of civilians in any war is a very sad thing - I am not without sorrow for the innocent. That being said, it is the government these people elected that is putting them in harm's way. When you are launching rockets from schools and homes, how can you expect NOT to be fired upon? To cry "foul!" is to out your own guerrilla tactics.

I am not surprised to learn that protests in Europe against the Israeli-Palestinian war have turned violent. I needed only to read that people were hurling shoes at Israeli Embassy guards to figure out the kind of extremists involved. The mind-set of this particular group of extremists is that THEY are the only ones with rights, THEY are the only ones who have lives that matter and that THEY have been wronged.

And guess what? These are the same extremists lining up for terrorist training camps that focus on targets other than Israel. These are people who want to board our planes. These are extremists that hate US, too.

"If you aren't terrified, you haven't been paying attention." I read that on a bumper sticker somewhere. It certainly sums up how I feel about the current situation. It isn't just about a strip of land in the Middle East. It is about how terrorist organizations get voted into power, therefore legitimized, and then start taking over the world - one small strip of land at a time.

*blatantly ripped-off from Gordon Hecker's notes. If you on Facebook, I highly suggest you read the entire entry. It is eloquent and succinctly stated.

I Missed the Memo

2009-01-07T14:19:00.003-05:00

I like my house. I don't l-o-v-e it, but the kitchen makes the cramped upstairs worth it. What I do NOT like is my neighborhood. I can hear the Sesame Street song in my head now "Oh, who are the people in your neighborhood, in your neighborhood, in your neigh-bor-hoo-ood..." Well, Snuffy, they are snobs.

I knew I was in trouble one day last summer, shortly after we moved in, when I pulled into our driveway and spied my next-door neighbor watering her landscaping (more on this later). She was outfitted in a tennis skirt, cutesy matching top, cardigan around her shoulders (hey, Muffy, you missed a spot!) and - the clincher - those little tennis socks with the balls at the heels. I didn't even know you could BUY those anymore! As I was wearing khaki shorts and a grungy t-shirt, I thought "Hmmm, this reeks of yummydom, no?"

Cut to the first cool day last fall, when the Central Bexley uniform was revealed to me: Capri-length yoga pants, a turtleneck and a North Face vest. I counted no less than 4 women on my block marching their kids to school in said uniform. Shouldn't they include this info in the closing? If the neighborhood association requires a North Face vest, than perhaps I can figure that into my closing costs (or, at the price of North Face, maybe my monthly payments).

We bought the house from our former rabbi, who loved to garden. I love the man still, but I have completely ruined dudes landscaping. I know he drives by every once in a great while and prays for my eternal soul and my black, black thumb. The summer we moved into the house - and this is not hyperbole - I replanted the damn flower boxes 5 times between Memorial Day and Labor Day. DeMonye's Greenhouse loves me. To make matters worse, the guy across the street owns a landscaping company, so I am quite sure we are a pox upon the neighborhood, what with the wilting and the dying.

I DO have to say that the one part of our neighborhood that I do love lives right next door. The Vitarteses (and I still can't figure out if there is more than one of them if they are "Vitarteses" or "Vitarti"). Until recently, mom had long-ish braided hair. They frequently wear tie-dye. The high school chic has a super-cool bohemian-style coat. They have giant dogs and more cats than I can count and their yard looks as bad as ours. They are unruly - for the Central Bexley crowd. I ADORE them.

"Come, Vitarti,"(that's what I'm goin' with) "Let us form a Hippy Uprising against these Prada-wearing, Beamer-loving maroons!" Screaming that from my front porch one day is my dream. The result being that the Zimmers and the Vitarti will rise up with our non-North-Face-having selves and convert the weaker yuppies into hybrid-driving, granola-munching hippies.

Hey, a girl can dream, yeah?

Moment of Clarity - While Unconscious

2009-01-07T09:55:00.003-05:00

For the last three nights, I have had dreams about working for Obama. Two nights in a row, I was a speechwriter. Considering I think the man's oration is A-MAZ-ING, those were happy dreams, indeed.

