Happy New Year Michael & Karen

I received a Holiday Greeting card from my newspaper delivery folks. Those of you following the saga of the never-ending-newspapers, (see Blog from October, 2008) will enjoy this note I sent back.

Dear Michael & Karen,

Thank you for your lovely holiday card. Your timely greeting arrived at my doorstep along with the newspaper you so thoughtfully continue to deliver, despite the fact that I ceased paying for delivery back in August.

I’m sure you have seen the signs of neglect in our relationship as, day after day, newspapers pile up on my front lawn. I’m sure you have received the calls from your employer, advising you to cease and desist. Please, do not take it personally, but I would really like to end our relationship.

I urge you to start the new year out on the right foot. Make a resolution to stop delivering the newspaper to my home.

I understand how difficult it can be to break ties, especially when one has had a long and satisfying relationship. Five years is indeed a long time. Perhaps, I am simply a habit you cannot manage to break. Perhaps, it is the letting go that you cannot accept.

Quitting quit cold-turkey is always the best way to go. Lingering in a languished relationship is never a wise move. If you just can’t bear to part ways, we can compromise. You are welcome to continue to send your annual holiday card, as I always appreciate the kind sentiment. But please, stop delivering the newspaper.

Happy New Year Michael & Karen
I wish you all the best in your future endeavors.
Denise

A Parenting Oops Card

At Back-to-school night, one teacher handed out a Free Homework Pass to each parent. A little “I know your life is crazy” gift to provide momentary relief on a day of the parent’s choosing. A nice thought, but what I would really like is a parenting “oops” card.

Recently, my daughter shared with me about a time I had ignored a request she made. She was 7. Apparently, she is scarred for life. I told her I was sorry (and I truly am) but I wanted to tell her “get in line.” I’ve made mistakes, a lot of them. Parenting is tough work. We muddle through our busy lives and raise our children as best we can. Somewhere along the line, we need to forgive ourselves for our missteps and hope that our children do to.

My present for you this Christmas is a special kind of gift card, a Parenting Oops Card. Take one guilt-ridden parenting moment and toss it away. Any event: the time you sent your son to school with a fever because you had a presentation at work; a time you raised your voice, simply because you were tired, not because it was the most appropriate response for the situation; a time you ignored, forgot, or misspoke.

I’m here to tell you, the things you’re beating yourself up over are probably not even the things your kids remember. Allow yourself a special gift this Christmas – accept a Parenting Oops Card. And be sure to share it with a friend.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Frankincense & Myrrh, Family & Friends

Tis the season, or so I hear. Christmas decorating has not yet made my “to do” list. Neither has Christmas shopping.

A sad state of affairs, really. I love Christmas. The festive decorations, the smell of pine needles, I enjoy every Christmas carol every written.

Last night, I resorted to evaluating the conference booth give-aways I received this fall, to see if any were worthy of stocking stuffer status. I am proud to report I will be recycling, reusing and reducing this Christmas, whether my kids like it or not. Our environment, my time and my money are all precious commodities.

Besides, it’s not about the gifts. Do you think baby Jesus was thrilled to receive frankincense and myrrh? Christmas is about the miracle of Jesus’ birth and the folks who came to pay him homage. It’s about travel and visiting and family and friends. Keep that in mind, when the crush of this holiday season gets to you.

I intend to remind my children of that fact when they open their fuzzy key rings, logo pens and odd shaped post-it notes on Christmas Eve. They should simply be happy we are together, gathered around the Christmas tree.

Oops - I better go get on that “buy a tree” part.

A Weighty Matter

When a friend recently asked, “can you hold my purse while I pop into the ladies room?” I did not know what I was getting myself into. I agreed far too quickly. I should have told her, “I have back problems.” I should have shared about the carpel tunnel in my hand.
I should have inquired as to its weight. How heavy can the purse of a five foot one senior citizen be? Pretty darn heavy. The 4 minutes she was gone might well have been 40.

I shifted the purse from one hand to the next, slung it over one shoulder, then over the other. I set it on the ground, every so briefly. I finally resorted to using the darn thing to get in a few arm curls. It has been weeks since I’ve been to the gym. Perhaps I can assuage my guilt by fitting in a little impromptu exercise.

We all have different comfort levels, when it comes to keeping our most precious possessions near. Some let their children roam the neighborhood, while others watch their every move. Some will loan their car to a friend, others just can’t bear to let go of the keys. Some must carry a purse brimming with personal items, as they go about their daily errands. Our ability to let go and lighten the load in life is indeed a weighty matter.

“This thing weights more than you,” I claimed when my friend emerged and the eternity ended. She agreed it was busting at the seams. When I suggested perhaps she downsize, she was of the opposite opinion. “I just need to buy something larger so I can redistribute the weight,” she stated.

Well, I guess that takes care of that.

Using your Blinker and Avoiding the Horn

Many women will tell you, their biggest gripe with their mate is lack of communication. “We never just talk,” women say. Have you been on the sending or receiving end of “I want to know how you feel”? Statements like these can make men run for the door and women seek therapy.

The same applies to planning ahead. Frankly, many men find their life quite satisfactory without forethought or planning. “Don’t they sell roses at those roadside stands?” can count, in a man’s mind, as preparation for Valentine’s Day. Women beg to differ.

Communication & planning ahead are two often addressed topics in a relationship, but these gender differences are not strictly a behind-closed-doors issue. They translate behind the wheel of a car as well.

I must confess, I can be a back-seat driver at times. “Why don’t you put on your blinker, so the cars know you’re waiting for that parking space,” I’ve been heard to say, when I witness this communication faux pas.

To me, it’s like nails on a chalkboard to listen to “that damn car won’t let me in.” All I’m thinking is “Why didn’t you change lanes a mile ago? You knew the exit was coming up.” I don't understand why people don't plan ahead.

It’s really just gender differences, in communication and planning. Perhaps we can agree to meet in the middle – if men work on using their blinkers more often, women will lay off the horn.

I’m going to try this in my life. Try it in yours. Let me know how it goes.

For Myself, and For the Fans

“I'm tired of reading about geese,” my sister-in-law said at Thanksgiving. That’s not the first time I’ve heard that sentiment this month.

