After posting into the ether yesterday about several of the things keeping me awake at night, I actually slept last night. I don't know if it's legit cause-and-effect, that I wrote it all out and then was freer in my mind and that helped me nod off. But maybe it was. So maybe this needs to be my Irrational Fear and Stupid Concerns Blog.
Things got clearer and muddier in my life last night. One thing, where I was worried about my kid and her two best friends (one boy and one girl) came to fruition. Those two do like each other. TJK is happily in the middle right now, helping the boy find a way to ask out the girl. She says, emphatically, that just because she is in a band with him, that does NOT mean that she likes him. They are just friends. Right now, she is happy for them and playing a bit of matchmaker. Now I worry that the two of them will seriously veer off and TJK will be left alone. But, I feel confident that she will make it out alive.
I am still waiting to hear back from my boss about The Big Job in The Big City. I am excited and nervous and I need her to tell me how much money I am going to be making. I have a big number in my head to match up with the big job, and I am hoping I am not disappointed.
Something I think I forgot to talk about yesterday is something that has been solidly on my mind for a couple of months now. TJK is a tiny chica. She is only 4'10, while most of her friends are closer to my height of 5'8. She feels so small, even with her big personality and big intelligence. She has been going for tests: lots of blood tests (like, A LOT), an MRI to make sure she didn't have a brain tumor, and appointments with specialists. Everything has come back clear - no medical issues, no tumors or cancers or health concerns. She is just small. So now we need to make a decision about growth hormones. They might get her another inch or two in height. She is projected to be about 5' in total without them...so now we are faced with deciding if it is worth it to have her take a daily injection so she can be two inches taller. And I don't know what the right answer is. I do feel like 5'2 is so much better than 5'. I mean, at 5 feet tall, you even have a greater chance of dying in a car crash because you are too short for the airbag to deploy properly! I think I was leaning against the hormones until the doctor said it was time to decide about the hormones and then suddenly, I was for them. And, TJK was all for them until I told her it was time to decide and now she is against them. We have a month to talk it over and come to a decision....but this is super stressful. You always want to do the right thing for your kid; you want her to be happy and well adjusted and to feel normal. I wish this was a black and white decision....I am sick of the grey.
And this Kavanaugh stuff. JFC. I don't understand why it's so hard to put together what happened in this situation. Dude was drunk AF the night this happened, and on other nights in high school and college too. He and his buddy were drinking, having fun, thinking they were gods because that's what everyone had always told them they were. They took a liking to Christine Blasey-Ford and hit on her. They thought they were having fun - thought SHE was having fun. They tried to have sex with her, not noticing that was not into it because A) they were drunk AF and B) they were not used to being told no so they didn't recognize it. In their minds, it was all fun and not very memorable for them. It was not memorable because A) they were drunk AF and B) there was nothing different about this night than any other night, and possibly C) they were blackout drunk AF and don't remember how it went down or that it went down at all. We all know men like this, and knew boys like this, and the fact that all of these other privileged white men can't see it shows me that they are men just like Kavanaugh and were boys like Kavanaugh. If they admit something might have happened...then maybe they stepped outside the bounds too and just haven't been called on it.
Showing posts with label choices. Show all posts
Showing posts with label choices. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 02, 2018
Monday, October 01, 2018
Random Questions in my Head That Are Making Me Not Sleep
Can you still consider yourself a generous person if you are very giving with people and "treat" all the time because you know you make more money than others, but yet you get pissed off when people are not appreciative? In particular, when you take your kid's friends out to expensive events, treat them to dinners, buy them the keepsakes that come along with the events...and the parents never even text you a "thanks"? Are you still generous if you are bitter about your giving?
Is it wrong to really want a promotion because it will pay you a lot more money but really not want it because you aren't sure you want more responsibility and work?
Should I feel bad that a co-worker, who sucks at actual work and has for years, is going to be laid off? What if she is lazy af and is kind of an asshole, but she smiles in your face and pretends that you are still good friends?
What car should I get? I'm looking at the Lexus RX350 or the Range Rover Evoque SE Premium. I really like the Range Rover the best but it is known for being unreliable, and everyone I know with a Lexus loves it. And what about the fact that what I really and truly in my heart want is the Porsche Panamera? Will I always resent the fact that I am not getting what I really want? And, if I'm taking the promotion with all the extra work and commitment, do I owe it to myself to at least check out the more expensive and more perfect car?
What do you do when your daughter has become best friends with a boy and a girl, and things then start getting teenager-y? Like, its the three of them all the time, and they get along great. And now, I think the boy and girl are starting to like each other, and then my kiddo is left out. How do I help her manage that?
What happens when you get to an age where you decide you will take no shit from anyone, and that people who are ignorant or annoying or careless will have no place in your life...and then realize you are maybe becoming intolerant of imperfection? Where do you draw the line between what is acceptable and what isn't? How do you know when you are cutting too many people out of your life, and how do you know if you are using good reasons to cut them out?
How do you remove yourself from solving everyone else's problems when you can't even solve your own? If you are overwhelmed with your own petty life decisions and issues, why do people even think you are capable of tackling their problems? And why do I think I'm capable of this?
Will I be able to get past the pit in my stomach every time I see a friend/family member/high school acquaintance post their support for Bret Kavanaugh? It's taking everything in me to not drive to Louisiana and beat the crap out of my cousins for things they have posted (but then I have never met them in person so why do I even care?). This whole Kavanaugh thing is making me insane and I feel like the world is on fire and that none of these other issues means anything because Trump and his collection of douchebros are going to kill us all anyway so why even bother getting up in the morning?
Is it wrong to really want a promotion because it will pay you a lot more money but really not want it because you aren't sure you want more responsibility and work?
Should I feel bad that a co-worker, who sucks at actual work and has for years, is going to be laid off? What if she is lazy af and is kind of an asshole, but she smiles in your face and pretends that you are still good friends?
What car should I get? I'm looking at the Lexus RX350 or the Range Rover Evoque SE Premium. I really like the Range Rover the best but it is known for being unreliable, and everyone I know with a Lexus loves it. And what about the fact that what I really and truly in my heart want is the Porsche Panamera? Will I always resent the fact that I am not getting what I really want? And, if I'm taking the promotion with all the extra work and commitment, do I owe it to myself to at least check out the more expensive and more perfect car?
What do you do when your daughter has become best friends with a boy and a girl, and things then start getting teenager-y? Like, its the three of them all the time, and they get along great. And now, I think the boy and girl are starting to like each other, and then my kiddo is left out. How do I help her manage that?
What happens when you get to an age where you decide you will take no shit from anyone, and that people who are ignorant or annoying or careless will have no place in your life...and then realize you are maybe becoming intolerant of imperfection? Where do you draw the line between what is acceptable and what isn't? How do you know when you are cutting too many people out of your life, and how do you know if you are using good reasons to cut them out?
How do you remove yourself from solving everyone else's problems when you can't even solve your own? If you are overwhelmed with your own petty life decisions and issues, why do people even think you are capable of tackling their problems? And why do I think I'm capable of this?
Will I be able to get past the pit in my stomach every time I see a friend/family member/high school acquaintance post their support for Bret Kavanaugh? It's taking everything in me to not drive to Louisiana and beat the crap out of my cousins for things they have posted (but then I have never met them in person so why do I even care?). This whole Kavanaugh thing is making me insane and I feel like the world is on fire and that none of these other issues means anything because Trump and his collection of douchebros are going to kill us all anyway so why even bother getting up in the morning?
Monday, September 24, 2018
I've Even Impressed Myself
My boss has hated me for years. When I first started reporting to her, about 7 years ago, I was invited to a meeting at our 5th Ave office with the rest of the HR team. I wore a (respectable) leopard print dress (no, really, it was respectable and pretty and not at all strippery, I promise) with a black cardigan and black boots. It was edgy and again, totally work appropriate, but didn't fit in with the conservative nature of that office culture. During the meeting, again, my first in-person meeting with her, I made a (very funny) sarcastic comment. She doesn't have a great sense of humor so she took me seriously. Ugh. I did not make the best first impression, but I always felt like she knew who I was right up front (I was the broad who would wear animal print and throw sarcasm and own the shit out of it). For the next 7 or so years, I did not win her over, did not get her to like me, and did not care all that much. I'm good at my job, everyone in my location loves and admires me, and I won't be fake for anyone. So, hate me if you want, but this is who I am and I'm not going to change.
About 6 months ago, I worked on a project for my boss. Actually, a good number of us were doing the same project for each of our locations. I got mine done super fast and she was super impressed. I could see her looking at me differently. After I completed my project, I helped everyone else with theirs (not to impress her - just to help my co-workers). Again, she was impressed. She was seeing me in a different light. I also found over $1m that our landlord owed us and recouped the money. Again, impressed.
Suddenly, our conversations were different. It was no longer me talking and her barely listening. She started asking for my opinions. She sought me out for projects. She asked me about where I saw my career going. She heard what I had to say and advocated for my ideas. She started telling me more personal things about herself. I started calling her my bestie (no, not to her face. She isn't that kind of boss).
On Friday, she called me from her cell phone. Of course, I thought I was being fired because I just knew that once we became best friends, she would let me go. But no, that wasn't to be. Instead, she offered me a promotion. It's a pretty big promotion and a little scary to even consider. I don't know yet how much money is in it for me, but I know I'll be working in NYC three days a week (which entails me taking the bus - I know, I'm a weenie...but I really like driving my own car). It entails me working at 3 different locations throughout the week (two in NYC and my current NJ location). It entails me getting up much earlier and getting home much later, with my commute increasing from about 40 minutes a day to almost 3 hours a day (ugh).
