Warm Wishes

"Tis the season, finally. The only traveling my family does over the winter break is to ice hockey tournaments. I admit to being disappointed. Our plans are less than exciting, consisting of attending a tournament, completion of high school applications and a dentist appointment. Everyone else is traveling to more interesting climes, or so it seems. So, yesterday, I noticed an e-mail from the homeless shelter at Ansche Chesed saying they needed volunteers. I signed myself up for January 2nd and will help out with my eldest daughter. All of the sudden, chic vacation plans seemed so much less important than being grateful for the warmth of my home and the blessings of my family.

Character Counts

An historical exhibit at the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland shows video clips of various leaders admonishing that this art form posed a threat to society. They were, of course, talking about sexuality, but has anyone noticed that the moral fiber of our society has been degrading since, let's say, Watergate? Who can be admired or respected anymore? Perhaps I am being romantic, but it seems that, once upon a time, there were shared expectations as to standards of behavior. Certainly, people behaved badly back in that mythically perfect once upon a time. Just because corruption, adultery, drug or alcohol were not discussed or publicized doesn't mean those problems didn't exist. Even mean girls pre-dated the 1970's; think of "The Children's Hour," written by Lillian Hellman in 1934 in which the lives of two teacher's lives are destroyed by a malicious rumor started by a student. And that play pre-dates facebook by light years. What if that hellion of a student had the capacity to go viral? Lack of a moral compass appears to be as severe a pandemic as the H1N1 virus.

A change is afoot. A few weeks ago, the headmaster of my daughter's school addressed his students and admonished them for their facebook comments. These students were told, in no uncertain terms, that they were being held to a high standard of honor and character. I was and am so pleased that my children have had the good fortune to be part of a unique community where character development remains paramount. We grownups need to examine our values. Certainly, we should not return to a time when women silently suffered domestic abuse and immoral behavior was merely swept under the rug. Rather, we need to lead by example and be our best selves - our kindest, most hard working, honest and generous selves. Our relationships with others need to be based on respect. We need to value everyone who contributes to our daily life and give thanks at the beginning and end of each day. However, our children need to see us recover from mistakes, acknowledge that we are less than perfect. An apology is an amazing teaching tool.

Lessons learned from Puffin, the cat

My children were toddlers at play when we heard kittens mewing. That was when we found Puffin, Muffin and their brother. Muffin and the third cat were adopted, but Puffin stuck around. When we tore down our old home and erected a new structure, Puffin lit out for the wild and didn't return for years. Her timing was remarkable; she showed up just when our puppy, KJ, arrived home. She would come and go, but about three years ago, Puffin decided to settle in for good. She would take turns sleeping with the girls and with me and Joe. She had her spot on the couch, and always shared my glass of water in the evening. Generally, if our family went away on vacation and left a pet sitter in charge, Puffin would run away and return only after she was certain we were home. Only Beth Goldin of Whimsical Pet in Huntington, New York [www.whimiscalpet.com], was able to develop a relationship with this kitty.

A few weeks ago, Puffin ran outside as we were leaving for our Columbus Day weekend adventure - see Ode to a Warhorse for the story of our MDX. Ordinarily, this would not have been cause for concern. Among cats, Puffy was of the indoor/outdoor variety and quite capable of fending for herself. However, when she finally showed up at our home on Wednesday, Puffin could barely stand up. In the past week and a half, Puffin was twice hospitalized. After her last stay, she came home and was eating voraciously. Within 12 hours, however, Puffin's hind quarters were paralyzed and fluid gathered in her abdomen.

Just two days ago, the vet and I discussed euthanizing Puffin. The cat was alert and didn't seem uncomfortable. I discussed the decision with my husband and children. No one - especially me - felt comfortable ending our cat's life. She was interacting and affectionate. I am not G-d, and didn't feel that I had the right to decide whether a creature lived or not. Today, however, nature ran its course; Puffin, died comfortably at home this afternoon.

Many say that cats only give you affection in exchange for food, but in these last days, Puffin truly seemed to appreciate the comfort of being held and stroked these past few days. Puffin taught our children about engaging in frank discussions about end-of-life decisions. She taught them that death is a natural part of life, and that permitting someone to die a natural death can be peaceful. Puffin's body was donated to our vet, who will use her body to gain clinical knowledge. There are many things I will miss about our cat, but I can rest easily, knowing that everything passed in a manner ordered by nature.