It’s been 3 weeks since my last blog entry - a short, quick blurb I wrote, after minimal postings in October. I love to write and I really enjoy blogging, but my life has been getting in the way. Nothing glamorous I’m afraid. No jetting off to Paris, like my mother. No long weekend hitting the tables in Vegas. No lucrative business contract, filling my days and nights. Just life – kids, cars, pets, school, church, house . . . .

I’ve got to keep up the writing, not just for me, but apparently also for the fans. So, I’m making my New Year’s Resolution a month early. I’m getting my priorities in order. My commitment: to write at least one blog a week. I wanted to shoot for 2, but I need to be realistic. It’s the Christmas holiday season, after all. I may have a few other things on my plate.

I start my new charge today. The unraked leaves can wait. The dirty laundry is not going anywhere. Those dishes in the sink, well they've been sitting for a while. What's a little while longer? First, I blog. For myself, and for the fans.

Keep checking back. Don’t hesitate to send me a little nudge every now and again, like my sister-in-law. Everyone can use help sticking to their New Year’s Resolutions.

Let the Geese Speak

Some people count sheep to fall asleep. Some walk their dog for daily exercise. Others gaze at fish circling in an aquarium to relieve stress. Animals serve as helpmates and friends in many ways.

I write to the melodic sounds of honking geese. I kid you not. Somewhere in my suburban Towson neighborhood lives a gaggle of geese. I’m not sure exactly where they live or when they came, but I first heard the commotion about 3 months ago. The geese don't host loud honking parties every day. But when they gather, their din is comparable to a room full of teenage girls. Slightly distracting, but oddly comforting, in their familiar animated manner. My new neighbors provide a welcome distraction.

Do you have the scoop on these odd Towson pets? I’d love to hear. Their unusual choice of a home must have a story. One day, I may head out back and track down the location of such clamor. Dig at the truth for myself. For now, I simply write and enjoy the lively company they provide.

The Secret to Free Newspapers

I know a secret - How to get your newspaper for free.

I’m not talking about temporarily free delivery. You know, where they give you the first 12 weeks for free and then they start billing you. In that scenario, you eventually pay. I’m talking no-strings attached free! I’m talking newspapers piling up on your front lawn, a rainbow of plastic covered papers scattered about.

Are you ready for the secret? Here it is: Cancel your subscription.

I mean it. Cancel your subscription. Tell them you just don’t have time to read every day, what with your busy life and all. They won’t believe you. The bills will stop coming, but the delivery will continue. Call them back. Tell them they must have forgotten to relay the message to the delivery driver. Remind them - you don’t want the paper anymore. They still won’t believe you. They will think you don’t want to pay, but you still really want to read their newspaper.

As the papers continue to arrive, be sure to call again. Tell them you travel a lot and if papers pile up on the front lawn, it’s like a great big “I’m not home sign” for the less-than-honest folks in the world. They won’t care. Your newspapers will still arrive.

I stumbled onto a brilliant plan really. A brilliant plan if I actually wanted to get my newspapers for free. Which I don’t. I’d like to go green and read on-line. I’d like to avoid hauling a pile of papers out back for the recycling truck every week. I’d like stop collecting those little plastic sleeves the newspapers come in. The only thing those plastic sleeves are good for is picking up dog poop. Trust me, my dog is never going to poop enough to use up my ever growing supply.

As I inadvertently learned the secret to free newspaper delivery, I felt compelled to share. So go ahead, try it. Start your free subscription today. Be sure to let me know how it works out.

Are you called to be a Helicopter Parent?

I wanted to be a Helicopter Parent – really I did.

I wanted to read every book the English teacher ever assigned, so I could have discussions with my son at the dinner table. I wanted to bone up on my algebra and geometry, so I could check my daughter's math homework for accuracy. I just didn’t have the time.

I wanted to be at school every day helping out in the office or in the art room. I wanted to be the volunteer parent who knows all the teachers and administrators by name. I had to be at work instead.

I wanted to be the parent who called the teacher to task when they treated a child unfairly. I wanted to say “Hey – I know your job is tough, but can you try a little harder, because these are our children.” My children asked me to me keep my mouth shut.

I couldn’t be a Helicopter Parent, but I’m glad someone was there to answer the call.

Baby boomers have brought a lot of improvements to parenting – relationships are more open and honest. Tough topics are discussed, rather than hidden in the closet. Parents are more proactive. They no longer release their children to the unknown at school, on the sports field or elsewhere, trusting the best will happen. When they send their babies off to college, they don’t simply cross their fingers and pray. Now, the connections remain and the discussions continue.

I do still highly recommend crossing your fingers and praying when you send them off to college. With such abounding freedom, much can happen when you’re not around.

Sure, some parents go overboard. I’ve heard the stories of parents confronting coaches about playing time, challenging teachers on their choices of test questions or contacting bosses about performance reviews. But let’s put this in perspective. Going a bit overboard is not unique to parenting.

Have you seen the folks with way too many Christmas decorations on their lawns? Did you ever have a neighbor who took in every stray cat she found? Who doesn’t have a friend or colleague who is a tad over-attentive to their car?

I think Helicopter Parents have gotten a bad rap. Quite frankly, I thank them - for insisting on accountability, fairness and honesty. Applied in moderation, they can be quite beneficial. It’s too late for me to become a Helicopter Parent, my kids are almost grown. But it might not be too late for you.

Road Rage Confession

I took a little heat from my girlfriends about my Road Rage blog in August. You see, I had a little “incident” back in April. One I prefer to pretend never happened. They say confession is good for the soul, so here goes.

Six of us were heading to Key West for a rare girls’ weekend. Our brilliant plan: get up at 4 AM, catch the early flight into Miami, rent a car, drive 4 hours through the Keys and be sipping Mojitos pool-side by noon. My memory of the road rage incident is a bit foggy. I was terribly sleep deprived and blinded by pain. (See my June blog titled Bedside Manner, the one with a warning about flying when you have fluid on the ear.)

I vaguely recall taking a wrong turn out of the airport, spending an hour driving through Miami looking for an on-ramp to the highway. When I finally located the highway ramp, an aggressive driver was unwilling to let me merge in. (You know the drivers who speed up once you put on your blinker, so you can't get in?) I do recall a raised voice emitting a few expletives, (I didn’t see anyone else’s lips moving, so that might have been me), a finger being raised (quite possibly the middle one), and a loud horn blairing (did that come from my car?). When I turned to the gals for comaraderie, to diss the idiot who almost hit us, they looked at me with fear and trepidation. Uh-oh.