But. My kid is almost 15 years old. She is in high school. She hangs out with her friends after school all the time. Do I still NEED to be home at 5:30 for her? Isn't it time to maybe focus on making that cash and building my career further? Am I supposed to wait around for another 4 years till she goes off the college and hope for an opportunity like this again?
But. Do I want more responsibility? Do I want to start over with having to gain trust from a new group of people when my peeps are already there? Do I want to get home later and potentially lose some of the closeness TJK and I have built? (Honestly, I don't see that happening...I think I did a good job with this kid and she will support me and understand, and that we will find time for each other.)
Y'all. My boss, who hated me six months ago, created a senior position for me and wants me working directly with her. She told me I have impressed her, that I am a good manager of people, that I have a good head on my shoulders, that I'm good at building bonds with the execs I support. How could I not take advantage of this opportunity?
I'm movin' on up.
About 6 months ago, I worked on a project for my boss. Actually, a good number of us were doing the same project for each of our locations. I got mine done super fast and she was super impressed. I could see her looking at me differently. After I completed my project, I helped everyone else with theirs (not to impress her - just to help my co-workers). Again, she was impressed. She was seeing me in a different light. I also found over $1m that our landlord owed us and recouped the money. Again, impressed.
Suddenly, our conversations were different. It was no longer me talking and her barely listening. She started asking for my opinions. She sought me out for projects. She asked me about where I saw my career going. She heard what I had to say and advocated for my ideas. She started telling me more personal things about herself. I started calling her my bestie (no, not to her face. She isn't that kind of boss).
On Friday, she called me from her cell phone. Of course, I thought I was being fired because I just knew that once we became best friends, she would let me go. But no, that wasn't to be. Instead, she offered me a promotion. It's a pretty big promotion and a little scary to even consider. I don't know yet how much money is in it for me, but I know I'll be working in NYC three days a week (which entails me taking the bus - I know, I'm a weenie...but I really like driving my own car). It entails me working at 3 different locations throughout the week (two in NYC and my current NJ location). It entails me getting up much earlier and getting home much later, with my commute increasing from about 40 minutes a day to almost 3 hours a day (ugh).
But. My kid is almost 15 years old. She is in high school. She hangs out with her friends after school all the time. Do I still NEED to be home at 5:30 for her? Isn't it time to maybe focus on making that cash and building my career further? Am I supposed to wait around for another 4 years till she goes off the college and hope for an opportunity like this again?
But. Do I want more responsibility? Do I want to start over with having to gain trust from a new group of people when my peeps are already there? Do I want to get home later and potentially lose some of the closeness TJK and I have built? (Honestly, I don't see that happening...I think I did a good job with this kid and she will support me and understand, and that we will find time for each other.)
Y'all. My boss, who hated me six months ago, created a senior position for me and wants me working directly with her. She told me I have impressed her, that I am a good manager of people, that I have a good head on my shoulders, that I'm good at building bonds with the execs I support. How could I not take advantage of this opportunity?
I'm movin' on up.
Friday, July 06, 2018
WWMD? (What Would Mama Do?)
It's hard to describe how difficult it is to parent a teenage girl.
I know I was one, and I know I was a particularly difficult one. And for that, mom, I'm sorry.
My girl isn't difficult (yet) in the way I was. She is not rebellious, she is not a rule-breaker or even a rule-tester, and she talks to me and her dad all the time in great detail. Whereas my parents knew nothing about what was going on in my life or mind, TJK shares everything with us. And that's where my difficulty comes in.
TJK tells me when her feelings get hurt by her friends. The other day, she was with four friends at the fireworks in town. One friend took off as soon as they got there, and then there were 4. Two of the girls were kind of huddled together talking, not including the other two. TJK was one of the ones who was left out (although she was "left out" with one of the other girls, who she was talking to the whole time, so...). She called me, right from the fireworks, because her feelings were hurt. She needed advice so she wanted to talk to me.
Now this is fantastic in so many ways. TJK tends to be shy and doesn't like to start trouble (again, the opposite of me). So in this case, I told her to talk to the other girls and either a) confront them about why they weren't talking to anyone else or b) just start talking to them and make conversation...basically, just include yourself if they weren't going to include you. Or, the third option: just hang out with Girl 4 and have a great time laughing and talking so you aren't missing out on anything - you are creating your own fun. She actually chose option A - I was so proud - and did it in her own, nicer and kinder way. And it worked for her.
So why is this difficult? It all worked out in the end, right? Well, do most kids call their moms from the fireworks, with a group of their friends around, to ask advice and vent? What do her friends think? And why can't she channel me in her mind instead of calling? I mean, she knows what advice I am going to give (be bold, ask questions, confront bad behavior in whatever form, be strong). Am I raising her to be too dependent on me?
When she was little and would have little girl problems, I would tell her there was nothing I couldn't figure out a way to fix. She would tell me her issues and we would talk them through and find solutions. It's what I do best. It's why I'm good at my job and why I'm (mostly) good at life. I think I thought showing her strength and showing her how I came to solutions would help her do the same. But I'm afraid it's just made her dependent on me to solve her problems.
So, what do you do with that when you are talking about a teenage girl? A girl who has a great group of girlfriends, but who is heading into the unknown world of high school? A girl who is spending more and more time with the cute boy in her class? A girl who is now in a punk band that plays in bars and who could easily be put in compromising situations with drinking and drugs and sex? A girl who will get her driver's permit in a year and a half?
Part of me says I have to let her start figuring out her own problems. And the other part says, some of these problems are big and could have life-altering consequences and the fact that she comes to me is a huge plus. I know that the kid she is now would call me if her driver was drinking. I know that the kid she is now would tell me when she finally kisses the cute boy in her class. I know that the kid she is now would share it with me if she was offered drugs or if a boy got "fresh" with her. So is now really the time to cut that cord?
As I'm writing, the solution has perhaps become clearer (which is why I love to write - it clears my head). I need to use these little problems as tests. When she is at the fireworks and two friends make her feel sad, I need to ask her what she thinks she should do. I need to not give her the answers, but help her learn my process for finding solutions. I need to help her find which avenue she should take instead of driving her there myself.
I need to buy her a WWMD bracelet so I'm always in her head when she's making decisions.
I know I was one, and I know I was a particularly difficult one. And for that, mom, I'm sorry.
My girl isn't difficult (yet) in the way I was. She is not rebellious, she is not a rule-breaker or even a rule-tester, and she talks to me and her dad all the time in great detail. Whereas my parents knew nothing about what was going on in my life or mind, TJK shares everything with us. And that's where my difficulty comes in.
TJK tells me when her feelings get hurt by her friends. The other day, she was with four friends at the fireworks in town. One friend took off as soon as they got there, and then there were 4. Two of the girls were kind of huddled together talking, not including the other two. TJK was one of the ones who was left out (although she was "left out" with one of the other girls, who she was talking to the whole time, so...). She called me, right from the fireworks, because her feelings were hurt. She needed advice so she wanted to talk to me.
Now this is fantastic in so many ways. TJK tends to be shy and doesn't like to start trouble (again, the opposite of me). So in this case, I told her to talk to the other girls and either a) confront them about why they weren't talking to anyone else or b) just start talking to them and make conversation...basically, just include yourself if they weren't going to include you. Or, the third option: just hang out with Girl 4 and have a great time laughing and talking so you aren't missing out on anything - you are creating your own fun. She actually chose option A - I was so proud - and did it in her own, nicer and kinder way. And it worked for her.
So why is this difficult? It all worked out in the end, right? Well, do most kids call their moms from the fireworks, with a group of their friends around, to ask advice and vent? What do her friends think? And why can't she channel me in her mind instead of calling? I mean, she knows what advice I am going to give (be bold, ask questions, confront bad behavior in whatever form, be strong). Am I raising her to be too dependent on me?
When she was little and would have little girl problems, I would tell her there was nothing I couldn't figure out a way to fix. She would tell me her issues and we would talk them through and find solutions. It's what I do best. It's why I'm good at my job and why I'm (mostly) good at life. I think I thought showing her strength and showing her how I came to solutions would help her do the same. But I'm afraid it's just made her dependent on me to solve her problems.
So, what do you do with that when you are talking about a teenage girl? A girl who has a great group of girlfriends, but who is heading into the unknown world of high school? A girl who is spending more and more time with the cute boy in her class? A girl who is now in a punk band that plays in bars and who could easily be put in compromising situations with drinking and drugs and sex? A girl who will get her driver's permit in a year and a half?
Part of me says I have to let her start figuring out her own problems. And the other part says, some of these problems are big and could have life-altering consequences and the fact that she comes to me is a huge plus. I know that the kid she is now would call me if her driver was drinking. I know that the kid she is now would tell me when she finally kisses the cute boy in her class. I know that the kid she is now would share it with me if she was offered drugs or if a boy got "fresh" with her. So is now really the time to cut that cord?
As I'm writing, the solution has perhaps become clearer (which is why I love to write - it clears my head). I need to use these little problems as tests. When she is at the fireworks and two friends make her feel sad, I need to ask her what she thinks she should do. I need to not give her the answers, but help her learn my process for finding solutions. I need to help her find which avenue she should take instead of driving her there myself.
