Pink, It’s Not Just for Girls Anymore

You don’t need a calendar to determine the season. Simply watch the décor at retailers. Pink, yellow and green – it’s April. Red, white and blue – July. Orange and black – October. Green and red – December. And if the Ravens are doing well – its Purple Friday here in Baltimore each week in January.

In recent years, pink has replaced orange in October, for Breast Cancer Awareness month. Store windows, publications and numerous products, sport pink ribbons or new pink packaging to raise money and awareness.

Pink controversy has arisen with one non-profit’s sale of pink cancer awareness bracelets reading: “I love Boobies.” Designed to raise teen awareness of Breast Cancer and spark conversation, these bracelets are popping up in middle schools and high schools across the country. The campaign is working, but the conversation is not. Schools are banning them and civil rights activists are rallying.

Teenage boys, in many schools, outnumber teenage girls wearing the “I love Boobies” bracelets. Do some have other motives?
Of course they do, they’re teenagers. That is to be expected.
Take the conversation off the words and onto the topic. Breast Cancer kills over 40,000 women each year – mothers, sisters, daughters, friends, neighbors.

I urge school administrators to keep talking, but talk about early detection, treatment and research, not about dress codes and foul language. Boobies, breasts, bust, bosom – these are not dirty words. I say let the boys wear bracelets!

Friends and Elections

One never knows how many friends one has until there’s a job to be done. Moving, celebrating or consoling, out of the woodwork they appear.

With many seats up for grabs this election, the Primary race in my county has been contentious. I’ve lost count of the negative TV ads.
I could paper my kitchen walls with the flyers I’ve received. Candidates stop by unexpectedly, leaving personal notes, just like an old friend, “Denise, Sorry I missed you. –Mike” I’m considering delivering my own little notes, “Mike, Looking forward to seeing you this Saturday at the painting party at my house. Your friend Denise"

So many “new friends” are calling the house with reminders “Vote for me in the Primary on Tuesday!” that I’ve stopped answering the phone. This quote caught my eye today: “A friend is someone who is there for you, when he’d rather be somewhere else.” I have a lot of friends looking for me today and I would rather be somewhere else.

When the polls close tomorrow, these "friends" will fade back into the woodwork - until there is a another job to be done.

Let Fate Decide the Menu

Two kinds of folks hold Pot Luck dinners. Those who’s choice to host a casual gathering requires them to assure a well-balanced meal is provided for all. And those who throw caution to the wind and let fate decide the menu. I am the latter.

Not all of my guests were comfortable with this planning style when I hosted a contingent of old college pals and spouses for a Pot Luck dinner last month. But they were good sports about it. “What do you need?” some asked. “Bring whatever you like,” I replied. “What dishes are people bringing?” “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

I enjoy the 'luck' part of a Pot Luck and have yet to end up with any dietary balance issues. Besides, will you wither away if you have a bowl of chill, a beer and 3 slices of pie for dinner? I think not.

So next time, let fate decide the menu. It’s half the fun.

Hate is a Strong Word

A colleague said to me the other day “I hate him.”

My friend, hate is a strong word. Maybe you dislike it when he clips his toenails in bed. His table manners may need some fine tuning. Possibly his politics rub you the wrong way. Are you simply annoyed by the drudgery of everyday life? We all get there every now and again.

I have strong opinions on the use of the word “hate.” We all have unique feelings and preferences on many fronts. Differences in opinion should be respected. Differences in life choices should be accepted. These should not be love-hate issues. Hate is a choice, one that should not be made lightly.

Intentional malicious behaviors, now those are to be hated. That and oatmeal. I hate oatmeal. Now there is the proper use of the word hate.

Summer Dust and Inspiration

“Did you abandon your blog?” Stu e-mailed, “I was a fan.”
No. Life just got in the way for a while.

In my defense, I did spend the summer writing: a bi-monthly e-newsletter APPS & REAC News and Notes, a new company brochure and 2 web articles. I know, boring industry stuff. You want to read the light-hearted Take It From Denise entertainment. I do too.

I really do love to write. I am one of those crazy people you see writing notes when they are driving. But only at red lights. I promise. I keep paper and pen stashed everywhere – in the car, in my purse, in my gym bag. The gym bag is a little dusty right now, I’ll admit. I’m going to dust that off, right after I dust off this blog.

They say writers need inspiration, but I will tell you, I am easily amused. I find inspiration for writing topics everywhere. You need only read my blog to find that out. For me, as a writer, I like to know someone is enjoying themselves reading.

Thanks Stu. I am back to blogging.

Hope for a Monstrosity You Can Live With

Time has proven that change is generally good for us, whether that change is in our national government, in our cities or in our own backyards.

My neighbors in Towson, Maryland are up in arms over a proposed expansion of the sports arena at Towson University. The planned “monstrosity” (as a friend refers to it) looms over a nearby residential neighborhood, one where I use to live. The University President spoke at a gathering last night, reminding attendees that TU has been a good neighbor over the decades. He implied it was time for local residents to be a little more neighborly in return.

Someone really needs to have a little chat with that man. The old “you catch more bees with honey” speech might do him some good right about now.

That said, sports is big business. Our economy needs jobs and companies willing to invest in the future. Here, we have a strong local institution that is expanding rather than shrinking. Perhaps they should build this new grand arena, but who am I to say? It’s not in my back yard.

I don't think the real issue is about whether the arena expansion is a good idea. I think the real issue is about being heard. So often, people push their own agendas, rather than considering compromises that address valid concerns. In the end, I believe the greater good of economic stimulation will prevail. I just hope the neighbors end up with a monstrosity they can live with.

There’s a petition circulating to stop TU. I’ll probably sign it – in solidarity with my former neighbors. But I can’t help thinking about a story I heard last week.

A friend shared how an elderly relative, a native Baltimorean, was up in arms 25 years ago over a proposed new development in downtown Baltimore. She couldn’t understand why everyone wanted to renovate the Inner Harbor. She thought the proposed National Aquarium was a ridiculous notion. “If I want to see fish – I’ll go to Woolworths!” she said.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.