What's it worth to ya?

As you know, I have started a business offering my services as an editor and writer. I have always enjoyed writing, and get a particular thrill out of helping clients find their voice. But this is truly diffrent than going to work for an existing organization. Rather than walking into a pre-made structure, I define my structure. Most important, though, is that I assign a value to my work, as opposed to someone else telling me how much I will be paid.

It takes a courage to lay it on the line and tell someone, in the first place, that your knowledge and skill have worth. Of course, your first target audience is yourself. If you don't believe that your time and effort have value, how can you possibly ask someone else to pay you for your work? To me, assigning a dollar amount to my talent affirms that I value myself and my intellect. Not that I have conducted a study, but I suspect that women are particularly prone to devaluing themselves. Think of the old Loreal advertisement, where the woman using the product says "because I'm worth it." Interesting. In our society, a woman's worth is measured by what she spends, not by what she earns.

I have encountered other women starting businesses who diminish themselves by saying that their intent is not to make money. In reality, they are afraid to be assertive. When I hear a woman say that making money isn't her driving intent, it makes me want to get up on a pulpit like Jesse Jackson, and shout "No, no, no! Repeat after me, I AM somebody!" Assigning value to your talent and abilities is an important lessons in self-esteem (see my previous post). Recently, I told someone about my venture and a bid I had put on a job. She was astonished by the proposed price. I was equally confident that the price for my work was justified. I know that I can do something that is unique. I hope you believe in your talents, too.

From self-doubt to self-confidence

Have you ever met someone who has no doubt that they are entitled to attaining their dreams - that that they deserve success on their terms? At the Womensphere Global Summit in Manhattan on October 24, 2009, I heard one such woman, Suzy Welch, speak. Ms. Welch is an author and former editor of the Harvard Business Review. Clearly, the key to Ms. Welch's success was absolute confidence. She seems to attack any objective - whether it be financial success or renown - with conviction. Her apparent and unapologetic sense of entitlement isn't a negative. Rather, it is an admirable trait.

I will never forget Michael Jordan's appearance in a 'Stuart Smalley' skit with Al Franken on Saturday Night Live long ago. Franken's character, Stuart Smalley, was a self-help television host, whose practice it was to look at himself in the mirror and utter the mantra "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and, doggonit, people like me!" It was comical to watch Franken's character assure Micheal Jordan that pre-game jitters are normal. Smalley views the world through a warped lens and assumes that everyone suffers from self-doubt. Yet, Michael Jordan shows the audience quiet, unwavering confidence. Honestly, there are times when I have felt much more like Stuart Smalley than like either Michael Jordan or Suzy Welch - in terms of self-esteem, that is.

Low-self esteem is the polar opposite of Ms. Welch's sense of entitlement or Michael Jordan's self asured demeanor. It is an insidious disease that can paralyze and prevent progress. And even if you manage to attain some sort of success, that little bit of self doubt can nag and undermine. How can you clear the low self-esteem cob webs? Accepting that you have an issue is a good first step. Review your positive traits and acheivements. Remember that there is nothing wrong with feeling pride in anything and everything you have done. Then, look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and, doggonit, people like me!" It's okay; I won't tell anyone if you don't.

Just Do It

Dayniah Manderson was profiled in an article in the New York Times Metropolitan section on Sunday, May 2, 2010. Ms. Manderson has suffered from spinal muscular atrophy type II since childhood. She has endured surgeries and is confined to a wheelchair. However, Ms. Manderson has a daughter and a job. She also had an abusive relationship, but she certainly isn't putting up with that. The article in the Times was well-deserved acknowledgement of this remarkable human being.

The way we manage our limitations is significant. I don't like it when my limitations interfere with my ability to work and play. After a while, I feel like complaining. But I know that I experience periods of relief, while others never will. The New York Times article discussed modifications Ms. Manderson makes to facilitate her work day. Specifically, she doesn't eat breakfast or drink all day because she is unable to go to the bathroom on her own. She didn't complain. She didn't indicate that she felt sorry for herself. The situation is what it is. I certainly hope that the article results in additional help for Ms. Manderson.