I need to buy her a WWMD bracelet so I'm always in her head when she's making decisions.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
Finding My Joy After Not Becoming a Billionaire
I was hoping to win the Powerball's $1.5 billion last night and then I'd know exactly where my joy is: it's in my bank account. Alas, that dream did not come true, so now it's back to real life and time for that dream to rest for a bit.
When you think about winning that much money, you start thinking of all the things you would do if you could. You wouldn't have to work ever again, so your days and nights would be free to do whatever filled you with happiness. That idea gets the wheels turning on what you'd actually do with your time if you truly had free will to do what pleased you.
Here is where my mind went. Immediately, I set my travel plans. I'd plan for chunks of time in Africa, the Far East, Australia, the Galapagos Islands, Cuba, and Bora Bora, to start. Then I'd be off to Istanbul (terrorism be damned) and Morocco and Egypt, and then I'd take return trips to Spain and Italy and Croatia and Hawaii and Paris.
Then what? What else do I love? Beer. I'd perhaps open a gastropub, a casual one, in my current hometown. I'd hire people to run it well so we wouldn't fall victim to what so many other restaurants do. We'd brew a couple of our own beers (after hiring a Brewmaster), but mostly have craft beer from other breweries on tap. There would be lots of variety and lots of alternating taps. The food would be casual and hearty - classics with a twist, maybe.
I'd concentrate on working out, something I don't have time to do now as often as I'd like. I'd have a personal trainer and a chef who would cook healthy and delicious meals for picky ol' me. I'd work on making my body the healthiest it can be.
And I'd shop. Oh, would I shop. I think my first stop would be Chanel for a large quilted tote with the big interlocking C's on it. And then I'd order a beautiful Birkin bag. And then I'd shop for shoes and clothes and makeup until I dropped. And then I'd buy a Porsche Panamera.
Of course, I'd give some away. Some would go to family (my parents, of course) and friends. Some would go to charities I feel so strongly about (animal welfare. domestic violence survivors, veterans).
This morning, like everyone else in America, I woke up unable to do any of the things of which I had dreamed. It was back to the every day grind...which, I know, I know. I live a good life. I have a well-paying job and an amazing family and the ability to travel and drink good beer and eat good food and buy a nice bag every now and then. But does it all fulfill me? Does it fill me with happiness as life should? Most of it, yes. I can truly answer that with a yes. But when I think about work...
Work is such a mixed bag for me. The pay is good. I love my co-workers (mostly). I enjoy some of the work that I do, although it doesn't fill me with joy by any stretch. I occasionally feel like I make a difference. But I spend a good deal of time worrying about my job, wondering if it will still be here tomorrow. There is no peace in that, and I don't like living with a cloud over my shoulder.
And then I think...ok. So you didn't win the lottery. You aren't a bazillionaire. What would you do if you were laid off? What if you got a severance package and had the time to find something new? Would it be in HR? Would it be the same corporate grind, just at a new company? Or would it be a perfect chance to take a risk...to find what I loved and just go for it. Dedicate myself to it. Throw myself in, wholeheartedly. And where exactly would I be throwing myself...where does that passion lie?
I feel like I need to take some time to find answers to those questions so that my next life, post-this job, is one that makes me happy and doesn't just simply pay the bills.
When you think about winning that much money, you start thinking of all the things you would do if you could. You wouldn't have to work ever again, so your days and nights would be free to do whatever filled you with happiness. That idea gets the wheels turning on what you'd actually do with your time if you truly had free will to do what pleased you.
Here is where my mind went. Immediately, I set my travel plans. I'd plan for chunks of time in Africa, the Far East, Australia, the Galapagos Islands, Cuba, and Bora Bora, to start. Then I'd be off to Istanbul (terrorism be damned) and Morocco and Egypt, and then I'd take return trips to Spain and Italy and Croatia and Hawaii and Paris.
Then what? What else do I love? Beer. I'd perhaps open a gastropub, a casual one, in my current hometown. I'd hire people to run it well so we wouldn't fall victim to what so many other restaurants do. We'd brew a couple of our own beers (after hiring a Brewmaster), but mostly have craft beer from other breweries on tap. There would be lots of variety and lots of alternating taps. The food would be casual and hearty - classics with a twist, maybe.
I'd concentrate on working out, something I don't have time to do now as often as I'd like. I'd have a personal trainer and a chef who would cook healthy and delicious meals for picky ol' me. I'd work on making my body the healthiest it can be.
And I'd shop. Oh, would I shop. I think my first stop would be Chanel for a large quilted tote with the big interlocking C's on it. And then I'd order a beautiful Birkin bag. And then I'd shop for shoes and clothes and makeup until I dropped. And then I'd buy a Porsche Panamera.
Of course, I'd give some away. Some would go to family (my parents, of course) and friends. Some would go to charities I feel so strongly about (animal welfare. domestic violence survivors, veterans).
This morning, like everyone else in America, I woke up unable to do any of the things of which I had dreamed. It was back to the every day grind...which, I know, I know. I live a good life. I have a well-paying job and an amazing family and the ability to travel and drink good beer and eat good food and buy a nice bag every now and then. But does it all fulfill me? Does it fill me with happiness as life should? Most of it, yes. I can truly answer that with a yes. But when I think about work...
Work is such a mixed bag for me. The pay is good. I love my co-workers (mostly). I enjoy some of the work that I do, although it doesn't fill me with joy by any stretch. I occasionally feel like I make a difference. But I spend a good deal of time worrying about my job, wondering if it will still be here tomorrow. There is no peace in that, and I don't like living with a cloud over my shoulder.
And then I think...ok. So you didn't win the lottery. You aren't a bazillionaire. What would you do if you were laid off? What if you got a severance package and had the time to find something new? Would it be in HR? Would it be the same corporate grind, just at a new company? Or would it be a perfect chance to take a risk...to find what I loved and just go for it. Dedicate myself to it. Throw myself in, wholeheartedly. And where exactly would I be throwing myself...where does that passion lie?
I feel like I need to take some time to find answers to those questions so that my next life, post-this job, is one that makes me happy and doesn't just simply pay the bills.
Wednesday, December 02, 2015
Jersey Girl Contemplates Living Elsewhere in the World
I love New Jersey. Obviously. I love being close to the beach and the mountains and farmland and authentic ethnic food (from every ethnicity!) and especially to New York City. I love having everything I could ever need practically within walking distance (and most within actual walking distance). I never thought I would ever consider leaving here. It's home, and has been for my whole life.
The older I get, the more I reconsider my whole "Born Jersey, Live Jersey, Die Jersey" motto. Maybe it has come with the extensive travel I have done...but then, I have been seeing the world since I was 21. Maybe it's all the traffic...but then, I've been in one long continuous traffic jam since I learned to drive. Maybe it's all the people and noise...but then, when I'm in quiet places I can't sleep.
The truth is, I think I can handle all of those things individually. It's more that cumulatively, over the past X number of years, it is getting to me. I would love to experience my 7-mile commute to work not taking 45 minutes. It would be great to go to Shop Rite and not have to hit people with my cart and then stand on line for 30 minutes. How awesome would I feel to not have noise and light pollution present at all times?
About a year ago, we went out to Denver. We stayed a few nights in the city and then head to the Rocky Mountains. I was sure I would hate it because I hate nature and all that comes with it...and because my husband convinced me to stay in a cabin. But I didn't hate it, especially the cabin. It was small, but had a really nice kitchen, fireplace, flat screen tv, WiFi, king size Sleep Number bed, jacuzzi, waterfall shower...so all the things my luxury loving side could want. But it was quiet. It was in the woods (but still a quick drive to civilization). There was a babbling brook near it, and that was the only sound we could hear (other than the male elk bellowing to his ladyfriends that he was in the mood for some lovin'). And I really liked it. I liked being slightly disconnected - quiet, calmed, peaceful.
Last month we went to Asheville. We stayed in a quite remote cabin this time - higher luxury with more distance. It was 45 minutes to civilization. This was really hard for me at first. It was so quiet, I had to listen to myself think. When I stood on the deck and looked out, all I saw were trees and distant mountains. My first thought (especially after seeing the spider that had taken up residence with us) was to get the hell out of there. I wanted to head directly to the closest Four Seasons and call it a day. But I tried to let loose. This is something I am actively working on during my travels - stopping my brain from being 10 steps ahead of me and just enjoying and acknowledging the moment I am in. And that's what I did (after our friendly neighborhood spider man had been kicked to the curb). I sat in the moment and listened to the quiet. I looked at the views and I took it all in, and I realized that I enjoyed it quite a bit. Some of my best memories of that trip are of the time we spent in the cabin - cuddled under blankets by the fire watching a movie, standing on the deck looking at those views without saying a word, really just taking it all in.
Due to my husband's job, we aren't going anywhere for at least 10 years. By then, TJK will be in college and we will have some options. I have no idea what we will do or where will go or if we will go at all. But for the first time in my life I am contemplating going somewhere that I can hibernate. Well, at least part of the time. Because you know I am not giving up my dinners out or brewery visits or shopping trips or Sundays at the diner or real pizza and bagels...and there's the Jersey Girl in me, coming out once again.
The older I get, the more I reconsider my whole "Born Jersey, Live Jersey, Die Jersey" motto. Maybe it has come with the extensive travel I have done...but then, I have been seeing the world since I was 21. Maybe it's all the traffic...but then, I've been in one long continuous traffic jam since I learned to drive. Maybe it's all the people and noise...but then, when I'm in quiet places I can't sleep.