I am embarrassed. I am ashamed. I'd like to plead temporary insanity, please. But, hey gals – I am confessing! That, and a round of Mojitos, might get me invited back next year. Or, might not.

See what can happen? Be careful when you are driving. Road Rage is never OK. But, hey folks - can you also try to remember to be polite behind the wheel and let that car full of lost girls merge in? Perhaps you will help keep folks like me from being put on the "maybe" list for next year's trip.

Good Grades, Bribery & the value of Oreo Cookies

With the onset of the school year, the theory of paying students for good grades is back in the news. Seems some school systems are working on a new plan for student success – an incentive compensation package, if you will. Folks are in an uproar.

Can we get real for a minute? Is paying students for good grades really such a foreign concept? Parents have been rewarding their kids with cash and treats for decades. Sure, we all had lofty ideals when our child was still in the womb. But what parent did not learn the value of bribery the first time their two year old dug in their heels with an emphatic “No!” I am not ashamed to admit that Oreo cookies saw me through the terrible two’s. (all three times!)

Come on parents – I know you are with me on this one. We have all dangled the car keys in front of our teens as motivation. Whether the goal was finishing homework or mowing the lawn, is not relevant.

I don’t think the real controversy is over the issue of bribery.
I think the real issue is about who is paying for it, literally.
Monetary rewards must come out of the budget somewhere.

Do I think this plan will succeed? Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t.
Who am I to judge? As a parent of teens, let me just say this:
If I thought this plan would work in my house, trust me, I’d try it.

And I bet you would too.

Save me from the Rain-maniacs!

First, we have people in Galviston, Texas who don’t evacuate when a 19 foot wave surge is predicted. Every station shows the eye of the storm heading directly toward them, still they remain. Not just a few people - 15,000 people don’t leave for higher ground.

Then, we have Baltimore - the weather woosey capital of the world! We were expecting rain Friday evening, actually a bit of a thunderstorm. Winds and heavy rain fall were predicted. Many folks left work early. Just in case. They cancelled all public school and rec league sports activities, for the entire weekend. Just in case. The police where on the roads in full force. Just in case.

Its RAIN people – drive slower, use your headlights and bring an umbrella. How hard is this?!

Thank goodness we don’t get many hurricanes here in Baltimore. If there was actually some real threat potential, we’d be evacuating every other week. And trust me, there would not be 15,000 people staying behind. They’d be flocking out of town like a Baltimore beehive.

Don't get me started on the snow – that’s a whoooole other thing when you live in Bawlmer, hon.

Actually, the next major storm – I’m having a party. Anyone who is not a rain-maniac is welcome. Bring an umbrella and a bottle of wine. We’ll hunker down and ride out the storm together.

Forget the Slots, I Have Another Plan

Today I watched the most pathetic attempt at parallel parking. It was painful really. Made me think – we should re-qualify people to parallel park, annually. Heck, drivers should be periodically required to prove they actually know how to drive a car.

Think about it. Many professions require completion of continuing education to guarantee proficiency over the years. Yet, we hand some teenager a driver’s license and they are good-to-go for life?!

Think about your elderly loved ones. All eventually reach a stage when they have no business being behind the wheel, but no one has the guts to tell them. Who dares to ask Grandpa to hand over the keys? Not I.

Think about the increase in state revenue, from the re-take fees alone! We don’t need slots in Maryland, just driver recertification. It’s a brilliant financial plan really. It would create jobs, generate revenue, increase safety on our roadways.

It’s something to think about . . . .

Mystery of the Disappearing Mailboxes

Someone please explain the mystery of the disappearing mailboxes. What brilliant bureaucrat decided a swift and stealthy removal was necessary?

In case you are reading this from afar, I live in Baltimore. Towson to be exact. Our local U.S. Post Office decided to remove some 30 blue steel mailboxes from perches in neighborhoods around town. They simply disappeared. Overnight. No warning. No discussions. No community meetings. Just gone.

Don’t get me wrong – I applaud their effort to reduce wasteful spending. Apparently many of these boxes were underutilized. I support attempts to conserve gasoline resources and reduce vehicle emissions. No more driving around town to empty these mailboxes twice a day. The decision for a covert removal is where my problem lies. Are we 3 years old? Do you have to hide the pacifier to wean us?

The brilliant bureaucrat who devised this plan was right in one respect. Residents were not going to like it. People were going to stomp their feet, whine a little, and perhaps cry. Hey buddy - you work for the Federal Government, is this something new? You couldn’t come up with a better plan than tip toe into the nursery and snatch the security blanket from the crib?

If you don’t want us to act like 3-year olds, don’t treat us like 3-year olds. We get it. We can do the math. We understand the economics of “reduce.” It would have been nice if someone had given us a little notice. Or (gasp) given us a voice in the decision-making process.

Next time, just put on your big boy panties please and treat us like adults.

Survival Skills for Back-to-School Night

My back-to-school night blog launched a myriad of discussions. Some folks shared stories. Others expressed surprise that I still attended these, 20 years, 3 children and some 50 visits later. Still others asked my advice, as they too march toward this same milestone. “How do you survive 50 of these?” they ask.

I believe knowledge is worthless unless shared. So, here I offer you my top 5 tips for surviving 50 back-to-school nights.

1. Review the school floor plan with your child in advance. Be sure to find out which route and staircase your child uses to navigate between classes. (If you’ve ever tried to get to a 4th floor classroom at Towson High, you know what I’m talking about.) You don’t want to be late. Then, the teacher remembers you, and not in a good way.

2. Time your arrival at the school for a smidge after the PTSA elections, but just before they run out of the $5 school directories. (Sorry, If I'm offending any PTA members, but does anyone ever contest these elections? Have you ever heard anyone speak up when they ask “opposed?” Never happens. Just skip it. Trust me, everyone will be elected and the budget will be passed.) Use your time more wisely. Go home after work. Grab a bite to eat. Change into something comfortable. Then head over to school. It's OK really.

3. Remember school is a social environment for parents as well as students. Take the time to stop in the hallway, say hello, chit-chat or high-five your friends. Socialization is the cornerstone of back-to-school night survival.

4. Ask your child which friends they have in each class. This lets you know which parents to look for. After all, you need someone to sit with in the back of the classroom and whisper to as the teacher drones on. I mean really - what are they sharing in a 3 ½ minute session that you did not already read on some take-home paper last week?