Ode to a war horse MDX

Our weekend started at 6 a.m. on Saturday, when we drove from Long Island to Choate Rosemary Hall, which is near New Haven. Choate is one of America's premier boarding high schools. Its girls ice hockey program has produced four olympians and our daughter was interviewing for a slot at the school. She was well received and blended beautifully with the other students. We spent about 3 hours at the school, and that was followed by a game between my daughter's team and the Connecticut Polar Bears. Choate's coach came to watch Laura and some other players. Again, we were really happy with the coach's comments about our daughter's ability.

Our other daughter, Allison, attends school on the other side of Connecticut at the Kent School which is in, well, Kent. The town shuts down by 9, basically. After an amazing dinner at Blu Grill, we went to the only convenience store that was open. Laura was recovering from a nasty cold and needed lozenges and tissues. My husband brought the car over to the store lot and parked. Laura and I got in the car and we were about to head back to our inn outside of town. Joe backed the car out of its spot, then put the car into drive. The engine was running, but the gear didn't engage and the car just sat there. It was close to closing time, so a state trooper was in the lot to watch over the store - not that there is ever any trouble in Kent. I walked over to the squad car. "Why didn't your husband just drive you over," he quipped, at which point I explained our predicament.

The officer, the store owner and Joe investigated. They found a pool of liquid where the car had been parked and noticed that the car was hemorraging greenish blue liquid. Using a flashlight, they looked inside the hood. Together, they concluded that the transmission had failed. Now, I am not particularly knowledgeable about cars, but I do know that the transmission is the rough equivalent of the human heart; once it isn't working, the vehicle or person basically has no chance for survival. Suffice it to say that we ended up getting a rental car and completed the trip with a visit to Joe's sister in Boston and two more boarding schools - all of which was very exciting - but this is about the car.

The MDX - our MDX - was not merely a form of transportation. We bought the car in 2004. At that point, we had transferred the girls into East Woods School in Oyster Bay Cove. We were attracted to their strong academic program, emphasis on character development and an ice hockey program in which Laura could participate starting in 5th grade. Her improvement warranted branching out even further, so Laura joined The Long Island Waves, a travel team, in 6th grade, in addition to her participation on the East Woods team. This is her third year with that team. Participation in that team involved remarkable feats of transportation.

The MDX has been there every step of the way. It has transported us from points north in Connecticut to Yorktown, Pennsylvania, as well as tournaments in places you have heard of, like Rochester and Syracuse and places you haven't heard of, like Chazy, New York. It has ferried us to visit boarding schools throughout the northeast, and it has permitted us to meet dedicated educators and coaches. The MDX took Allison to Kent School, where she has been afforded unique opportunities to grow and develop - and home again. Then there were the trips up to New England Music Camp in Belgrade Lakes, Maine. There, our daughters' relationships with both peers and teachers were cultivated and their abilities as musicians enhanced through instruction and weekly performances.

As parents, my husband and I view our job as providing the best resources to enable our daughters to accomplish. The MDX was part of that effort, plus it had more than 130,000 miles. It turns out that all the MDX needed was a new radiator. Despite its new lease on life, it is time to put the old war horse out to pasture. No one achieves success alone. It is important to thank those who have helped you accomplish your goals. Dear old MDX, you helped us do our job as parents. As cars go, you were amazing.

Inspiration

Thomas Alva Edison said that "success is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration." Clearly, that was a shorthand quip and the 10% shouldn't be given such short shrift.

This past weekend, my daughter, Laura, and I went to a showcase for ice hockey players. At this event, the players had the opportunity to be seen by prep school coaches and to speak with the coaches about their schools. My daughter shyly approached a coach whose school had denied Laura admission last year. They exchanged greetings, briefly mentioned the rejection, and proceeded to discuss the other events of Laura's year. Laura was not this man's student, nor was she one of his players. Nevertheless, this consummate educator kindly and gently offered suggestions about interview skills and also advised her on puck handling.

I must point out my admiration, as well, for my daughter. The students were encouraged to ask the coaches for feedback about the student's potential. Laura asked the coaches from three highly competitive schools to offer their opinion about her ability to play at the varsity level. That took guts. We drove like bats out of hell from Maine to New York yesterday and pulled into the ice rink with 20 minutes to spare before practice. She certainly perspired, but she came of the ice talking about how she was inspired by the level of play up at the showcase.