The truth is, I think I can handle all of those things individually. It's more that cumulatively, over the past X number of years, it is getting to me. I would love to experience my 7-mile commute to work not taking 45 minutes. It would be great to go to Shop Rite and not have to hit people with my cart and then stand on line for 30 minutes. How awesome would I feel to not have noise and light pollution present at all times?
About a year ago, we went out to Denver. We stayed a few nights in the city and then head to the Rocky Mountains. I was sure I would hate it because I hate nature and all that comes with it...and because my husband convinced me to stay in a cabin. But I didn't hate it, especially the cabin. It was small, but had a really nice kitchen, fireplace, flat screen tv, WiFi, king size Sleep Number bed, jacuzzi, waterfall shower...so all the things my luxury loving side could want. But it was quiet. It was in the woods (but still a quick drive to civilization). There was a babbling brook near it, and that was the only sound we could hear (other than the male elk bellowing to his ladyfriends that he was in the mood for some lovin'). And I really liked it. I liked being slightly disconnected - quiet, calmed, peaceful.
Last month we went to Asheville. We stayed in a quite remote cabin this time - higher luxury with more distance. It was 45 minutes to civilization. This was really hard for me at first. It was so quiet, I had to listen to myself think. When I stood on the deck and looked out, all I saw were trees and distant mountains. My first thought (especially after seeing the spider that had taken up residence with us) was to get the hell out of there. I wanted to head directly to the closest Four Seasons and call it a day. But I tried to let loose. This is something I am actively working on during my travels - stopping my brain from being 10 steps ahead of me and just enjoying and acknowledging the moment I am in. And that's what I did (after our friendly neighborhood spider man had been kicked to the curb). I sat in the moment and listened to the quiet. I looked at the views and I took it all in, and I realized that I enjoyed it quite a bit. Some of my best memories of that trip are of the time we spent in the cabin - cuddled under blankets by the fire watching a movie, standing on the deck looking at those views without saying a word, really just taking it all in.
Due to my husband's job, we aren't going anywhere for at least 10 years. By then, TJK will be in college and we will have some options. I have no idea what we will do or where will go or if we will go at all. But for the first time in my life I am contemplating going somewhere that I can hibernate. Well, at least part of the time. Because you know I am not giving up my dinners out or brewery visits or shopping trips or Sundays at the diner or real pizza and bagels...and there's the Jersey Girl in me, coming out once again.
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
How Can You Be So Sure?
So let's talk about Paris and terrorism and ISIS and bombing and Syrian refugees and all that fun stuff.
All over Facebook are posts about not letting Syrian refugees into the Unites States because they are a threat to our safety. Or in the converse, letting them in because it's the American Way to welcome refugees with open arms. There are posts about bombing the hell out of ISIS because of what they have done to the West. And there are opposing posts about not bombing because that just perpetrates the Middle Eastern view of the US and attracts even more terrorists to their side. Some posts are insistent that Obama is not doing enough to stop terrorism and should be leading the way, and others are sure he is too involved and should back off and let Muslim countries lead.
No matter which side people are on, the one thing they are sure of is that they are 100% right. Not only are they 100% right, but anyone who doesn't agree with them is SO STUPID!!1!1!!
There are the most brilliant minds - political minds, military minds - trying to solve the crisis in the Middle East. We have had our best minds working on this problem for decades, if not over a century. And they have not been able to solve it. They have ideas, all of which seem logical, and none have worked. Every new party in office tries their brand of solution, but no one has found the way to make peace.
But you, oh you! You have all the answers and are so sure about it. Anyone who can't see that you are right is an idiot! You watched Fox News who told you that Muslims can't be trusted, and you are puking that back up like it's fact. You watched MSNBC who told you that bombing is bad, and you recite it as gospel.
I wonder if any of these people have ever had a thought that was truly their own. When I'm trying to decide what I think is right in these types of cases, I read everything I can. I watch every news channel and hear out every pundit. I take in every bit of information I can, on all sides of the spectrum. And then I make a decision. And then, maybe I will read or hear some new piece of information that shifts my opinion. Or maybe it confirms my opinion. But I take it in and evaluate and create my own opinion...which is just an opinion. And even with all the research and thought I give, I'd never claim my way is the only way.
In a case like this, however, no one know what the right thing to do is. No one. Not Obama, not the presidential candidates, not the military leaders, not the political pundits, and certainly not you or me.
What will the repercussions be if we let refugees in? Will there be an increased chance of a homeland terror attack, with the terrorists sneaking in amongst the refugees? Will we turn the opinions of Muslims around by showing the generosity of spirit of the American people and our way of life?
What will the repercussions be if we don't let them in? Will it drive more Muslims to radicalize because it will be more proof that the US is against them? Will it halt local terror attacks because we have kept a bad element out of our society?
All we can do at this point is make educated guesses. All we can do is trust our leaders are doing all they can to keep us safe and to eliminate the threats that face us. So when I see people who are teachers or stay-at-home moms or cops or accountants who are so sure of the answers that they think the rest of us are stupid, I can't help but be filled with wonder at how they somehow know more than the people actually deeply involved and educated on the details of these issues. And I'm staggered by their arrogance and ignorance.
All over Facebook are posts about not letting Syrian refugees into the Unites States because they are a threat to our safety. Or in the converse, letting them in because it's the American Way to welcome refugees with open arms. There are posts about bombing the hell out of ISIS because of what they have done to the West. And there are opposing posts about not bombing because that just perpetrates the Middle Eastern view of the US and attracts even more terrorists to their side. Some posts are insistent that Obama is not doing enough to stop terrorism and should be leading the way, and others are sure he is too involved and should back off and let Muslim countries lead.
No matter which side people are on, the one thing they are sure of is that they are 100% right. Not only are they 100% right, but anyone who doesn't agree with them is SO STUPID!!1!1!!
There are the most brilliant minds - political minds, military minds - trying to solve the crisis in the Middle East. We have had our best minds working on this problem for decades, if not over a century. And they have not been able to solve it. They have ideas, all of which seem logical, and none have worked. Every new party in office tries their brand of solution, but no one has found the way to make peace.
But you, oh you! You have all the answers and are so sure about it. Anyone who can't see that you are right is an idiot! You watched Fox News who told you that Muslims can't be trusted, and you are puking that back up like it's fact. You watched MSNBC who told you that bombing is bad, and you recite it as gospel.
I wonder if any of these people have ever had a thought that was truly their own. When I'm trying to decide what I think is right in these types of cases, I read everything I can. I watch every news channel and hear out every pundit. I take in every bit of information I can, on all sides of the spectrum. And then I make a decision. And then, maybe I will read or hear some new piece of information that shifts my opinion. Or maybe it confirms my opinion. But I take it in and evaluate and create my own opinion...which is just an opinion. And even with all the research and thought I give, I'd never claim my way is the only way.
In a case like this, however, no one know what the right thing to do is. No one. Not Obama, not the presidential candidates, not the military leaders, not the political pundits, and certainly not you or me.
What will the repercussions be if we let refugees in? Will there be an increased chance of a homeland terror attack, with the terrorists sneaking in amongst the refugees? Will we turn the opinions of Muslims around by showing the generosity of spirit of the American people and our way of life?
What will the repercussions be if we don't let them in? Will it drive more Muslims to radicalize because it will be more proof that the US is against them? Will it halt local terror attacks because we have kept a bad element out of our society?
All we can do at this point is make educated guesses. All we can do is trust our leaders are doing all they can to keep us safe and to eliminate the threats that face us. So when I see people who are teachers or stay-at-home moms or cops or accountants who are so sure of the answers that they think the rest of us are stupid, I can't help but be filled with wonder at how they somehow know more than the people actually deeply involved and educated on the details of these issues. And I'm staggered by their arrogance and ignorance.
Monday, November 02, 2015
Doggie Dilemma
So here's the thing about no longer having a dog.
It has made life so much easier, and yet so much lonelier.
We can now pick up and go out, at any time, for any length of time, without having to worry about coming back to let Gypsy out lest he pee on the floor. We can go away for the weekend (as we are doing this coming weekend - yay!) without having to get someone to stay at the house to watch him, and then have to spend time cleaning the house and changing sheets and doing all the prep work for someone to stay at the house, in addition to packing and prepping to go away. That part of it really kicks ass, because we are very spontaneous and we love to go out. My husband is particularly happy that our lives have changed in this way, and I am enjoying the freedom it has given us.
However.
There is still not a day that I come into my house and don't expect to be nearly licked to death by my dog, even though he has been gone for a couple of months now. There isn't a time when I sit on the couch to watch tv and I don't look to call him up to lay with/on me. There isn't an occasion when I cook and drop crumbs and don't expect the dog to eat them before they hit the floor.
On Saturday night, we were over at a friend's house celebrating Halloween. It was post-trick-or-treating, and the kids were trading candy and playing while the adults sat around and talked and had drinks. My friend's daughter came up and sat on my lap at one point and told me I was her favorite person in my family...then my husband, and then my daughter (probably because my daughter is older and doesn't always want to let her play with the older kids). Then she corrected herself - I was first, followed by Gypsy, and then hubby and then TJK. Ugh, she didn't know Gypsy had died because she hadn't been over in a while. I choked back a sob and didn't even have the heart to tell her that Gypsy was gone.