Last night I had elevated myself to a potential candidate for VP. I was running against Michelle Obama, of course. In the dream, I was busily writing my own debate points and acceptance speech (Michelle told me in my dream that there was no way America would have 2 African Americans on the ticket...again I say, of course).

I have been really praying lately about finding my "passion." The thing that I truly want to do with my life. I think crafting presentations and messages for others might just be it. It was the part of my last job that I most enjoyed - the research, creativity, ability to combine my voice with the presenter's - I loved it.

Not having a background in media relations or PR, I think moving into a Director of Communications role - where this type of thing typically occurs - is out for now. However, I am researching to see if crafting presentations for others might be a marketable skill.

Several people have said I should write for a living. I would love to, but never know where to begin. Creating presentations and speeches for others allows me to A) have that starting point and B) use the writing talent my delusional friends think I may have.

I have not been this excited since I found out I could LEAVE work - oh the irony, I know. However, I am going to get back to researching to see if this could be an actual THING.

Thoughts?

Oh, the Irony

2009-01-05T06:05:00.006-05:00

I had a FANTASTIC visit from an old friend last night. We were inseparable in grade school. Because of that inseparability, when we both went from public school to Catholic school the same year, the "IN" girls thought it would be funny to start rumors that we were too close, if you catch my drift. Nothing like trying to navigate your way through lesbian rumors at age 11. Jess and I were constantly harassed and, because her mom has common sense, Jess went right back to public school after 7th grade.

I mention this for two reasons. She is possibly the only other person on earth that truly understands my hatred for the 3-headed torture beast that was Jodi, Erin and Annie. We were discussing this during her visit last night.

Lo and behold, this morning in my Facebook account, I have received an invitation to join a group for St. Mary's Catholic School alumni. Surely, you jest. It was started by the above-mentioned Annie and, apparently, she would like to reconnect with old friends (re: prisoners of war).

This brings me back to a question asked on New Year's Eve: Do I spend more time living in the past, present or future? I spend time in all three, as I think all people do. However, the effects of 7th and 8th grade have had a huge impact on who I have become. I just can't let those wrongs go, as many times as I have tried. A lot of people have stories of being picked on, but these girls kicked it up a notch - they sent me Playboy magazine and filled out info that lead an Army recruiter call my house looking for me to enlist.

So the irony of Annie wanting to "reconnect" having just spoken about her last night is not lost on me. How to proceed? (And these are all rhetorical, since I've already decided...) Should I join the group and see who else shows up? There is no one from grade school I want to find that hasn't already found me on FB. But maybe this would help me get over the scars. Should I just ignore the invitation? I decided to ignore it and try, once again - in the new year, to just Let It Go.

The present is where it's at. And the future is even better. I'd like my answer next New Year's Eve to be "Present." But Jess and I did decide that we have another 2.5 years until our 20 year reunion and, therefore, to shape up. So, you know, living a little in the future couldn't hurt :)

Bewildered by the Bra

2009-01-02T14:46:00.002-05:00

Now that my plant biology friend Erin has cleared up how we grow seedless things (oranges, watermelons, grapes) without seeds (it's splicing. Shhhhh...super-secret botany intel right there), I am free to ponder other things. Like why in the world would any woman, in her right mind, need an 18 Hour Bra?

I have owned many over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders in my life. Some of them comfortable, some of the fancy-schmancy (rarely does this combination exist simultaneously), NONE of which I cared to stay in for 18 entire hours.

Let us do the math here. Even on your best day, a day you might like to repeat a million times over - let's say your wedding day - you are not going to be in the same foundation garment for 18 straight hours. That would require being up, alert, showered and dressed by 6 a.m. (a miracle in itself at Chez Zimmer) and then staying that way all the way until midnight. MIDNIGHT, PEOPLE. What are you doing for 18 straight hours that you can't give The Girls a little relief?