Gardens growing quite contrarily

I am a total Zsa Zsa in a garden; hopeless. What was I thinking when I pIanted all that broccoli and arugula this year? Okay, I actually only put in a few of the plants; my gardener took pity on the plants and put the rest in for me. I envisioned fresh broccoli, crisp lettuce, delectable tomatoes, long, luscious carrots. I made plans and Mother nature laughed so hard that we got boat loads of rain.

The plants either drowned or went to seed. The carrots started to go to seed in late June, so we- okay, Joe - pulled them out. Though short and stumpy, the carrots were actually quite sweet and delicious. The handful of peas were good too, but that poor plant was drowned. Despite valiant attempts to cut them back, I am sorry to report that neither the arugula nor the broccoli survived. Ever the optimist, I am keeping the celery in; celery root is great to use in soup stock. The tomato plants are pregnant with green orbs that are taking forever to ripen.

My failed experiment hardly reflects my abilities as a gardener. Farmers I met at my favorite markets told me to pull out plants out that had gone to seed. I may not have had a successful garden, but at least it wasn't my livelihood. Rottkamps, in Glen Head, lost an entire cabbage crop and I haven't seen any broccoli there at all. Their corn is beyond fantastic, though. Vegetable offerings at the Huntington Farmers' market on Sunday mornings are also limited. We are fortunate to have alternative food sources, but it makes you think of the many places where local is the only resource.

Summertime

This July was dedicated to my "get a life" initiative, which involved taking advantage of cultural offerings in nearby New York City and traveling. I know, I travel enough - but this had to be travel that was not associated with ice hockey or music camp.

So, Joe and I went to Chicago. We visited the Chicago Art Institute, strolled through Grant Park, took an architectural boat tour and attended a Chicago Symphony Orchestra concert at Ravinia. We also enjoyed breakfast, our favorite meal and, apparently, a passion of Chicago residents. The city has done a wonderful job bringing art and nature into the street-scape. I could easily have spent a few days wandering through The Chicago Art Institute and the architecture tour made me more aware to my surroundings in Manhattan. The proportion of Chicago is very different from New York; everything was BIG. I returned home refreshed and enriched.

Consistent with my self-imposed initiative, Joe and I attended frequented theater. Finally, I, too, have seen "Wicked!" We saw "God of Carnage," "Billy Elliot" and "South Pacific." Tomorrow I am going to see "In the Heights." I particularly noticed the work of those who do not appear on stage; casting directors, the lighting designers, set designers and pit orchestra musicians. "Billy Elliot" was the standout. Casting "Billy Elliot" must have been a challenge. The actors had to look like miners and, at first glance, they definitely didn't appear to be capable of graceful movement. Wrong. The guy with the pot belly was the most coordinated of all.

Well, ice hockey season is gearing up again. Off I go to be a supportive ice hockey mom. I wouldn't have it any other way; I have the greatest life.

Anybody out there?

Both of my girls are home. Boarding school has done wonders for their relationship. They are working cooperatively on a complex art project, and this makes me very happy. Watching them in their new teen phase, I realize that my job as a mother of young children is over. Well, you all know that -because I started writing this blog as a means of dealing with the change. I am still figuring out my direction, but, for this week, at least, I am merely a chauffeur. However, I did pick up the telephone to speak with Damon Lester, president of the National Association of Minority Automobile Dealers. We discussed the awful situation faced by Greg Williams, proprietor of the GM dealer in Huntington. I heard Mr. Lester and Mr. Williams last week on Brian Lehrer's show. Apparently, dealers who received termination letters prior to the GM and Chevrolet bankruptcies have no protection under state franchise laws. They have been required to return their inventory and are being held personally liable. In Mr. William's case, he is on the hook for $5 million, but his inventory was returned to GMAC upon receipt of the termination letter, and there is nothing he can do about it. Mr. Damon and I reviewed legislation currently before the House and Senate that would afford legal protection to franchisees, such as Mr. Williams. We came up with small additions that would drastically change the meaning of the legislation to effect better protection for franchisees directly affected by the GM and Chevrolet bankruptcies. So, that was constructive. I probably won't get many opportunities to write for the next 3 weeks, but I am also interested to know whether anyone out there is reading my blog?!!! Please send me your feed back!