Everywhere we go, we see dogs. Everyone in our neighborhood has dogs, and we live right next to a huge park so everyone walks their dogs past our house. And I basically want to roll around on the ground and cuddle and/or wrestle with every single one. And then I just want a dog so badly again. I want a boxer. Or maybe a bulldog. Or another pittie, a white one with black markings. Or a little chi-chi dog like a yorkie or shitzu that I can put in my Louis Vuitton bag and carry with me everywhere. Or any dog, really. An ugly dog will do just fine because even the ugly ones are still cute.
And I know my husband would never go for it. At the end of Gypsy's life, he was the one getting up 10 times a night to let him out and still stepping in a puddle of pee the next morning. And honestly, it was really hard for me at the end, too. Gypsy couldn't hear and could barely see. He had accidents every day, usually multiple times per day. He walked sideways because his balance was off. He couldn't walk down the stairs anymore, and our house is full of staircases. He couldn't jump up on the couch by himself so you'd have to hoist him - and he was 65 pounds. And then, of course, there was the very end, which was so difficult and so awful and I never want to go through it again.
And that, honestly, is why I will probably never have a dog again. I love dogs so much and love having them as pets/family members...but they don't live forever and I can't deal with that again.
It has made life so much easier, and yet so much lonelier.
We can now pick up and go out, at any time, for any length of time, without having to worry about coming back to let Gypsy out lest he pee on the floor. We can go away for the weekend (as we are doing this coming weekend - yay!) without having to get someone to stay at the house to watch him, and then have to spend time cleaning the house and changing sheets and doing all the prep work for someone to stay at the house, in addition to packing and prepping to go away. That part of it really kicks ass, because we are very spontaneous and we love to go out. My husband is particularly happy that our lives have changed in this way, and I am enjoying the freedom it has given us.
However.
There is still not a day that I come into my house and don't expect to be nearly licked to death by my dog, even though he has been gone for a couple of months now. There isn't a time when I sit on the couch to watch tv and I don't look to call him up to lay with/on me. There isn't an occasion when I cook and drop crumbs and don't expect the dog to eat them before they hit the floor.
On Saturday night, we were over at a friend's house celebrating Halloween. It was post-trick-or-treating, and the kids were trading candy and playing while the adults sat around and talked and had drinks. My friend's daughter came up and sat on my lap at one point and told me I was her favorite person in my family...then my husband, and then my daughter (probably because my daughter is older and doesn't always want to let her play with the older kids). Then she corrected herself - I was first, followed by Gypsy, and then hubby and then TJK. Ugh, she didn't know Gypsy had died because she hadn't been over in a while. I choked back a sob and didn't even have the heart to tell her that Gypsy was gone.
Everywhere we go, we see dogs. Everyone in our neighborhood has dogs, and we live right next to a huge park so everyone walks their dogs past our house. And I basically want to roll around on the ground and cuddle and/or wrestle with every single one. And then I just want a dog so badly again. I want a boxer. Or maybe a bulldog. Or another pittie, a white one with black markings. Or a little chi-chi dog like a yorkie or shitzu that I can put in my Louis Vuitton bag and carry with me everywhere. Or any dog, really. An ugly dog will do just fine because even the ugly ones are still cute.
And I know my husband would never go for it. At the end of Gypsy's life, he was the one getting up 10 times a night to let him out and still stepping in a puddle of pee the next morning. And honestly, it was really hard for me at the end, too. Gypsy couldn't hear and could barely see. He had accidents every day, usually multiple times per day. He walked sideways because his balance was off. He couldn't walk down the stairs anymore, and our house is full of staircases. He couldn't jump up on the couch by himself so you'd have to hoist him - and he was 65 pounds. And then, of course, there was the very end, which was so difficult and so awful and I never want to go through it again.
And that, honestly, is why I will probably never have a dog again. I love dogs so much and love having them as pets/family members...but they don't live forever and I can't deal with that again.
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Last Night's Democratic Debate
Last night was the first debate for the candidates for Democratic nominee for President. Everyone who knows me at all knows that I will be voting for one of these people - the Republicans can't come close to putting together anything that I could support. So while I watched the RNC debates for the sheer entertainment value, I watched the DNC debate to see who I will support for President of the United States of America.
Firstly, just on the debate itself, wasn't it nice to watch adults talk about serious issues like adults? There was no circus, no badmouthing each other, no ugliness. No denial of science. No talk of whether any of the candidates heard god speaking to them about running. Just a debate about solutions. They disagreed but were never nasty to each other, and they made me proud to be a Democrat.
So now, to the candidates and where I stood before and after.
Throughout the campaigns thus far, I have been torn between Hillary and Bernie. I was hoping that the debate would clear that up for me. One thing that quickly became clear was that there is no other candidate currently in the race who would get my vote. Webb: too cantankerous, too whiny, too Dixiecrat, too much like a Republican. Chaffee: too wishy-washy, too weak, too many excuses for bad votes ("it was my first day and my dad just died" is the new "the dog ate my homework"). O'Malley: too reserved, too docile, too soft. The thing I will say for O'Malley is that in my mind, he has to get a little spicier but then he could be set up for another run down the road. And hell if he doesn't look presidential! With the three of them, I didn't really get a feel for why any of them want to be President or why they were running. They either had no passion, or misplaced passion ("I am not getting as much time as everyone else" is not the most passionate thing I want to hear from your face).
So, it's Bernie and Hillary. I've long supported Hillary, for lots of reasons. Some have to do with her qualifications (which are ginormous), some have to do with her being a woman and really wanting a smart and qualified woman to get into the White House, and some have to do with her having put in enough time standing behind Bill to now get her own chance. I did leave her for Obama in 2008, which was a really hard decision to make but one I would make again if I felt it was right for the country. Last night, I thought Hillary looked presidential, confident, comfortable, and smart. Plus, she was funny and personable, which is something she struggles with. I thought she kicked ass in the debate. I still worry about her changing her mind and position for political reasons. It's fine to change your mind based on new information (which we all should do), but I worry that she does it as the wind blows right or left. That concerns me. but she is such a smart and capable woman who understands politics from every angle and seems like she would know how to get things done.
When I heard Bernie was running, I was excited. A true liberal! An *unapologetic* liberal! Woohoo! And I am still excited after watching him last night. My concerns with him are his electability and his single-minded focus on the poor/middle class. It's great to be from a liberal state and understand what Democratic Socialism is and know that it's not the devil seeping in to make us all communists or some other crooked thinking. I just wonder if he is the nominee, how many uneducated voters would simply not vote for him because he is a "Socialist"? As Anderson Cooper said, the attack ads write themselves. If people can be convinced that Obama is a socialist and hate him for it, what will they do with a man who labels himself as a socialist? And while I agree with all he says about focusing on the poor and middle class, I am concerned that it's all he has to offer. I'm afraid the debate last night didn't convince me otherwise. But here's the thing - I love his honesty. I love his forthrightness. I love that I totally believe every single word that comes out of his mouth. It's so rare in politics to have someone reach this level and still be true to themselves.
The thing that stands out to me is that the thing I love about Bernie is the thing I worry about in Hillary. He is sincere and honest and you never doubt his word. She is so political that you're never sure if she is speaking from the heart or if it's a political move. And then, the thing I love about Hillary is her political savvy and knowledge of the system, and that's one thing I think Bernie lacks as an overall candidate.
I looked at last night's debate as a way to clear things up in my mind, to help me decide who would better represent me as a candidate and eventual President. I don't think it cleared anything for me. I still like everything I liked about Bernie and still have the same concerns about him...and the same goes for Hillary.
The good news is that whichever becomes the eventual nominee (and eventual President, knock wood), I will be happy to support them.Clinton/Sanders 2016!
Firstly, just on the debate itself, wasn't it nice to watch adults talk about serious issues like adults? There was no circus, no badmouthing each other, no ugliness. No denial of science. No talk of whether any of the candidates heard god speaking to them about running. Just a debate about solutions. They disagreed but were never nasty to each other, and they made me proud to be a Democrat.
So now, to the candidates and where I stood before and after.
Throughout the campaigns thus far, I have been torn between Hillary and Bernie. I was hoping that the debate would clear that up for me. One thing that quickly became clear was that there is no other candidate currently in the race who would get my vote. Webb: too cantankerous, too whiny, too Dixiecrat, too much like a Republican. Chaffee: too wishy-washy, too weak, too many excuses for bad votes ("it was my first day and my dad just died" is the new "the dog ate my homework"). O'Malley: too reserved, too docile, too soft. The thing I will say for O'Malley is that in my mind, he has to get a little spicier but then he could be set up for another run down the road. And hell if he doesn't look presidential! With the three of them, I didn't really get a feel for why any of them want to be President or why they were running. They either had no passion, or misplaced passion ("I am not getting as much time as everyone else" is not the most passionate thing I want to hear from your face).
So, it's Bernie and Hillary. I've long supported Hillary, for lots of reasons. Some have to do with her qualifications (which are ginormous), some have to do with her being a woman and really wanting a smart and qualified woman to get into the White House, and some have to do with her having put in enough time standing behind Bill to now get her own chance. I did leave her for Obama in 2008, which was a really hard decision to make but one I would make again if I felt it was right for the country. Last night, I thought Hillary looked presidential, confident, comfortable, and smart. Plus, she was funny and personable, which is something she struggles with. I thought she kicked ass in the debate. I still worry about her changing her mind and position for political reasons. It's fine to change your mind based on new information (which we all should do), but I worry that she does it as the wind blows right or left. That concerns me. but she is such a smart and capable woman who understands politics from every angle and seems like she would know how to get things done.