And here is another question: What happens at 12:01? Poor Cinderella only had the misfortune of losing a Ferragamo and having to hoof it home. I shudder to think what would happen if, at the stroke of midnight, the 18 hour wonder simply collapses under the heft of my bosom with a flourish of metal and elastic (and likely snapping sounds). I could kill someone - or at least put their eye out. (Heh heh, that would make almost as good a story as "French Toast Induced Head Wound", no?)

I simply do not understand to whom Playtex is marketing. Senior Vice Presidents who like to party after work? Working mothers with dinner meetings? I cannot comprehend why someone would voluntarily wear an 18 Hour Bra. Am I over-thinking this?

While we're over-thinking, here is something that'll rock your world. Since bananas have no seeds, all the bananas in the world are virtually the SAME PLANT. We could endure a banana famine should just the right disease strike the banana crop. Every single plant would be wiped out.

There is some super-secret botany intel I just don't need to know. I mean, how hearty are bananas? Are they hearty enough to endure 18 hours in a Wonder Bra?

The Happiest of New Years

2009-01-01T09:48:00.002-05:00

I asked Osi last night if he was happy or sad to see 2008 go. He said that the year had - in all - been pretty unremarkable. No huge gains, nothing horrible. Tru, dat. Since the past few months have been bumming me out with the job search, I am leaning more toward the "sayonara" end of things, but over all, it has been a pretty decent year. Let's review:

We met and fell in with some of the most fabulous people I think we will ever have in our lives. When you hear the phrase "life-long friends" I pray to the deity of your choice that it means these people. In fact, we spent one of the most fabulous New Year's Eves with some of them just last night.

We started at the Chambers', where we touched on all the forbidden topics, I think - religion, politics, and pictures of Pam's bachelorette party. Pam and Ken are fantastic and Pam and I are headed to New Orleans in three short weeks to attend a Sisterhood conference together. It is all part of my evil plan to get her to be co-president with me in 2 years. I think she's on to me. But she humors me, and - truthfully - that is part of the reason I love her. Isn't it always a little safer to humor the lunatic?

We moved from the Chambers' party, which we hated to leave, the the event we have been looking forward to since Thanksgiving: A Very Baskind New Year. I don't think New Year's celebrations get any better in my mind. It involved flannel pants, sparkling wine, cheese, chocolate and so much laughing that my face hurts this morning. We met fantastic new people and I don't think the room was without an outburst of laughter for more than 2 minutes at a time - literally. THAT is good stuff, people. Once you find that, you've got to dig in and make a home there (Or, as Liz Lemon would say, "I want to go to there.").

Also in 2008, I did get the Volunteer of the Year Award from Sisterhood and I made the decision to convert, so, you know, big Jewish year for me. Woop! And Osi has become a slave to, erm, I mean involved with Brotherhood. Seriously, though, I am so thankful he has found a group of guys to hang out with and talk football (even if their "staff meetings" are at Hooters - for the wings!). It's good to see him out with the boys. And they are all pretty good guys.

And in an effort to get something accomplished in the parenting arena this year (since the potty training has stalled and we were bink-free for 2 months before we discovered an abandoned binky and Grammy's...) we moved Jack to a toddler bed on Sunday. We have now had three out four uneventful nights of toddler-bed sleep. Yay!

Finally, we're looking forward to hosting the Cashmere Mafia and their spawn and staff (otherwise known as husbands) for a New Year's Day get-together today. Chili and beer and lots o' football. We plan on sending all the kids to the playroom with its glut of toys and telling them to have at it.

So, overall, as my dad would say, 2008 didn't suck. There is so much to look forward to in 2009 - a new job, conversion, no more diapers...it's going to be a fantastic year at Chez Zimmer. I hope yours is, too.

Christmas Comes But Once A Year (Thankfully...)