5. Always go for the extra credit. Sign the parent sign-in sheet, pretend to take notes and be sure to introduce yourself to the teacher before you leave. Your child will get good-parent bonus points for this. Trust me, they’ll need it. You don’t know what they are doing every minute of every day and really, you don’t want to know. Just go for the bonus points.

My daughter said, “Mom, what if there are teachers who read your blog?” I said, “You know honey, your teachers are wiser than you think. Trust me, they have their own private list of back-to-school-night survival skills.”

Perhaps one day, a teacher will share these with me. If so, I’ll be sure to post them on my blog. After all, I believe knowledge is worthless unless shared.

I'm With Stupid

If you have teenagers, you know by now that you are stupid. Your life experiences are meaningless. They add up to zilch, nada, nothing. You can’t remind them to pick up the pace or they’ll be late without getting the “eye-roll.” Translation: “Duh! I know.” You can’t offer study help after a bad test score without getting the “open-mouthed stare.” Translation: “Like you would know?!” You can’t suggest they wear a coat in January, without getting the “slumped shoulders-grunt.” Translation: “Leave me alone.”

It can be enough to make a parent see red. It can be enough to make one wonder where one went wrong. Or, it can motivate you to try a different tact.

Three teenagers and repeated reminders of my apparent stupidity, led me to retaliate one day with a little help from the comic strip Charlie Brown. Remember the classroom scenes? The invisible teacher never spoke actual words, just the muted trombone sounds - "mwa, mwa, mwa.”

“Yea, I know mwa, mwa, mwa, mwa-mwa, mwa-mwa,” I said one day, with my hands making exaggerated yakity-yak gestures in the air, “just take the coat.” Surprisingly, this worked. I had their attention. My kids laughed and they listened.

I used this ice-breaker, and others, many times over the years. Life’s too short to waste time on power struggles. If you ever feel like your teenager is wearing an invisible “I’m With Stupid” shirt and standing next to you, you are probably right. I say go buy yourself an “I am Stupid” shirt, stand next to them and have a good laugh.

Back-to-School Night: the end of an era

My first Back-to-School Night was in 1989, Mrs. Desmarais’ 3’s class at Northwood-Appold Nursery School. I came home scarred for life.

The evening had just begun when a gentleman walked over and said “Hi. I’m Sarah’s Dad.” Quickly learning my birth name was no longer relevant, I introduced myself as “TJ’s Mom.” “Oh, Sarah talks about TJ all the time,” He exclaimed. “Really?” I replied. Sarah’s name had never been uttered at our house. “Sarah says she wants to marry TJ and have his babies,” he responded. I was dumfounded. I smiled and nodded, in a bit of a stupor.

Next, Mrs. Desmarais shared with me TJ’s overwhelming fondness for the housekeeping corner. In fact, she shared, he spent his entire self-directed-play time there, every day. He loved cooking, cleaning and tending to the baby dolls. “Really?” I said again. He was strictly a guns and trucks fellow at home. What was his father going to think when I got home?

The rest of the evening was fairly uneventful as we sat in miniature chairs built for 3-year-olds. Mrs. Schmidt played records (yes - records) on her (you guessed it) record player to share the music our little ones were learning. Mrs. Desmarais talked on about field trips to the pumpkin patch, story time and how the children were learning to use their inside voices.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Nineteen years and nearly 50 Back-to-School nights later, I am now a Pro. I saunter in to Back-to-School Night with all the knowledge and finesse of a well seasoned veteran. With my youngest now a high school senior, last week my Pro career ended.

I was wondering – does that mean I get to use my birth name again or will I forever be known as so-and-so’s Mom?

Kneeling at the Feet of Susan Reimer

In an e-mail yesterday, a friend wrote – “after reading your blog, I think you should replace Susan Reimer in The Sun Paper. You could give her a run for her money!”

Can I just say – That’s my dream job!

Susan Reimer has been writing a humorous family life / baby boomer column in The Baltimore Sun for as long as I can remember. If you’re not familiar with her work – check it out: http://www.baltimoresun.com/entertainment/custom/today/bal-columnist-reimer,0,7281984.columnist . She’s a hoot.

Now, I’m sure Susan works her baby boomer butt off, but I’d give anything to have her job! I know - I have not put in my time at crappy writing jobs. I have not worked my way through the muck, mire and egos of a newspaper. But, hey, there’s great value in a fresh voice who comes to the table without all that baggage. No preconceived notions. No unrealistic expectations. Simply the eager, young face (OK – not so young really) with a new perspective.

If you know anyone, who knows anyone, who knows Susan Reimer
(or her boss), can you give me a holler? I’d be happy to ghost write for her while she’s on vacation. I’d be happy to fill her column if she wanted to take a mental health day. I’d kneel at her feet and take her crumbs any day. And boy – if you get wind she’s retiring any time in the next decade, please, do share!

Because, really - that’s my dream job!

Keep on Blogging & Keep on Dreaming

I really have no idea who reads my blog, or if anyone reads my blog. There’s probably a way to adjust the settings, to count hits to the site, but being somewhat computer-challenged, I simply don’t know how.

My computer has been responding slower than usual lately (which is a bit frustrating as we have all come to expect instant information at our fingertips). I mentioned to someone that I had downloaded pictures lately and a few large project presentations. Perhaps my memory is getting full and slowing down my computer, I said. OK – this is the part, where all the computer geeks are laughing and shaking their heads in dismay. And the part, where all the computer-challenged folks are not in on the joke. Apparently computer memory has nothing to do with speed – who knew!

My son TJ or my future brother-in-law Scott could probably tell me how to adjust the settings to find out the traffic to my site. They consider “Computers Today” light leisure reading. Part of me really does'nt want to know. How depressing would it be if I found out one person a week (probably my Mother) read my blog. Sometimes in life I think we are better off in denial.

So I’m going to keep on blogging and keep on dreaming and keep on being computer-challenged. What about you?

Life, Love, and yes, Sex

I am having so much fun talking to people about sex this summer. But I’m not sure my audience is enjoying it as much as I am.

You see, we have finally settled on a date for a Baltimore Book Event for Charla Muller (author of 365 Nights: A Memoir of Intimacy). I’ve been talking-up the book and asking people to mark their calendars.