When I heard Bernie was running, I was excited. A true liberal! An *unapologetic* liberal! Woohoo! And I am still excited after watching him last night. My concerns with him are his electability and his single-minded focus on the poor/middle class. It's great to be from a liberal state and understand what Democratic Socialism is and know that it's not the devil seeping in to make us all communists or some other crooked thinking. I just wonder if he is the nominee, how many uneducated voters would simply not vote for him because he is a "Socialist"? As Anderson Cooper said, the attack ads write themselves. If people can be convinced that Obama is a socialist and hate him for it, what will they do with a man who labels himself as a socialist? And while I agree with all he says about focusing on the poor and middle class, I am concerned that it's all he has to offer. I'm afraid the debate last night didn't convince me otherwise. But here's the thing - I love his honesty. I love his forthrightness. I love that I totally believe every single word that comes out of his mouth. It's so rare in politics to have someone reach this level and still be true to themselves.
The thing that stands out to me is that the thing I love about Bernie is the thing I worry about in Hillary. He is sincere and honest and you never doubt his word. She is so political that you're never sure if she is speaking from the heart or if it's a political move. And then, the thing I love about Hillary is her political savvy and knowledge of the system, and that's one thing I think Bernie lacks as an overall candidate.
I looked at last night's debate as a way to clear things up in my mind, to help me decide who would better represent me as a candidate and eventual President. I don't think it cleared anything for me. I still like everything I liked about Bernie and still have the same concerns about him...and the same goes for Hillary.
The good news is that whichever becomes the eventual nominee (and eventual President, knock wood), I will be happy to support them.Clinton/Sanders 2016!
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Tween Friendships
It's hard to know what to do when your daughter is friends with someone, so you became friends with the mom, and now the girls are no longer friends but you are still friends with the mom. It's also really hard to figure out what I'm trying to say in that sentence.
TJK has been friends with Sam since kindergarten. Sam lives right around the corner and they walk and ride bikes to each other's houses and have sleepovers and hang out nearly every day. Well, they used to.
Now, TJK is not so fond of Sam anymore, and from what she told me, I can understand why. Sam is kind of whiny and she cries over everything and overreacts and storms off - basically, she is full of tantrums and that gets old, especially when you are nearly 12. They aren't little kids anymore. They are on the cusp of being teenagers and that kind of behavior can get annoying really quickly.
TJK has lots of other friends. Now, instead of going to Sam's, she is hanging out with any one of 8 or 10 other girls. So while I noticed she was no longer hanging out with Sam, I wasn't too worried because she is still surrounded by friends and isn't longing for her friendship with Sam. But Sam's mom emailed me yesterday, asking for help.
Sam doesn't have a lot of other friends. In fact, last year her mom told me that TJK was her only friend (and TJK acknowledged this and said that was one of the main reasons she hung out with her - she felt bad). So her mom is looking for me to help build a bridge between the girls, which I get because hers is suffering and it sucks to watch your kid suffer.
But TJK is good. She is fine with not hanging out with Sam anymore. She sees her in school and that's enough for her. I talked it all through with her last night and she has actually given it thought and weighed her options and taken the time to look at the entirety of their friendship...and based on what she has experienced, she has decided it's not worth it anymore.
Sam's mom told me that Sam is seeing a therapist. She seems to be a very sensitive kid who has just a small handful of friends who she holds up to nearly impossible standards, and then feels disappointed and angry when they can't meet those standards. TJK feels that she has been a really good friend to Sam - comforting her continuously when she gets sad or has a tantrum - and Sam doesn't seem to appreciate it. I can't blame TJK for saying "that's it, I've had enough."
But, when I'm friends with Sam's mom and I see her struggling and in pain because her daughter is struggling and in pain, it's hard to know how to guide TJK. I want to value and trust her opinions and decisions about who she wants to be friends with (and reinforce the idea that she gets to decide who is in and out of her life - she doesn't have to stay in relationships that make her feel bad or sad). But I also want her to be able to have compassion for her friend who is going through a rough time, and cut her some slack. That balance is not so easy, because tweens can be painfully black-and-white without seeing the many shades of grey.
So I'm going to see Sam's mom tonight, and we will talk and try to come up with a solution that helps her daughter while not hurting mine. And then, if the attempt does not work, we will see if she and I can remain friends when my kid wants nothing to do with hers.
TJK has been friends with Sam since kindergarten. Sam lives right around the corner and they walk and ride bikes to each other's houses and have sleepovers and hang out nearly every day. Well, they used to.
Now, TJK is not so fond of Sam anymore, and from what she told me, I can understand why. Sam is kind of whiny and she cries over everything and overreacts and storms off - basically, she is full of tantrums and that gets old, especially when you are nearly 12. They aren't little kids anymore. They are on the cusp of being teenagers and that kind of behavior can get annoying really quickly.
TJK has lots of other friends. Now, instead of going to Sam's, she is hanging out with any one of 8 or 10 other girls. So while I noticed she was no longer hanging out with Sam, I wasn't too worried because she is still surrounded by friends and isn't longing for her friendship with Sam. But Sam's mom emailed me yesterday, asking for help.
Sam doesn't have a lot of other friends. In fact, last year her mom told me that TJK was her only friend (and TJK acknowledged this and said that was one of the main reasons she hung out with her - she felt bad). So her mom is looking for me to help build a bridge between the girls, which I get because hers is suffering and it sucks to watch your kid suffer.
But TJK is good. She is fine with not hanging out with Sam anymore. She sees her in school and that's enough for her. I talked it all through with her last night and she has actually given it thought and weighed her options and taken the time to look at the entirety of their friendship...and based on what she has experienced, she has decided it's not worth it anymore.
Sam's mom told me that Sam is seeing a therapist. She seems to be a very sensitive kid who has just a small handful of friends who she holds up to nearly impossible standards, and then feels disappointed and angry when they can't meet those standards. TJK feels that she has been a really good friend to Sam - comforting her continuously when she gets sad or has a tantrum - and Sam doesn't seem to appreciate it. I can't blame TJK for saying "that's it, I've had enough."
But, when I'm friends with Sam's mom and I see her struggling and in pain because her daughter is struggling and in pain, it's hard to know how to guide TJK. I want to value and trust her opinions and decisions about who she wants to be friends with (and reinforce the idea that she gets to decide who is in and out of her life - she doesn't have to stay in relationships that make her feel bad or sad). But I also want her to be able to have compassion for her friend who is going through a rough time, and cut her some slack. That balance is not so easy, because tweens can be painfully black-and-white without seeing the many shades of grey.
So I'm going to see Sam's mom tonight, and we will talk and try to come up with a solution that helps her daughter while not hurting mine. And then, if the attempt does not work, we will see if she and I can remain friends when my kid wants nothing to do with hers.
Friday, September 04, 2015
The Long Tale of Sir Street Gypsy Louis of Newark
I am having such a hard time.
Most of the day and night, I'm okay. I am a really busy person, so my mind doesn't get caught up in tangles of thought when I need to get stuff done. But I keep having these bursts of remembrance and it is just. so. hard.
People without pets just don't get it. Your dog dies and you move on. You just get another dog. It's not a person dying, after all.
But this was my baby.
--------------------------------
This was the puppy who, almost 16 years ago, I picked out from the Newark Shelter. The weekend after we closed on our house, I NEEDED A DOG. We went to a few places to look at rescues and finally ended up in Newark. Not a pleasant place, and definitely a kill-shelter. When we got there, they were bringing in a passel of pit bulls, one pregnant, and the woman at the desk gave the people holding the leashes the signal - hand across the throat. Put them down.
So when we walked among the cages, with the roar of cooped-up dogs surrounding us, I was looking for someone to save. My first love at the shelter was a 6-week-old German Shepherd. It was tiny and adorable and sick. But it couldn't be adopted for a few more weeks and I couldn't wait. So we kept looking.
We came upon a cage filled with 4 dogs. Three of them were big, and they were aggressively trying to get our attention. The fourth was under the mass of the other dogs, trying to check us out but getting nipped and pushed back at every turn. I made eye contact with the little guy, and that was that. He was mine. We had him taken out of the cage and he was shy and sweet and nervous. He was also full of scars from who-knows-what and he had gum stuck in his matted fur. He was my boy.
The tag on the cage said that he was a "Black Lab Mix" - which, I didn't realize, was code for a pit bull mutt. I just saw his sweet face and kind demeanor and I had to take him home.
My husband was not so sure. He did not grow up with a dog and thought we should get settled in the house for more than 2 days before bringing a dog home. I would hear nothing of it. We took him home that day, after a stop at Petco to have him groomed (he stank) and at my parents's house to show him off. My mom freaked out that I was bringing a pit bull into my house (and, despite her being totally in love with him, she still, to the end, had a hard time telling people he was a pittie).
We name him Gypsy, as we will not conform to your gendered name expectations. Boys are gypsies too, was my answer when people questioned his moniker. He was manly enough to deal with a girly name anyway, haters.
--------------------------------
Day one, day two, day three...all is well. He is not quite as manly as we had expected. He is sweet and all that, but he does not bark. He chirps. Like a bird. Our friends mock us for having the one and only chirping pit bull in the world. I street-fight them to defend Gypsy's honor.
Suddenly, he starts getting mean. I think he got comfortable. He realized he now has a nice house and all the food and treats and toys he can handle. He is not living on the rough and tumble Newark streets any longer. He comes out of his shell, and he is kind of a dick.