2008-12-28T13:30:00.002-05:00

Ironically, this Christmas was a massive and infinite improvement over last Christmas. With my bum of a brother-in-law out of the picture, we were all able to breathe a sigh of relief and just be ourselves. The holiday was filled with much laughter, much wine and much lying about in jammies. All good things, in my book.

That is not to say that I was not without my Christmas mourning period. I did OK until the week of the actual holiday. I was taken by surprise by a group of carolers at Easton. I was doing a little last minute shopping when I passed what I thought was just a group of four well-dressed men standing about talking. All of a sudden they burst into song. I mean almost literally BURST. A four-part harmony, wishing me a merry Christmas right in my face. I needed new pantaloons. After I composed myself, I nearly went to pieces. That was Tuesday. By Wednesday, Christmas Eve, I was OK again. If that's the worst of it, then maybe I'll be OK with this whole Judaism thing.

Oh - best gift ever, by the way - Dress Up Obama magnets. Like paper dolls of the President-Elect, only they are magnets for your fridge. By the way, they are on sale for $5 and you can get McCain, too. I highly recommend them for the pundit in your life. I am having a ball.

In other news, we moved Jack to "the bog boy bed" today. Which is to say, we converted his crib into a day bed. He is supposed to be napping right now. So far, in the last 30 minutes, we have heard the pitter patter of little feet about 148 times. Also, the turning of the bedroom doorknob (we have a childproof door handle thingy on it) and Jack proclaiming "I stuck!" and J asking for his cousin Donovan. It seems to be quiet now, but Osi and I agree that he is only regrouping. I wonder what fresh hell awaits us this evening at actual bed time? Oy, I shudder to think!

I've sent out a ton of resumes and am hopeful, but the annuity is looking as if it is going to be cashed in, which makes me physically ill every time I think of it. So, here's hoping that the new year brings a swell job with a fat paycheck - as well as peace, love and happiness. That isn't much to ask out of a year, is it?

The Crushing Weight of The Cookies

2008-12-19T11:15:00.002-05:00

I have been putting a lot of pressure on myself to get cookies done for the holidays. Feeb asked last night why. I quickly did my best "Tevye" from "Fiddler on the Roof" and answered "TRADITION!" She was quick to respond that Pepperidge Farm Mint Milanos could quickly and easily become a new tradition. Smart girl, that Feeb.

I went a little overboard this year. I doubled or tripled every recipe. Why? We're not having Christmas here this year and we don't actually like our neighbors (except the Vitartases. Or is that the Virarti? I'm unsure, but they are cool either way, and deserving of cookies). So we won't be running around the neighborhood doling our home-baked holiday cheer. We'll not be seeing many of our friends before Chanukkah, so we aren't giving them cookies. I don;t know any service-people in Iraq, or I would gladly ship them overseas. So what I am saying, is that the line forms on the front porch, people. I am up to my eyeballs - almost literally - in cookies.

I made traditional cutouts, chocolate chip (although those are break and serve. I seriously can't make them any better than Nestle Tollhouse), oatmeal, and peanut butter blossoms; and I am finishing the almond-raspberry thumbprints and chocolate crinkles today. See what I mean? I must be stopped.

I really think this comes right back to the over-the-top birthdays, etc. If I am not working, then I need to be Homemaker of The Year. (I should likely start with keeping the dog hair tumbleweeds at bay, but that is another struggle entirely.) Have I mentioned I have issues? And really, what's the harm, here? You all get some tasty goodness, I work out some stress and the economy gets boosted by my buying flour and sugar in bulk. Win-Win-Win, really :)

Soul Scream

2008-12-17T00:14:00.002-05:00

I have talked about my absolute need for my daily dose of Effexor pretty openly here. I have been faithfully taking said Effexor and I am here to tell ya' that, I think, recent events have overcome the effects of said wonder drug.

My poor, loving, understanding-beyond-belief-and-all-reason husband just cannot comprehend my current state. He knows that I was fine with walking away from the BLF debacle this morning. This evening (they posted the job that I thought for sure was mine this afternoon on the association job board. Ouch.) I am notsomuch fine with it. I am staring-at-the-medicine-cabinet-contemplating-a-permanent-nap not OK with it. I cannot tell you what, in the last 12 hours, has changed.