My beloved newspaper

The front page of The New York Times portrays harsh realities, while the advertising on pages 2 and 3 invariably features insanely priced commodities. Honestly, I look forward to seeing this each day. The ad at the top left corner of page 2 never fails to amuse; it is generally some hideous item at a ridiculous price. Today, the most prominent news was a report about economic sacrifices families are making in these lean economic times. The bottom left article was about post-war conditions in Gaza, and was accompanied by the picture of a bedraggled person standing in the remains of a bombed out building. Page 2, however, greeted readers with ads suitable only for those in denial. Today's page 2 top ad showed a pair of the most absurd looking Channel boots that I wouldn't want at $10, no less the more than $1,000 asking price. Often, I wonder whether the irony is intentional. Certainly, the effect can't be achieved in any other media form. Long live newspapers.

Economic Menopause

I love beautiful clothes and accessories. Finely crafted items are wearable art. There are pieces in my collection that I wear just to be a vehicle for showing off the items. It is enjoyable to use and display my classic pieces. I used to shop like a fiend. My husband would argue that I still do - but what does he know. Honestly, I think it is the effect of the economy - or could it be menopause? Or, perhaps our economy is experiencing menopause.

My current clothing shopping is need driven. Years ago, I would stop in a store 'just to look,' and, invariably, pick up a little thing here or there - or a big thing, whatever. Now, my standard is that the item must be beautiful, I must love it and, sort of, need it. My shopping habits are different, though. I no longer browse for the sake of looking. For example, this Fall I needed a new bag because I was going to be attending several events. I bought 2 beautiful bags at Hirschleifer's in Manhasset, New York. What?! They were 80% off and I use them. But what of the ultra fabulous Libertine blazer that I bought at the same time? Well, really - that is a one of a kind collectible piece. It is remarkably beautiful, I love it, hence, it is a necessity - and it was on sale.

I admit that I am still a bargain hunter and sample sale junkie. My purchases there often run afoul of my necessity standard, but the purchases must squarely satisfy the 'love it, absolutely remarkably beautiful' standard. Okay, perhaps I need to be delawyered - who else develops objective tests that determine their shopping habits? Not to worry. I managed quite well, thank you, at a recent Valentino sale where I purchased a really pretty glove letter bag with Valentino's signature flowers - at a markdown that enabled me to justify the purchase. Chalk it all up to an economic hot flash.

The influence of "The Camel Knows the Way"

 "The Camel Knows the Way" is an autobiography recounting Ms. Kelly's  successful career as the first woman auctioneer at Sotheby's, her battle with alchoholism, humbling experiences in Calcutta and  a remarkable relationship with Mother Theresa. Though it is a story of Ms. Kelly's particularly Christian spiritual awakening, "The Camel Knows the Way" nonetheless speaks to people of all religions.  I admire its honesty and artful use of language to portray vivid images and emotions.

The story of Ms. Kelly's spiritual shift experienced through her work in Calcutta is beyond moving.   Ms. Kelly learns  to see each and every person as worthy of compassion, even the people covered in filth and feces.  She accomplishes this by envisioning each suffering person as Jesus, himself or, in one case, as her mother.  With that shift, Ms. Kelly is emboldened to help the people of Calcutta.  Even though I am Jewish, I found this metaphor particularly transformational today.

I purchased my copy of "The Camel Knows the Way, a Journey" at a fair and sought out Ms. Kelly for an inscription.  I found her,gleefully getting her face painted.   When I got to the part of "The Camel Knows the Way" where Ms. Kelly relates that she jumped into the Sea of Gallilee fully clothed, I was less than surprised.  I would expect no less of someone this brave, adventurous and alive.

 One of my daughters is brilliant and gifted.  Her thirst for knowledge is remarkable and she seeks out unique experiences.  Like Ms. Kelly, she lives passionately. Her interests are unique and she is a truly special human being who, sadly, is not living up to her potential. For some reason, classes have not been attended, school work has been ignored and friendships have been left undeveloped.  To her credit, my daughter has finally admitted that she has a problem and needs help.  