While Charla’s book chronicles the everyday challenges inherent in balancing work, children and marriage, there really is no way to get around mentioning the word “sex” when talking about her book. I’ve gotten more than a few blank stares. If I’m reading the stares correctly (and I believe I am), they mask thoughts like: “Sex? Did she just say the word ‘sex’ to me?” or “Charla offered her husband what? How often? Was she on drugs?” or quite simply “Don’t let my husband find out about this!”

365 Nights is really not about sex as much as it is about married relationships - how they change over time, how men and women’s perceptions differ, and how reconnecting (in whatever way you choose) can transform a relationship. While the impetus for the renewal in Charla and Brad’s marriage was a change in the frequency of their “married with young children” sex life, the book talks little about sex, but rather about life, stress, change, growth and relationships. Charla’s wit and humor along with her candid look at the realities of everyday married life, make for great reading.

But don’t take my word for it. Check out Charla’s web site (http://www.charlamuller.com/ ), look at the reviews on http://www.amazon.com/ or better yet, read the book. You can find it on the shelf at Barnes & Noble or order it at most book stores.

You’ll agree, it’s impossible to mention the book without using the word Sex, at least once. I think you’ll also find this real, honest, relationship book is a must read you’ll soon be sharing with family and friends.

It's the Neighbors, again!

Neighbors are like relatives – you don’t get to choose them. For better or for worse, you’re stuck with them. You could opt to move, but that’s a pretty expensive approach to divorce yourself from an unsavory relative.

Most neighborhoods have their share of Sloppy Neighbors. The ones who don’t mow their grass quite often enough, leave the newspapers to biodegrade on the front lawn and assume the wind will take care of those fallen leaves. These folks are most likely to wait for the snow to melt rather than shovel their sidewalk. I suppose these aren’t such horrible crimes. Though, I feel bad for the mailman, on those slippery snowy days.

Life can get pretty dicey when you have an Inconsiderate Neighbor. The one constantly borrows but rarely returns or returns items broken, without a word about replacing them. I had neighbors once who played the stereo loud enough for me to hear in my yard, 2 doors down. This would not have been so bad if I actually shared their taste in music. I’ve even had neighbors who’s teens routinely bickered, loud enough to hear all the way across the street. (OK, maybe that was my kids . . . . . . . nobody’s a perfect neighbor, after all.)

Have you ever had Feuding Neighbors? Now there’s a real treat. Feuding Neighbors typically emerge when a Judgmental Neighbor is in your midst. You know, the one who “owns” the block and feels a sense of duty to keep all in his territory “as it should be.” Just mix a Judgmental Neighbor with an Inconsiderate or Sloppy one and they'll be no need to wait for the 4th of July to see fireworks.

Do you have a Nosey Neighbor? The one who watches every move on the block and reports perceived transgressions to anyone who’ll listen. Nosey neighbors are actually my favorite. They keep me on my toes, preventing me from becoming the sloppy or inconsiderate member of the community. And they watch my house. I love my nosey neighbor, God bless her soul. She's always helping me out. Once, she clued me in to a party my teenager had one weekend in my absence. My sneaky teen never did find out how I knew. Thus, I was able to continue my oft-repeated assertion “Mommies know everything.”

So tell me - how do you get along with your neighbors? Is it All in the Family, Father Knows Best, Family Feud or Divorce Court? Please, do share.

Road Rage or something else?

Some people have anger management issues.

Whether in the grocery store or on the highway, you can easily spot these folks. You've seen them - people who huff and puff, role their eyes and eventually resort to glaring at the cashier so the line will move quicker. On the road, these folks tailgate to bully you out of their way, lay on their horn so you know they mean business, even gesture with their hands or release a few choices words, not to be repeated around young children.

Other people are just naturally impatient.

They pace waiting for the bus, dart past you on the sidewalk and never wait on the crosswalk sign for permission to cross. Behind the wheel, they change lanes, constantly, often squeezing in where little room appears to exist. They speed up at yellow lights and keep going even when those lights turn red. They must drive just a little faster and get ahead of just a few more cars. These folks have an innate need to get where they are going, fast. To them, cruising or idling is simply not an option.

We have seen a steady (and alarming) increase in Road Rage in this country. I can accept the drivers with anger management issues and even tolerate the impatient ones. To some degree, they just can’t help themselves – its how they’re wired. I yearn to help them discover the pleasure of patience (or find a way to get them into therapy).

It’s the rest of the maniacs on the road I take issue with. They are simply rude, for no other reason than they can get away with it.

You know who I'm talking about – the ones who don’t yield the right of way in a merge zone or a traffic circle (that’s a Rotary to you New England folks). They cut through residential streets, flying over speed bumps and rolling through stop signs. They zip down aisles to beat others to the open parking space or even snatch up a handicapped spot, because “they’ll only be a minute”.

Would they behave this way with their friends and colleagues? Would they slam the door behind themselves rather than hold it open for the next person? Would they cut through the conference room with a meeting in session to take the shorter route back to their desks? Would they run down the hallway to beat someone else to the copier? I think not.

Insulated in a vehicle, anonymity allows them to misbehave without consequences. The ability to drive away without confrontation is liberating. Who are these people? I think they are folks just like you or I. So, next time you are on the road, relax, take your time and remember the good manners your mother taught you.

Living the Good Life

As some of you may recall, Bryan, the contractor working on my kitchen renovation, was on his way over one afternoon in early April, but never made it here. I called the hospitals. I checked the morgue. To my relief, I did not find him there. I phoned a friend. He said Bryan had hopped a plane to California, for a week’s vacation. We can all use a little spontaneous R&R every now and again. I wasn’t mad, but I was a little jealous. I patiently waited for his week to pass.

Bryan never did returned to finish the job. He never came by to pick up the tools he left in my backyard. He never answered his cell phone. (I probably wasn’t the only client calling.) While I was a tad concerned about Bryan’s whereabouts, I was more concerned that I was stranded with a non-functional kitchen.

I quickly realized kitchen contractors are pretty busy in April. Seems a lot of folks use their tax return checks on home updates. Who knew? Luckily, I found Chris – on a tip from a bartender. (What can I say, I was getting a bit desperate after 6 weeks with no running water.) The kitchen was completed and Chris moved on, but the pile of Bryan's tools remained in my backyard – a constant reminder of the great disappearing contractor.