Maybe I was ready to walk away because I didn't think I'd have to. Maybe the sun was out. Maybe my estrogen was surging. I seriously have no idea and, frighteningly, believe it could be any of the above.

All I know is that when I get like this it literally feels like my soul is screaming. Like I can empathize with that poor cliche-ridden bastard Edvard Munch was trying to put onto canvas when he painted "The Scream." And the thought that that particular painting is so flipping popular and has been trivialized is sadly ironic. (If, indeed, this is the feeling Munch was trying to capture.)

There was a brief transition period between "Fine with it" Chris and "Not OK" Chris. It is the Chris my college friends loooooooooved. She was known as Baking Chris. Today Baking Chris produced way more cookies that should be humanly possible in the short amount of time I was left alone. Sadly, no pies were made (pies and tiramisu were my college depression specialties).

Let's hope Thursday is just as glum, because I have the dough made for peanut butter blossoms and I still need to get my oatmeal, almond-raspberry thumbprint and chocolate crinkle cookies done.

This Economy is Making People Crazy

2008-12-15T14:19:00.002-05:00

My search for employment has been well documented here. Nowhere has it been as well documented, in fact, as my quest for employment with BLF Management, Ltd.

After four interviews, I finally got a phone call this morning from the assistant executive director. I was trembling with the thought of an actual paycheck. Here is what she had to offer:

A two week trial period, to begin immediately, during which I would be paid minimum wage while they decided if I would become a full-time employee at $32K.

Excuse the fuck outta me?

After speaking with me for FOUR HOURS, you are still unsure if I am the right person for the job? Let me go ahead and make that decision for you. I am not the right person for your company. I do not want to work in a place where upper management is so unsure of itself. Where the people I will be reporting to are immediately second-guessing me. And, I believe, will continue to second-guess me.

When I was in charge of hiring people, I could tell you within 10 minutes, 20 tops, if I wanted to hire someone or not. Second interviews were a formality during which courtesies were extended to upper management. If Brad doesn't want to hire me, then he should NOT hire me. He shouldn't have to be convinced, by me or anyone else.

Now, let's discuss the fact that, should I accept this offer, I would be paying my childcare person more than I myself would be making in order to take this little test run. Is it me or is this just plain ridiculous? No. It is not just me.

Finally, when I told them the money I was looking for, they agreed that it was within their range. The money they are offering me was below that. I am guessing they expect me to counter. I am guessing they do NOT expect me to counter with "go to hell." I am taking a $20K pay cut from the position I left to raise Jack. I know I have been out of the game for three years, but does that really translate to $20K? I guess it seems to.

What is really eating at me is that I have had four interviews with these people and now they want what is essentially a fifth. In a better economy, could they make this ridiculous request? I don't know. I do know I am their only candidate to date. I know this because I asked. So when I do tell them to go to hell, they will have to start at square one with their search... exactly where I am with mine. Oh the irony.

Not Feeling the Twilight

2008-12-14T06:48:00.003-05:00

I am reading Twilight. Not because I wanted to, but because I felt compelled to - everybody else was doing it! Literary peer pressure. Harry Potter it ain't.

I was ready to brush it off when only the under 16 crowd was reading it. But then librarians and teachers started reading it. And, I reasoned, THEY have good taste, right? I am more than half-way through it and am just not getting it. It sounds as if it is written by a 16-year-old girl for a 16-year-old girl.

Why continue reading, then? Well, because now I just need to finish the damn thing before I move on to my conversion reading assignments. Vampires to Judaism. Seems like a logical transition, right? Probably only to die hard Catholics.

Are you reading it? What do you think?