Thankfully, my daughter's issues aren't life threatening. She doesn't drink alcohol, take drugs or engage in promiscuous sex. Still, I have been frustrated and thrust blame on my daughter for not wanting to overcome her problems with completing school work.  My husband and I were confounded.  We were amazed at how impossible our daughter made her own life by refusing to do homework that she could easily complete. Today, I was emotionally drained, lost and angry.  Then, I contemplated the imagery that enabled Lorna Kelly to attain a different attitude toward the poor and suffering people of Calcutta.  I stopped resenting my child for not making an effort to overcome self-inflicted problems.  Instead, I finally understood her suffering.    Obviously, if  I knew that a stranger was in that much emotional pain, I would approach them with compassion and get help.  The shift in attitude enabled me to leave the rage behind.   Offering support is far more constructive.

What is an Athlete?

 Physical talent is not what defines an athlete; mental fortuity and an unwillingness to quit are the defining traits.  An athletic attitude definitely permeates daily life.  This morning, for example, I felt rotten.  I went to spin class anyway, tried my best and felt better for it [endorphins].  I wasn't going to sit down and write, but I couldn't give my all in one sphere of my life and not another.  The attitude must be consistent.

Nowhere is the impact of the athletic attitude more manifest than in my younger daughter.  Her effort and drive are evident on and off the ice.  It is inspiring to learn from her attitude.  The eldest daughter has just discovered crew, and it is motivating her to find her best self within.  Being a coxswain has given Allison a sense of purpose and responsibility; I have never known her to be hellbent on getting to breakfast by 7 am.  

In my opinion, all that you hear about development about positive self-esteem through participation in sports is true.  I know it is true for me and I see it in my daughters.  They feel great about being part of a team and succeeding.  I feel great about the fact that I haven't given up on myself and that I am setting an example for my daughters.  My morning workouts set the tone for my days, and I go to sleep at night knowing that I tried my best from the first hour.          

Frustration and apologies

Apologies to all of my readers- Phil, that means you.  I don't know why my computer decided to publish the last entry in all caps.  Perhaps it sensed my ire, and decided to scream my opinion to the world.  Well, I am new to blogging and there sure is a learning curve.  I hope my audience will be indulgent.  

Moral Compass Gone haywire

A New York Times article, "Cancer Patients Challenge the Patenting of a Gene" by John Schwartz, which appeared on May 12, 2009, disclosed the monopoly held by Myriad on testing to detect the BRCA gene.  Breast cancer patients who have this gene could make well-placed bets on their odds of getting ovarian cancer, so detection of the gene impacts treatment decisions.  Because of Myriad's monopoly, there are no comparative tests, and woe to the patient who can't afford the thousands charged; Myriad doesn't accept insurance.   Adding insult to injury, Myriad has been granted a patent on the gene the test method. Yet another company holds the patent on the gene responsible for the deathly "long QT syndrome," according to the article.One wonders if executives of these companies sleep soundly?  Irrespective of the merits and the questionably favorable precedent [or the soundness that precedent], significant moral issues are at stake.  Is our country prepared to deprive seriously ill patients access to crucial information in the name of big bucks? Making money from development of tests, medications and procedures is fine, but the American concept of justice I learned in law school is one of fairness and equity. Sanctioning monopolies that deprive patients meaningful access to credible tests is simply wrong.  Executives of Myriad and all like-minded companies should consider new careers, perhaps in the area of sub-prime lending. One more thing; Dr. Henry Ostrer, director of the human genetics program at the New York University School of Medicine, was quoted in the May 12, 2009 New York Times article.  Dr. Ostrer is the Director of Human Genetics at the New York University School of Medicine.  His laboratory is currently working to discover a modifier gene that prevents BRCA from triggering to cause cancer.   The Jewish Women's Foundation of New York, of which I am proudly a member, provided funds for the initial phase of this research.  Dr. Ostrer and Dr. Freya Schnabel made a presentation in support of the grant that left us in awe with admiration for these brilliant scientists who are dedicated to improving the quality of life for everyone.  They are, my friends, upright and moral.  Naturally, Dr. Ostrer is a plaintiff in the suit against Myriad.  One would expect nothing less.

Racial Identification

I am distracted. Perhaps you have read about the fall-out resulting from Paulo Serodio's description of himself as a "white African-American?" The debate is whether blacks have an exclusive on the phrase "African-American" as a description of race. Other students took offense at the phrase "white African American." This is tough.