Last week, I found out that Bryan is indeed alive, and living in California. Seems his plane did not go down on his return flight. He never actually boarded a return flight. I’m glad he’s not in jail (as my brother speculated) or laying in a gutter somewhere. He’s simply enjoying the sun, sand and surf on the west coast. Oh, to be young again.

I’ve since given away Bryan’s tools and moved on to the next home improvement project, but every now and again when I walk into my kitchen, I picture surfer boy Bryan living the good life in LA.

The Measure of a Good Family Vacation

A friend just returned from the Outer Banks. A week full of sand, sun, an 8 month old and logging into work every day to keep up with the e-mails. I told him next time, he needs to pick a location without a wireless connection. And follow my golden rule: no vacations involving sand when you have a child under 1 year. I understand he already learned that painful lesson.

My brother just got back from a week in OC – a week with his in-laws and four children, ages 7 to 13 (which includes twin pre-teen girls, God bless their souls). Does that actually count as a vacation?

My other brother and his wife took their newborn and toddler on a road trip to Canada. A 10 hour trek they drove at night so, maybe, the kids would sleep. It took 2 days to recover from “the drive from hell.” Before they knew it, they were faced with the drive back.

What is the measure of a good family vacation? It's different for everyone. For me, it’s always “Did I get to read a book? From cover to cover?” In the interest of full disclosure – my “vacation book” is always a trashy novel. Vacation is a time for escape, so no catching up on reading for my Six Sigma course or grabbing the latest Obama – Time For a Change critique. No siree, not for me!

I took an informal poll of friends and family. Here are some of the answers I received to my “a good family vacation is” inquiry:
* if no one throws up
* if the children sleep on the car ride (to or from)
* if I can get out to golf at least once
* happy hour everyday at 3:00
* if the kids take a nap
* finding time for “vacation sex” (see previous entry)
* if no one gets sunburned
* making it home with my sanity
* no trips to the emergency room for broken bones or stitches
* if we can manage to spend less than 3 months of mortgage payments
* not gaining weight (has never happened, yet)

Recognize any of these? Perhaps you have others - I’d love to hear from you. Shoot me an e-mail or post a response. I hope you have a good family vacation this summer – whatever that might mean for you.

S-E-X

I have a plan this summer – a plan that will embarrass my kids. I plan to talk about S-E-X this summer. And I’m going to talk about it to anyone who will listen.

You see, I have this friend Charla. (We’re sorta-kinda related. She’s my sister-in-law’s sister’s best friend from college.) Charla wrote a book about a birthday gift she gave her husband – sex, every day for a year. Really! A fascinating idea, one that intrigues men and perplexes women. (at least from my short survey) Her book is called 365 Nights: A Memoir of Intimacy. Sound familiar? Perhaps you saw the ladies discuss it on The View last month or watched the interview on The Today Show yesterday. If you missed those, stay tuned, because I understand they have taped a segment for Inside Edition.

OK – but why am I going to talk about sex all summer? Partially because it will embarrass my kids. (Come on now – there has to be some sort of pay back for all the years of attitude and eye-rolling I endured during their teen years.) Also, because Charla and I are sorta-kinda related. But most importantly, because I’m co-hosting a book signing event for Charla in Baltimore in September. You can stay tuned via Charla’s website : http://www.charlamuller.com/

Today is my 46th birthday – I wonder what Paul has planned? I don’t think its sex every day for a year, but one never knows . . . . .

Bedside Manner

I actually had a doctor this morning recommend amputation of my toe in lieu of surgery to correct a displaced broken bone. If you could see this toe, you would agree that something needs to be done. With the present angle of this toe, I could hitchhike across the country. Now, I’m sure the kind doctor was just trying to drive home the pointlessness of performing any type of surgery on someone’s baby toe (it being a useless digit in the grand scheme of foot agility and aesthetics) but amputation – please! I long for the days when a doctor would take the time to have a long, thoughtful discussion with a patient about treatment options and the pros and cons of medical procedures. What happened to gently guiding the patient toward the preferred path? If I wanted shock therapy, I’d listen to Howard Stern.

I went to my personal physician a few months back after being diagnosed on vacation with bronchitis and flying home with fluid on my ear. (OK – short diversion here, NEVER fly when the doctor tells you there is fluid on your ear. NEVER. Rent a car and drive home. Just trust me on this one!) She said “breathe in.” I said “though my nose or my mouth” but it was too late, she was already done listening. She spent a millisecond looking in my ear and pronounced, “Yea, you look red.” Then, with a shrug of her shoulders, I was dismissed with “You’ll just have to wait it out.” I must say “take 2 aspirin and call me in the morning” would have been a more thoughtful and comforting recommendation. I asked if there was anything I could do for the pain in my ear she said “no.” Then added, “You won’t want to get back on a plane until this clears though.” I wanted to say “No shit, Sherlock” but I restrained myself.

Is it me or is there a distinct decline in bedside manner rampant in the medical field today?

Just in case you’re wondering, I’ve decided to keep my toe. I kinda like the little fella. And I won’t be going on vacation again without my laptop. After all, where else am I going to get sound medical advise without attitude?

A Newfound Love of Wheelchair Ramps

Have you noticed how many able-bodied people park in handicapped spaces? Do you truly appreciate the automatic doors at the grocery store? Have you ever cared about the angle of the slope on a wheelchair ramp? (I mean really cared.) I now care – I mean, I really care. Yesterday, I broke my toe. I won’t go into how exactly – except to simply say I had a disagreement with a bookshelf over who had the right-of -way. Does anyone ever break a toe doing something valiant or daring?

I have now joined an elite group of human beings – those crutch-dependent individuals braving the world on one leg and 2 sticks. (Now there’s the valiant and daring part!) I’m getting pretty good negotiating life with my new appendages, but to say I am proficient in the use of crutches is probably an oxymoron. Does anyone ever really get use to these things?

To kill time (since I’d really rather not be seen in public in this fetching blue boot) - I’d love to know how many people have actually broken a leg trying to use crutches on a set of stairs. There must be some good “I broke my _______, while trying to use crutches” stories out there. I’d love to hear from you. Please share.

Put your mood ring away - Sudoku is here!