Still Inexplicably Unemployed

2008-12-13T15:48:00.002-05:00

I had what turned out to be a FOURTH interview with BLF Management yesterday. I interviewed in May and again in July for the Membership Director position. I didn't get that - I now know - because of my lack of database experience. Fair enough.

Last Friday I sent my resume to the company again for the Membership Coordinator position. I was called on Monday by the new Asst. Exec. Director and she wanted me to come in Tuesday. I did, and the interview went extremely well. It went so well that she wanted to know what kind of money I was looking for and how soon I could start. So, when she called Thursday and wanted me to come in on Friday to meet with her and Brad (the owner - who I met with in the first two interviews), I thought for sure it was going to be for an offer. Notsomuch.

I cannot believe I have now talked to this same guy three times. He needs convinced that I am - and I quote - "ready to return to work." I am trying to write this off as someone who has been burned by a stay-at-home mom who was not, in fact, ready to return to work. I, however, NEED this job, have applied with the company twice and have no undergone FOURE SEPARATE INTERVIEWS. How much MORE serious would you like me to be? I am frustrated and a litle insulted, to be honest. They said I should hear something by early this coming week...

Switching gears...

We've had a decent day today. Osi let me sleep in a bit and when we were all up and showered, we piled in the car and took Jack to the AHA Children's Museum in Lancaster. Jack LOVES this place. It is just the right size for him and just the right price for us. Lancaster is about 25 minutes from here, so a nice, quiet drive, and not nearly as chaotic or as expensive as COSI. If you live anywhere near Columbus and have kids under 7, I completely recommend it. Jack had a ball and we grabbed some McDonald's on the way home.

Donovan is coming over to spend the night tonight and Osi is going to play cards with Brotherhood. Maybe D and I will bake some cookies after Jack goes to bed. Who knows. Or he can help me wrap Hanukkah gifts. Either way, they boys and I plan on spending a quiet night at home. Hot cocoa will somehow be involved, as will "Finding Nemo," I'm sure. Now, if only I could find a shred of my sanity...

How Do I Get Kids Like That?

2008-12-10T15:30:00.002-05:00

As I have mentioned several times before, we have actively tried to expand our social circle this year, with more fantastic results than we ever thought possible.

Until recently, Osi's friend philosophy was, and I quote "You get 'em, I keep 'em." Well put, Mr. Charming. Although invitations were not flooding out mailboxes (and due to an altercation with my college roommate's then husband, we had been removed from THEIR social list because of Senor Charmingpants, but I digress...).

The Temple Crowd, as I have called them before, are just good people. They remind me of the folks my parents hung around with when I was a kid. All of them were involved with the church/school boosters and that is how all of them met. All of the kids knew each other and, generally, liked each other and - for the most part - were good kids (yeah, yeah, present company excluded, I can hear you, you know).

Our Temple Crowd is the same way. We have been so blessed to be included with these folks. Riotous senses of humor, all of them, hard workers and devoted to family and friends. And let me take a minute to talk about their kids, which is the whole point of this post.

Everyone in this Crowd but the Crabills, who have just started their family by birthing the Future Mrs. Jack Zimmer last May, have kids in their teens and then another one who is about 10. (Apparently we missed the memo here.) All of these kids are polite, comfortable holding conversations with adults and not only tolerant of, but incredibly good with, Jack. Of the older ones, I would use any of them as a babysitter (although I think Alyiah is 14 going on 28 in a good way).

Each group of kids have their own forte. The B kids have the most highly developed senses of humor I have ever seen for their ages and are just the coolest people under 20 I currently know. I want their parents' instruction manual on how to get kids like that. Seriously. Fork it over.

The S kids are incredibly active and yet very balanced - qualities that are tough to pull off today with the go everywhere, do everything culture. Truly cool.

The C kids are great as well. While Tyler seems like your typical "I don't want to be here" 14 year old boy, he comes alive playing with Frannie and he is just so sweet with Jack. And I could eat Arek up with a spoon he is so bright, funny and plain adorable.