But he is only mean to me. Me, the one who saved him from sure death. Me, the one who catered to his every whim. Me, the one who took him running in the park. This dog was trying to eat my face. I didn't know what to do. My mom was in a panic - "you need to get rid of him! He is going to murder you in your sleep!" No. He is my baby and I said I was going to save him and that's exactly what I am going to do, whether I have a face left or not.
I got scared though. This was one strong dog. He was hard to fight off. I counted the minutes till my husband got home so he could control this dogmonster. Finally, I got a trainer, who taught me in 3.5 minutes that it was all my fault and that this was not an evil dog; I was just a bad human.
Dogs are pack animals, and Gypsy thought I was beneath him in the pack. I was basically too nice to him. When he wanted to sit on the couch, I'd move so he could have my spot. When he wanted a treat, I gave him 10. Once I stopped being a dog's doormat, my sweet puppy was back and he never left me after that.
Oh, and she also tried to teach him to walk on the leash, proclaiming it to be a simple thing. He never did learn that trick - he was always just so happy to be outside going for a walk that he didn't care if he walked in circles. He just wanted to be out there.
---------------------------------
For the next 15-and-some-odd years, he was my loyal companion. He was waiting at the window when I pulled up to the house. He sat outside the bathroom door and waited for me every time I peed. He curled up on the couch next to me and chilled. Now don't get me wrong. This was not a lovey-dovey kind of dog. He didn't cuddle. But he was a sweetheart and he loved us.
When True Jersey Kid was born, we were nervous about how he would be with her. I mean, he was a pit bull and they eat babies, right? My mom, in particular, was sure we were going to have to get rid of Gypsy because he was going to murder the baby's face. Well, TJK was born, we brought her home, Gypsy sniffed her and then went and laid down. Did not care about this alien in his house. And the truth was: When people told me that my dog might not get along with my baby, my answer was always that the baby would have to be the one to go because I knew and loved my puppy and this baby was a stranger. Luckily, that decision never had to be made.
---------------------------------
Gypsy loved to go the park and was horrendous on the leash. He would pull me around the park like I was a rag doll, and he would have that pit bull smile on while he did it. This terrified people and when they saw us coming, they would hide their little chi-chi dogs while he dragged me past them. He wouldn't have hurt a fly though. He truly just wanted to play with everyone - dog, cat, bird, human, whatever - and was very exuberant about it. His exuberance came off as aggression, which was really okay with me because no one messed with me when I was with him. His playful craziness came off as homicidal, and that kept me safe. So while he wasn't a protective dog, per se, he did protect me in his own way.
---------------------------------
I was walking Gypsy around the neighborhood when he was maybe 8 months old, just taking a stroll around my development. This man is sitting in his driveway on a lawn chair (do people do that everywhere or just the Italians in Jersey?) and he saw me coming and basically freaked out. Ran at me. Got on the ground. Had my dog all up on him and did not care. Then finally talked to me: Can you wait here a minute? I have to get my wife, she will love this dog so much. He looks like our dog who just passed away.
So this guy runs in the house and he and his wife bolt back out. She ignores me and rolls around on the sidewalk with Gyspy, who is totally cool with it. They tell me all about their dog, with tears in their eyes, and we kind of become besties. Then, a few weeks later, they come to a BBQ at my house. The guy pulls me aside and offers me $1000 for my dog. I look at him like he's insane, for several reasons:
---------------------------------
I am very protective of my dog, and I will not have him disparaged in any way.
So we start hanging out with Diddy, who is a co-worker of my husband's and also Patsy Darling's boyfriend. He is annoying when he drinks and we fight all the time (not any more, but we did back then).
I'm pouring tequila shots for us all and as we are doing the shots, of course Gypsy is right underfoot. Some tequila gets spilled on him. Diddy starts yelling that my dog is 50 Cent. He is all shot up.
I get furious because in my drunken state, I am assuming that because my dog is black and is from Newark, Diddy is calling him a thug. This becomes an ongoing joke, and Gypsy comes upon another of his nicknames: 50 Cent.
------------------------------------
We go to CT every year for Thanksgiving and 4th of July. In 2004, TJK was going up to CT for her first Thanksgiving. She was 11 months old. We leave Gypsy home, with a friend of ours staying at the house to watch him.
We get home on Sunday and of course, Gypsy bounds for the door when we get there and greets us as his long lost family (which we are). As soon as she sees him, TJK says her very first word: Gypsy. She pronounces it "Gypy" which becomes another of his nicknames.
My kid did not say Mama or Dada or No for her first word. She called her dog. For some strange reason, this was always a source of pride for me.
---------------------------------
There are a thousand stories I could tell about Gypsy Lou, and I may come back at times to add them when they come to mind.
This is a dog who was so loved. So loved that for the past 2+ years, he has been peeing in the house due to kidney disease, and we just cleaned up after him every day, sometimes multiple times a day. So loved that again due to kidney disease, he got up 2-3 times a night for the past several years and we had to get up with him and let him out (okay, so Hubby did most of that). So loved that even though he had been sick for a couple of years and wasn't himself and walked sideways and had several strokes...I couldn't let him go. I still saw a spark in him, that spark of a puppy who still wants to run and greet you even though his legs won't take him any more.
I can't talk yet about the whole process of saying good bye. I'm going to leave this here and just say that every word has been typed with tears in my eyes.
Miss and love you, LouLou.
Most of the day and night, I'm okay. I am a really busy person, so my mind doesn't get caught up in tangles of thought when I need to get stuff done. But I keep having these bursts of remembrance and it is just. so. hard.
People without pets just don't get it. Your dog dies and you move on. You just get another dog. It's not a person dying, after all.
But this was my baby.
--------------------------------
This was the puppy who, almost 16 years ago, I picked out from the Newark Shelter. The weekend after we closed on our house, I NEEDED A DOG. We went to a few places to look at rescues and finally ended up in Newark. Not a pleasant place, and definitely a kill-shelter. When we got there, they were bringing in a passel of pit bulls, one pregnant, and the woman at the desk gave the people holding the leashes the signal - hand across the throat. Put them down.
So when we walked among the cages, with the roar of cooped-up dogs surrounding us, I was looking for someone to save. My first love at the shelter was a 6-week-old German Shepherd. It was tiny and adorable and sick. But it couldn't be adopted for a few more weeks and I couldn't wait. So we kept looking.
We came upon a cage filled with 4 dogs. Three of them were big, and they were aggressively trying to get our attention. The fourth was under the mass of the other dogs, trying to check us out but getting nipped and pushed back at every turn. I made eye contact with the little guy, and that was that. He was mine. We had him taken out of the cage and he was shy and sweet and nervous. He was also full of scars from who-knows-what and he had gum stuck in his matted fur. He was my boy.
The tag on the cage said that he was a "Black Lab Mix" - which, I didn't realize, was code for a pit bull mutt. I just saw his sweet face and kind demeanor and I had to take him home.
My husband was not so sure. He did not grow up with a dog and thought we should get settled in the house for more than 2 days before bringing a dog home. I would hear nothing of it. We took him home that day, after a stop at Petco to have him groomed (he stank) and at my parents's house to show him off. My mom freaked out that I was bringing a pit bull into my house (and, despite her being totally in love with him, she still, to the end, had a hard time telling people he was a pittie).
We name him Gypsy, as we will not conform to your gendered name expectations. Boys are gypsies too, was my answer when people questioned his moniker. He was manly enough to deal with a girly name anyway, haters.
--------------------------------
Day one, day two, day three...all is well. He is not quite as manly as we had expected. He is sweet and all that, but he does not bark. He chirps. Like a bird. Our friends mock us for having the one and only chirping pit bull in the world. I street-fight them to defend Gypsy's honor.
Suddenly, he starts getting mean. I think he got comfortable. He realized he now has a nice house and all the food and treats and toys he can handle. He is not living on the rough and tumble Newark streets any longer. He comes out of his shell, and he is kind of a dick.
But he is only mean to me. Me, the one who saved him from sure death. Me, the one who catered to his every whim. Me, the one who took him running in the park. This dog was trying to eat my face. I didn't know what to do. My mom was in a panic - "you need to get rid of him! He is going to murder you in your sleep!" No. He is my baby and I said I was going to save him and that's exactly what I am going to do, whether I have a face left or not.
I got scared though. This was one strong dog. He was hard to fight off. I counted the minutes till my husband got home so he could control this dogmonster. Finally, I got a trainer, who taught me in 3.5 minutes that it was all my fault and that this was not an evil dog; I was just a bad human.
Dogs are pack animals, and Gypsy thought I was beneath him in the pack. I was basically too nice to him. When he wanted to sit on the couch, I'd move so he could have my spot. When he wanted a treat, I gave him 10. Once I stopped being a dog's doormat, my sweet puppy was back and he never left me after that.
Oh, and she also tried to teach him to walk on the leash, proclaiming it to be a simple thing. He never did learn that trick - he was always just so happy to be outside going for a walk that he didn't care if he walked in circles. He just wanted to be out there.
---------------------------------
For the next 15-and-some-odd years, he was my loyal companion. He was waiting at the window when I pulled up to the house. He sat outside the bathroom door and waited for me every time I peed. He curled up on the couch next to me and chilled. Now don't get me wrong. This was not a lovey-dovey kind of dog. He didn't cuddle. But he was a sweetheart and he loved us.