Did you know The Baltimore Examiner prints a Sudoku every day, next to the crossword puzzle? Did you know you can go to the “archives” at http://www.dailysudoku.com/ and find years worth of random puzzles? Did you know you there’s a Sudoku puzzle in the seat pocket in front of you on the airplane? It’s right there next to the little air sick baggie in the Fly Southwest Magazine.

OK – I admit, I am addicted to Sudoku. But it’s more than just a numbers game, it can predict the future. Sort of like wearing a mood ring or reading the horoscope. I know I’m scaring you – let me explain.

I do Sudoku every day. I’m pretty darn good at it too. When I hit a day that I can’t master the puzzle, I know I’m in for trouble. I'm just not on my game. It’s like a weather vane – it tells me which way the wind is blowing. You know how Granny can predict a rain shower when the sun is shining? – “I can feel it in my bones,” she says. Same concept. Granny and I are both always dead on!

So, no need for horoscopes, mood rings or Miss Lynn the palm reader up on York Road. I can just open the paper or click on dailysudoku.com and know my future.

Pretty cool, huh?!

The Millenials are coming!

Last week on 60 Minutes Morley Safer warned “Stand back all bosses! A new breed of American worker is about to attack everything you hold sacred.” A Washington Post article earlier this year warned, “Watch out The Civic Minded Millenials are coming of age.” News like this makes me picture Chicken Little running down the garden path crying “The sky is falling. The sky is falling.”

The Millenials are the post baby boomer children – those born between 1983 – 1997. I raised a few of those, 3 to be exact. A debate centers on whether parents have done a disservice to their children by raising them with praise, telling them they can be anything they want to be and encouraging them to take care of themselves first. Apparently, we parents openly passed around a “coddling virus” which began when Mr. Rodgers welcomed children into his TV home each week telling them “you’re special.” Parents picked up on this appalling behavior and the infection spread like wild fire.

I am a coddling virus spreader! Guilty as charged. I have raised my children with kindness, support and praise. I have indeed told them they can be anything they want to be. I have encouraged them not to settle, but rather to reach for the stars. We vote on major family decisions (though my vote does count twice). I have taught them to make sure they include themselves when they are putting together their list of priorities. And guess what? I am proud of the way I raised my children. I wouldn’t change a thing! OK – I would make them walk the dog more often and I would make them pick their dirty towels up off the bathroom floor instead of doing it myself just before the 11:00 news. But you know what I mean.

The problem, Morley tells us, is that these coddled children are now entering the workforce. The traditional manager is in a tailspin. He is expected to coach rather than boss. He is expected to motivate rather than order. He is expected to make them feel welcome and at ease or these clever, resourceful, tech savy young adults will go find themselves another job, one where they are treated better.

I say good!

A taste of OC right here in Bawlmer, hon!

Thinking about goin’ down da ocean, hon? Cost of gas got you down? Dreading the crawl across the Bay Bridge? The perfect alternative is right here in Baltimore!

I happened across a delightful oasis on York Road, near the Towson/City line – it’s a Lee’s Ice Cream & Fractured Prune franchise! Here we have OC’s hot hand dipped donuts paired with the creamiest ice cream to be found. No need to spend hours in the car, just head on down York Road for your OC experience this weekend.

“But that’s just donuts and dessert,” you may say. Where is the relaxing sunrise? Where are the sounds of the crashing waves? Where are the seagulls for crying out loud!

I’m telling you, they are on York Road, near the Towson /City line. Take a seat on Lee’s outdoor patio and you’ll be instantly transformed. The morning sun, rising over the trees of Anneslie, warms your face. A cool breeze blows along the walkway from Cedarcroft. The traffic of York Road is far enough removed, yet sits just close enough, providing a muffled rush, like the crashing of waves. Minivans arrive in steady stream – emitting families with young children in shorts and flip flops. They enjoy a leisurely donut to start their day. Coffee, donut and sudoku in hand, I sat. Seagulls called from over head and a little brown finch visited the sidewalk for crumbs. It was like I was hanging on the boardwalk in OC.

“But there’s no Candy Kitchen, no T-shirt shops, no Secrets Night Club,” you may say. Have you been downtown lately? We have a boardwalk - a wonderful concrete promenade stretching from the Inner Harbor all the way to Fells Point.

Follow 83 South to the end. Then just park and walk. No tolls, no traffic, no cramped 3 hour drive in the car. You can stroll along the water for miles, on paths filled with shops, restaurants and entertainment. You’ll see motor boats, sail boats and paddle boats. They’ll just be in the Harbor rather than the Atlantic. If the Orioles are playing, you may even see a plane on the horizon trailing an advertising banner. Feel like OC yet?

“But there’s no beach, no place to fly a kite or kick back on a blanket,” you may say. Try Ft. McHenry or the Canton Waterfront Park. These offer a waterside view with plenty of room for lounging and kite flying. OK – there’s no sand to get in your bathing suit. You’ve got me there, but is that really a problem?

Memorial Day weekend kicked off OC season in Maryland. Many flooded Route 50 braving traffic and crowds, but I stayed in Baltimore. Each morning, I strolled down York Road for an OC Sands donut. I puttered through my days - strolling along the water, shopping, reading a trashy novel. I used the money I saved on gas and tolls for crabs and beer. And at the end of each day, I wandered down York Road for a double scoop of Lee’s homemade Mint Chocolate ice cream.

Who needs the crowds, we’ve got a taste of OC right here in Bawlmer, hon!

Habits, Routines or Traditions

I grew up in a house full of traditions. I'm not really sure how it happened. I don't think my parents planned family traditions. Perhaps my parents were simply creatures of habit. Perhaps routine was a valued commodity when raising five children. I'm not really sure how our family traditions came to be, but I sure am glad.

Christmas stockings were faithfully hung on the railing of the stairs off the living room(even after we moved to a house with a fireplace). We have a special birthday song, "Make a Wish." We have sung this song at every family birthday since 1965.

When others were dying Easter eggs, we were making egg shell flowers instead. There's a silly looking felt turkey that gets slipped over a pineapple and placed in the center of the table each Thanksgiving. Does anyone even use felt anymore? We do.

Every Sunday morning of my youth, we dutifully trotted off to church - even when we were on vacation. Vacation was a tradition as well. Every summer, the whole brood of us went camping, with an old army-green canvas tent and a Coleman stove.

Believe it or not, we have a secret family dip recipe. This dip, which we lovingly call "the secret dip", appears at every family gathering. The rule? You must marry into the family to get the recipe.