Finally, the P kids, who, I think are tiny grown ups. Drew, I think is a frustrated stand up in the body of a 14 year old. His brother Matthew, I think, could be doing the books at PWC...and also has a beautiful singing voice.

I feel like I need to have a panel discussion with these people. Because, let's face it, most days I feel like a real fuck up as a mother. Whether it's because J gets McDonald's for lunch twice in a week for lunch because I know he'll eat chicken nuggets and chicken = protein in my mind or because the TV seems to endlessly be tuned to Noggin at our house.

This just isn't how I envisioned raising my kid. And yet, here I am. How about the Crowd? Is it what they thought it would be? Are their kids turning into the young adults they envisioned? What would they change about he last 10 or 14 years? I am trying to correct behaviors as I see them, but I pick my battles. All of these folks have kids old enough to have the hindsight and the wisdom to tell me which battles I should actually be picking. And I like their results. What do you think, should I "Nanny Cam" them?

The Cashmere Mafia is helpful, too, but we're all facing the same challenges at the same time. That is support to the umpteenth level, girlfriends, but if I can squeeze info from the Great Elders (and I say that with love) I will bring The Knowledge back for all to share.

I Have a French Toast-Induced Head Wound

2008-12-08T21:35:00.004-05:00

I actually just like saying that. The fact that it is true makes me giggle. But anything that makes my face show the least bit of emotion today is a tiny bit painful. You know, because of the french toast-induced head wound.

As previously noted, the 7th Annual Zimmer Holiday Fun Brunch was yesterday. I hope and it is my belief, that a fun time was had by all. However, the morning began with me bleeding into a casserole dish of creme brulee french toast. So, that's no good. We have a fridge in our basement and I was bringing up the 3rd tray of toast and a folding chair when BOOM all at once, I was wearing said toast and my Doc Marten spectators had flown out from under me. Let me tell ya', nothin' gushes like a head wound (unless, friends it is a varicose vein, but that is Osi's story to tel...).

Actually, it wasn't that bad. I did find it alarming how quickly a headache can come on, though. After taking what Osi deemed "an insane amount of ibuprofen," and getting the bleeding stopped, I trotted next door to see Delise, a nurse in her former life. She said stitches were not in order, just a couple of butterfly closures. Oh, did I mention all of this happened about an hour before 30 people were due to show up to eat?

We managed to get everything done, but the counters missed their final wipe down and the beverage center was never fully set up. Osi fixed that by keeping everyone plied with mimosas. have I mentioned how much I love this brunch? Perhaps next year, we can skip the bleeding, though.

In other news, I have a job interview. You are never going to guess with whom. I guess third time is a charm with BLF Management. And you know what that means... another chance with BLF means another chance that we could ALL win the hilarity lottery and I could be working with the infamous Antonio CHACHA (yeah, like it's really spelled Ciacia...) in 2009! Anyone as excited about this as I am. I thought not. I just need to figure out a nifty way to conceal the head wound for tomorrow's interview...

The Brunch is Coming! The Brunch is Coming!

2008-12-05T15:16:00.002-05:00

Every year, we host the Annual Zimmer Holiday Fun Brunch. I believer we are on year 7. It started as 2 couples, a single friend and ourselves getting together for some awesome stuffed french toast and some corned beef hash. My, how it has grown.

At it's most heinous, there were 50 people in our house in Westerville during what I think was my last year at the Society. The year before, we started a White elephant gift exchange, in which the goal was to find the most hilarious and/or tacky gift under $10. Re-gifting is highly encouraged. Last year, I believe the Hank Williams, Jr. Christmas ornaments took the cake. I mean, where does one purchase those?

The Seventh Annual Zimmer Holiday Fun Brunch is this Sunday. I love this event. I have always loved this event, no matter how much work it is. It brings together all of my favorite people. Well, most of my favorite people. The Chambers have to bail, but we'll catch them next year. hopefully. And the Crattys had a last minute change of plans, too. But the majority of my favorite people will be in my house on Sunday. And THAT is what I love about the holidays, and the annual Holiday Fun Brunch. I get to remember how lucky I am to have all of these fantastic people in my life. How truly blessed I am to be surrounded by such truly wonderful souls.