When True Jersey Kid was born, we were nervous about how he would be with her. I mean, he was a pit bull and they eat babies, right? My mom, in particular, was sure we were going to have to get rid of Gypsy because he was going to murder the baby's face. Well, TJK was born, we brought her home, Gypsy sniffed her and then went and laid down. Did not care about this alien in his house. And the truth was: When people told me that my dog might not get along with my baby, my answer was always that the baby would have to be the one to go because I knew and loved my puppy and this baby was a stranger. Luckily, that decision never had to be made.
---------------------------------
Gypsy loved to go the park and was horrendous on the leash. He would pull me around the park like I was a rag doll, and he would have that pit bull smile on while he did it. This terrified people and when they saw us coming, they would hide their little chi-chi dogs while he dragged me past them. He wouldn't have hurt a fly though. He truly just wanted to play with everyone - dog, cat, bird, human, whatever - and was very exuberant about it. His exuberance came off as aggression, which was really okay with me because no one messed with me when I was with him. His playful craziness came off as homicidal, and that kept me safe. So while he wasn't a protective dog, per se, he did protect me in his own way.
---------------------------------
I was walking Gypsy around the neighborhood when he was maybe 8 months old, just taking a stroll around my development. This man is sitting in his driveway on a lawn chair (do people do that everywhere or just the Italians in Jersey?) and he saw me coming and basically freaked out. Ran at me. Got on the ground. Had my dog all up on him and did not care. Then finally talked to me: Can you wait here a minute? I have to get my wife, she will love this dog so much. He looks like our dog who just passed away.
So this guy runs in the house and he and his wife bolt back out. She ignores me and rolls around on the sidewalk with Gyspy, who is totally cool with it. They tell me all about their dog, with tears in their eyes, and we kind of become besties. Then, a few weeks later, they come to a BBQ at my house. The guy pulls me aside and offers me $1000 for my dog. I look at him like he's insane, for several reasons:
- I paid $100 for this dog and got $50 back when I had him fixed. So this is a $50 street dog.
- You can go to the shelter on any given day and get a pit bull for $100 with a $50 rebate for fixing; why do you want to pay $1000 for mine?
- Um, you freak, this is my baby and you know that and do you think for one minute I would sell him to you for any amount?
---------------------------------
I am very protective of my dog, and I will not have him disparaged in any way.
So we start hanging out with Diddy, who is a co-worker of my husband's and also Patsy Darling's boyfriend. He is annoying when he drinks and we fight all the time (not any more, but we did back then).
I'm pouring tequila shots for us all and as we are doing the shots, of course Gypsy is right underfoot. Some tequila gets spilled on him. Diddy starts yelling that my dog is 50 Cent. He is all shot up.
I get furious because in my drunken state, I am assuming that because my dog is black and is from Newark, Diddy is calling him a thug. This becomes an ongoing joke, and Gypsy comes upon another of his nicknames: 50 Cent.
------------------------------------
We go to CT every year for Thanksgiving and 4th of July. In 2004, TJK was going up to CT for her first Thanksgiving. She was 11 months old. We leave Gypsy home, with a friend of ours staying at the house to watch him.
We get home on Sunday and of course, Gypsy bounds for the door when we get there and greets us as his long lost family (which we are). As soon as she sees him, TJK says her very first word: Gypsy. She pronounces it "Gypy" which becomes another of his nicknames.
My kid did not say Mama or Dada or No for her first word. She called her dog. For some strange reason, this was always a source of pride for me.
---------------------------------
There are a thousand stories I could tell about Gypsy Lou, and I may come back at times to add them when they come to mind.
This is a dog who was so loved. So loved that for the past 2+ years, he has been peeing in the house due to kidney disease, and we just cleaned up after him every day, sometimes multiple times a day. So loved that again due to kidney disease, he got up 2-3 times a night for the past several years and we had to get up with him and let him out (okay, so Hubby did most of that). So loved that even though he had been sick for a couple of years and wasn't himself and walked sideways and had several strokes...I couldn't let him go. I still saw a spark in him, that spark of a puppy who still wants to run and greet you even though his legs won't take him any more.
I can't talk yet about the whole process of saying good bye. I'm going to leave this here and just say that every word has been typed with tears in my eyes.
Miss and love you, LouLou.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Black vs. Blonde
So these are the things that keep me up at night: what color shall I dye my hair?
I spent a good portion of my best years with jet black hair. I often had some dark red chunks of color thrown in just to make it a little less goth, or something? I have just always felt like black hair complimented my personality. I'm dark. I have a dark sense of humor and I mostly do not like people. I am sultry and sexy and a little mysterious. I am full of sarcasm and vinegar and I really don't give a fuck what you think about me. So black hair has always matched me well.
As I age (quite gracefully, if I do say so myself, but aging nonetheless), I feel like black hair shows every imperfection in my face. I am very pale ("alabaster" is my shade, I have been told) and until now I have always liked the contrast of darkest hair with lightest face. Now though, I fear it makes me look older, which is not something I am particularly looking for at this stage of the game. Light hair keeps my skin looking lighter and fresher and non-wrinkly. Black hair reveals every secret my face is trying to hide with a good makeup job.
(Now, don't get me wrong. I am not a wrinkled mess. I have very few wrinkles and pretty good skin. A former boyfriend's mom used to call me a porcelain doll because my skin was so perfect, and I'm not that anymore. That was in high school. But I'm still pretty happy with what I've got.)
I really needed a drastic change a few years back and my hair has always taken the brunt of my rash decisions to go insane. During a spontaneous visit to the salon, I went from black to blonde in one afternoon. And I then went even blonder. I liked it, but was it really representative of me?
I am currently a medium blonde. I don't love it. It feels mature and serious and while I may be at an age that is mature and serious, I am not. I have a high-level job and own a house and a BMW and have a kid...so yeah, I guess there's some of that in there. But I'm also the broad who will decide on a whim to fly off somewhere and spend a weekend letting loose. I'll jump in a mosh pit. I'll be decidedly unladylike in my consumption of beers and then argue my feminist politics with drunk fratboys till they give up or pass out because I outdrank them.
So I feel like my hair does not represent me right now and I don't know what to do. Part of me says, just go platinum blonde. Go for it. Dye your hair whitish blonde and cut it short in a pixie and say fuck it all. Another part of me says, Go for it. Dye your hair jet black again, maybe with dark blue highlights this time, and leave it long and gothy and punky and say fuck it all.
The truth is, as I try to make the "right" decision for my hair, I will never be younger than I am today. I dyed my hair pink a couple years ago and I felt like I had really had my fill of that when I was 20. But I did it because I wanted to and I loved it and so did everyone else (except my boss, I suppose...). So I think I just need to do what I want to do and not worry about age or any of that, because I won't be any younger next year so the window will just keep closing on what I think is "appropriate" for me.
Now, if I could just decide between way too blonde and way too black, I'd be in good shape.
I spent a good portion of my best years with jet black hair. I often had some dark red chunks of color thrown in just to make it a little less goth, or something? I have just always felt like black hair complimented my personality. I'm dark. I have a dark sense of humor and I mostly do not like people. I am sultry and sexy and a little mysterious. I am full of sarcasm and vinegar and I really don't give a fuck what you think about me. So black hair has always matched me well.
 |
| I am the goddess of darkness and evil. |
As I age (quite gracefully, if I do say so myself, but aging nonetheless), I feel like black hair shows every imperfection in my face. I am very pale ("alabaster" is my shade, I have been told) and until now I have always liked the contrast of darkest hair with lightest face. Now though, I fear it makes me look older, which is not something I am particularly looking for at this stage of the game. Light hair keeps my skin looking lighter and fresher and non-wrinkly. Black hair reveals every secret my face is trying to hide with a good makeup job.
(Now, don't get me wrong. I am not a wrinkled mess. I have very few wrinkles and pretty good skin. A former boyfriend's mom used to call me a porcelain doll because my skin was so perfect, and I'm not that anymore. That was in high school. But I'm still pretty happy with what I've got.)
I really needed a drastic change a few years back and my hair has always taken the brunt of my rash decisions to go insane. During a spontaneous visit to the salon, I went from black to blonde in one afternoon. And I then went even blonder. I liked it, but was it really representative of me?
 |
| I am sweetness and light and everything nice. Except, I'm not. |
I am currently a medium blonde. I don't love it. It feels mature and serious and while I may be at an age that is mature and serious, I am not. I have a high-level job and own a house and a BMW and have a kid...so yeah, I guess there's some of that in there. But I'm also the broad who will decide on a whim to fly off somewhere and spend a weekend letting loose. I'll jump in a mosh pit. I'll be decidedly unladylike in my consumption of beers and then argue my feminist politics with drunk fratboys till they give up or pass out because I outdrank them.
So I feel like my hair does not represent me right now and I don't know what to do. Part of me says, just go platinum blonde. Go for it. Dye your hair whitish blonde and cut it short in a pixie and say fuck it all. Another part of me says, Go for it. Dye your hair jet black again, maybe with dark blue highlights this time, and leave it long and gothy and punky and say fuck it all.
The truth is, as I try to make the "right" decision for my hair, I will never be younger than I am today. I dyed my hair pink a couple years ago and I felt like I had really had my fill of that when I was 20. But I did it because I wanted to and I loved it and so did everyone else (except my boss, I suppose...). So I think I just need to do what I want to do and not worry about age or any of that, because I won't be any younger next year so the window will just keep closing on what I think is "appropriate" for me.
Now, if I could just decide between way too blonde and way too black, I'd be in good shape.
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