I could go on and on.

My family probably has a few more traditions than most, but trust me, every family has traditions. You may not have a secret dip recipe or know how to make egg shell flowers, but trust me, you have traditions. Does Grandma make creamed onions for Thanksgiving every year? Are you the one who always bakes the holiday pies? Does the world standstill when the NY Giants are playing? If you look hard enough, you'll find them. Every family has those quirky little things that make them unique.

Celebrate your traditions. Start some of your own. As children grow up, families move apart, or grandparents pass on, you can put a felt turkey on a pineapple and feel like you are home again. You can get on the phone and sing the birthday song to your son on the west coast and share a special bond.

Sometimes silly, sometimes sweet. Traditions are a wonderful thing.

Exercise? vs Exercise!

What is it about exercise? I know I should do it. I know I need to do it. I know I have time to do it. But somehow, it rarely makes it to the top of my "to do" list.

Oh, I make a "to do" list, almost every day. What a sense of accomplishment I get as I check things off throughout the day. But even if I put "Exercise!" at the top of the list, I can spend an entire day avoiding it. I have even been know to add and check off additional "to do" items during the day if the list of remaining items is getting short. (A psychologist would probably have a field day with this little avoidance technique.)

I find a lot of worthwhile endeavors in life end up on the "need to do, but never get around to" list. Organizing the work bench in the basement or washing the windows certainly would be nice but clearly are a luxury I can live without. Five books sit on the shelf waiting to be read. I wonder how many times the library will let me continue to renew them? Three years of photos, stuffed in a bag, wait in my bedroom to be sorted into albums. Every now and again, the bag falls over - probably a cry for attention. I carefully prop it back into place and go about my day.

A shoebox full of notes and momentos, meant for my youngest child's baby book, seek my loving attention. This one is particularly sad as my "baby" turned 17 last week. Forget the poor misunderstood middle child syndrome, its the youngest that typically ends up short-changed on the baby book front. Why is life is so full of worthwhile "should do's" that never get done?

I am cruising through my "to do" list today. I've already checked off "submit newsletter article" and "set up networking lunch." Now I can check off "write blog." Since it's raining, I can even check wash car and water new grass seed off the list. Stay tuned folks - I am getting dangerously close to "Exercise!"

We Hear What We Want to Hear.

I'm writing a book. Did you know? I can't imagine you don't. I tell everyone - friends, family, colleagues, the cashier at the grocery store . . . . .

As I write, I meet other writers. I hear about the dozens of query letters sent to agents and publishers, followed by rejection letter after rejection letter. I hear how writers "rework" their manuscripts, again and again. I hear the most common mistake writers make is to "over write."

Some of these I choose to ignore - like the rejection rate. After all, you need to do what you love and you need to have faith in yourself. I look at it like the lottery - "you gotta play to win". (and somebody does win) But it really is amazing how we allow ourselves to only hear what we want to hear. It's a gift really, and a curse. We listen, but then we pick and choose what we think really applies to us.

I learned a valuable lesson last week. I over write! I knew it was common for new writers, but certainly that did not apply to me!

Many months ago, I posted a quote on my computer which I found in a writer's magazine. It reads, "Seventy percent of a first draft is garbage and 30 percent is gold, but you have to write 100 percent to get that 30." Imagine, my pleasure when I completed my first chapter and only ended up with 25% on the cutting room floor, instead of 70. I was so far ahead of the game - I was patting myself on the back as I trotted to the head of the class. Wrong!

An intense manuscript rewrite last week (following comments from an editor) had me sorting through a lot of garbage. I mean a lot of garbage. Because, guess what? I over write!

My revised book proposal is off in the hands of an agent now, so we'll see if I've cleaned enough garbage out of my pot of gold. If not, I'll simply buy a bigger shovel and go at it again.

My New Best Friend

I have a new best friend. His name is Chris. He is in my kitchen right now, hanging cabinet trim as I type. Chris is my new best friend. Why? Because he actually shows up when you need him. Isn't that the hallmark of any true friend? OK, I pay him for his work, but don't we repay all our friends in some way?!

Before Chris, my best friend was Bryan. He was here everyday for weeks working on my kitchen renovation. I likde Bryan. He was quiet and polite. His talents were many - dry wall, electric, carpentry and plumbing. He owned every tool imaginable and he brought nice guys with him on occassion to help out. He charged a fair price. He did great work. But then, he stopped showing up. And he stopped answering his cell phone.

It's been 4 weeks today since I've seen Bryan. I've given up leaving messages on his cell phone. Last I heard, he was taking a trip to California. I didn't read of any planes crashing so I can only assume he landed safely. My brother thinks he's probably in jail, but I prefer to imagine him surfing the waves on the west coast. Some of his tools are still here. I put them out back and covered them with a tarp. Perhaps some day he'll come back and get them.

I told Chris this morning I was so happy to see him. I tell him that every morning. Truth is, I'll be even happier when I don't see him anymore. That will mean the renovation work on my kitchen is done. My relationship with Chris is short term. Perhaps he will become one of those dear friends you touch base with on rare occassions but alway remember fondly. I hope so.

A Warm Spring Day

My bloodshot eyes reveal a lack of sleep but my face does not divulge my body's aching muscles. A busy week of family, church and professional obligations leaves me spent, yet energized. Remnants of the week lie scattered about the living room. A display of engagement photos by the tv, pieces of invitations stacked on the coffee table and centerpieces-in-progress on the window sill share the joys and work of wedding preparation. A brief case fallen on the floor spills forth notes and handouts from the weekend's writers conference. A reminder my son taped on the wall simply states "to do: WRITE BOOK!!" Sneakers, sandals, a sock, the Sunday paper and a leash for the puppy liter the ground by the front door. Photos of a cowboy boot, the Texas Tech logo and a yellow rose await a meeting with a cake decorator for a special event. A doggered page of phone numbers and scribbled notes offer history on the search for sponsors for new members at church. The dining room table, cluttered with recessed lights, cabinet handles and outlet covers, is a subtle reminder of the kitchen renovation that is not quite complete.

And dust - there is a lot of dust I'm sure, but I just don't see it. Dust is the last thing on my mind. All I see is outreach to strangers, eagerly anticipated events and new business opportunities. I see family and friends, and love in the air. On this chilly spring morning, my heart is warm.