You see, the appellations of "black" and "white" simply don't appeal. As literary devices, those colors denote evil and good. Besides, those colors are completely inaccurate. Were I to select a word to describe my coloring, white wouldn't be it. Caucasian works, so we have a term that covers part of the population. But black, well that term just hurts me. I have friends who use the term "black" to describe themselves. Brown, I feel, is a much more accurate adjective, but it hasn't caught on. When I meet someone, though, I prefer to value the person on their own terms.

Until very recently, Jews didn't publicize their ethnicity in an attempt to avoid prejudicial back-lash. A baptismal certificate was requested of my uncle when he applied for a job at the phone company. There were accounting firms and law firms where my father could not work. When she started teaching in the late 1960's, my mother, Miriam Spiro, was first asked whether she was Greek, then she was asked if she was Italian. Time came for Passover, and my mother asked for a day off. The principal wasn't too happy that he had hired a Jew. How you describe yourself should make you comfortable and secure. In a society where pretty much anything goes, it is a wonder that anyone was bothered by Paolo Serodio's self-identification. It just goes to show you, though, that words are our arsenal.

Covering up uncomfortable. My parents and their generation limited their lives, in large part, to Jews. They were able to avoid being "out." A negative message is sent to the off-spring when parents engage in that kind of identity avoidance. But that was how things worked long ago; my parents were not overtly Jewish out of their perception of necessity. Not to worry, though - I worked it out in therapy. Now I have to come to terms with being short.

Parental advocacy and the troubled child

So much for my efforts to transition away from stay-at-home mommying.  Yes, mommying is a verb.  Yesterday, I went totally Martha Stewart.  I made cream of asparagus soup using farmers' market produce purchased for my by Sharon Klein of Sharon Klein Graphic Design, as well as spinach quiche.  Of course, I made my own crust,  spinach from my garden outside and 1% milk.  Hey, if I am going to do this stay-at-home thing, I figure I should go the distance.  

I love listening to Doctor Joy Brown on WOR Radio 710 AM at 1 pm.  So, while I enjoyed my lunch of home-made minestrone [chicken stock with tomato paste, chopped tomatoes and chick peas], I listened in.  A woman called about her lost-soul, 21 year old daughter.  My heart went out to this mother.  I am so familiar with her anger, frustration and confusion - wondering why this child can't be like her 7 -yes, 7- siblings. This girl ditched college, started drinking, can't hold a job and is failing to live as a functioning adult.   I am glad that the mother finally reached out for help.

I related, because I had to go through a major attitude adjustment toward my eldest daughter and her unique obstacles.  My daughter faces challenges. Thankfully,  none of them are as life threatening as drinking, smoking, drug addition or an eating disorder. However, her issues do make me concerned for my daughter's ability to learn to be a functioning, independent adult, capable of performing basic life skills.  Yes, I am sad that this absolutely brilliant girl might not accomplish her potential, but she is only 15, so the book isn't yet closed and I am not giving up on her.  I am learning that my job, as a parent, is to advocate for this girl.  I am responsible for recognizing that there is a problem and seeking resources for help.  This life has been assigned to me to marshall through to adulthood.  I am grateful to all of the people who are helping accomplish this task; most especially, the Klennex folks for making the many wonderful facial tissues - they work great on tears.

The good news for Dr. Brown's caller is that the daughter is communicating her need for help.  Absent consent, parents cannot access medical information for children over the age of 18.  Recognizing that one's child isn't typical' is painful for everyone involved. It is equally painful for an underperforming child to face that they don't measure up to expectations or the accomplishments of their siblings. Providing positive support is imperative and parents must do everything to avoid getting the dreaded call to pick up the body.  

Words are our arsenal

Years ago, a former boss said "words are our arsenal."  That phrase occurs to me whenever I am asked the minefield question "what do you do."  My answer stumbles - well, I was a lawyer you see, then I opted out and now I am a stay-at-home mom, except for when I'm a freelance writer, actress - oh, and my last child will leave home in a year.  Honestly, I go my gym, Equinox fitness in Woodbury.  It is my office, the place I go regularly and where I have colleagues.  But, basically, I don't really 'do' anything.  Well, today I am going to lunch with my sisters.  Does that count?