That is good, especially this year. I have been looking for a job for more than six months and I am starting to freak out a little. Well, more than a little. The 401(k) has been sold and I literally NEED a job by the end of January. When we took a lassaiz faire attitude to me going back to work in April, we didn't predict that the bottom would fall out of the economy in October. I am taking a deep breath now.

So this Sunday I am going to enjoy all of my friends and surround myself with the people that I love and that I know love me. Because I think we may need to live with some of them soon :)

The New West Wing

2008-11-11T14:08:00.002-05:00

I've spent all day on the couch watching a West Wing marathon. MAN, I loved that show. It was just such good writing and character development. In addition, I read an article that said that Matt Santos was based on Barack Obama and that Josh Lyman was based on Rahm Emmanuel. This may be pure pucky made up by the liberal media (that my parents loathe), but it is interesting that it is out there.

I have many conservative friends. Many of these conservative friends are either in morning or completely pissed over the results of the election. I would like to think that had McCain been elected, I could have been one of those "Let's roll up sleeves and unite" kind of Dems, but his choice of what I see as an inept Sarah Palin ruined that for me. I hope Obama can bring conservatives around by not living up to his reputation as what friend calls "the most liberal of all current senators."

I want there to be Change. Yes, with a BIG C, because I sure as shit drank the Kool-Aid. In fact, I had my own Kool-Aid stand for over 2 years and I am still a believer. Here is why I voted fro Obama:

1. Iraq. Even though the polls say that less that 20% people voted based on their feelings on the war, it was the #1 thing on my mind. I don't think we had any business being there and I think it has basically become a civil war. I can't get my head around why American men and women are getting killed and wounded for what appears to be religious reasons in a country that is not our own. Oil? Maybe. Pride (Bush's)? Maybe. Neither a good enough answer for me when it comes to American lives. I do not believe a withdrawal = surrender. I think we did what we could and now we are should give the Iraqi people what we supposedly wanted to give them originally - independence. We cannot continue to hold your collective hand. Not at this great an expense.

2. Health Care. And this is where many, many, MANY people disagree with me. I believe there is a subset of people who a) make enough money to get by but b) don't qualify for Medicaid or WIC or can't afford the premium their employer charges to get coverage for themselves and their kids. Yes, I realize that there will be people taking advantage of the system - Welfare moms, slackers, etc. But I don't believe that is a good reason NOT to help those who really DO need it and can't get it. There will always be people taking advantage of the system (hello, Lehman Brothers. I am talking to YOU), but that hasn't stopped us from moving forward as a nation before.

3. Bipartisanship. I know, I KNOW - "the most liberal of all current senators." But in his history in the Illinois senate, Obama had a history of bipartisanship. I really, really want to see this happen on the national level. Utopian, I know. But wouldn't it be nice?

4. I'm pro-choice and fear an administration that would continue to appoint Supreme Court Justices who are not and who would seek to overturn Roe v. Wade. The choice to carry an unplanned pregnancy to term is a choice as well. I don't believe the government - state or federal - should be able to tell me what to do with my body or what may be growing within it (embryo, alien probe, tumor, etc...). I understand the opposite viewpoint. I just do not agree with when zygote turns to embryo turns to actual person.

For the record, not such a fan of Biden, although he has an excellent history on Israel, he just seems smarmy. Also for the record, I wish fellow Dems would quit belittling Republicans because they believe what they do. We may not be able to understand it, but shouldn't we take a cue from our President-Elect and try to work together?

I am just so excited with the interest and participation Obama has inspired thus far. I am hopeful of where we can go with that kind of energy.

Yes, I know many of you disagree with me and are verified anti-Obamites. That's OK. Lemme have it. I'm going back to my West Wing marathon.