 Blame society, but we women manage to shoot ourselves in the foot just fine when, as stay-at-homes, we refer to ourselves as  'doing nothing' [yes, my dear Harvard Business School graduate friend, I am referring to you!].  I was so amused by a recent New York Times article describing the difficult adjustment experienced by recently unemployed men who are now at home focusing on their children.  Why wasn't it news when I felt exactly the same way?  How can it be assumed that any highly educated person will be  complacent to leave a career to care for children when that job ranks way down on the the social totem pole?    Somehow, the activity of raising children needs to be viewed as a job worthy of respect - an I don't exclude myself from being chastised.  On this topic, I highly recommend " The Price of Motherhood," by Anne Crittenden.  

Viewing one's self as 'not working' or 'not doing' anything productive is dangerously depressing.  We are always doing something; looking for a job, caring for children, developing a new business or actively taking a break.    So, what is a soon to be excessed Mom to do?   I fear that employers take a dim view of outsourced stay-at-homes.  At the moment, my solution is to use my writing skills.  My objective is work as a consultant to write web content, marketing materials and consult with not for profit organizations about marketing and fundraising. We'll see how that goes.  for now, I am working on my blog.  Hope you enjoyed.

Have a great day!

Mommy, full throttle

Today, I am in Mommy mode - full throttle.  Laura is going on a trip this afternoon and called to ask if I could make sandwiches for two other girls.  The super mom never says no.  In fact, super mom makes brownies from scratch.  They really aren't that hard - use the one bowl brownies recipe on the box of unsweetened Baker's chocolate, but use less than the 2 cups of sugar called for by the recipe.  Super mom knows stuff about baking, don't ya know.  

Truth time; I have a lump in my throat.  Surely, dear reader, you realize that those aren't merely brownies.   Reflected in those brownies is a devotion that I will have the privilege to express for the briefest of time.  Then I get fired, which is why I started writing this in the first place.  Now, I understand why older relatives so willingly lavish love, food and care.  Time is fleeting, and if we are wise, we seize every opportunity to express love and make others feel special.  

Crying is not an option, because I am wearing makeup.  If you are wondering what the sandwiches symbolize, I couldn't tell you; they haven't been made yet.  But make them, I must.  Then, I am off to Connecticut to visit Allison.  

I'm blogging -Look at me, way up high, suddenly, here am I, I'm blogging!

This project is the brain child of a conversation I had with my husband last night.   For the past seven years, I have been a more or less full-time stay-at-home mom.   Our eldest daughter, Allison, is in her first year at boarding school, which means she lives away from home.  The other daughter, Laura, has a serious interest in going away for high school, too, which means she will leave home in one year.  That leaves me out of a job.  

Do the math, and you will realize that I wasn't a full-time stay at home mom for the duration of my girls' childhoods.  I was very lucky to be able to pop in and out of the work force.  By training, I am a lawyer.  I left practice during my first pregnancy, and returned to that firm around three years later.  The firm was Lester Schwab Katz & Dwyer.  My specialty was insurance coverage law and litigation.  We both benefited from a part-time arrangement that permitted me to work in the office three days a week.  I am pleased with the contributions I made to that firm and truly miss the work.  However, our offices were catty corner to the World Trade Center.  Traveling to that area post 9-11 was severely disrupted, my children needed additional transportation to after-school activities and it seemed like the universe was telling me it was time to go.  I gave notice and left to attend to my family full-time.  

GACK! What an identity crisis I had!  Bless Anne Crittendon and her book "The Price of Motherhood" to put it all in perspective for me.  That book helped me understand that the work of motherhood is purposeful and meaningful.  I learned that I was shaping my girls to the benefit of society.  So my daily preparation of breakfast, in fact, had broader implications.  But what about my "self?"  Who was I and what would happen to me when my charges left?   

Things were so simple when I met Joe.  When asked "what do you do," the answer was simple; I am an attorney and my specialty is insurance coverage law.  Then I had the girls and no one asked me anything about anything - the new friends I made all had babies in strollers.  Then, when I went back to work part-time, the explanation got a bit more complicated - until I left and became, simply, a full-time stay-at-home Mom who did some per diem law work.  Per diem, or freelance, work was a challenge because of the lack of continuity.  This blog will detail the solutions I have been seeking and let you know my progress.