Lights, camera, action!

Our six-year old had a solo - a poem - in her kindergarten Thanksgiving chapel, which was two days before her brother's preschool Thanksgiving program. With both events scheduled for weekday mornings (are we the only parents who have to work to pay those tuition bills?), my husband, a teacher, had to make a difficult choice, and the Friday event, which included lunch, won out.

In my ongoing campaign for the title of Wife/Mother of the Year, I made a point of charging our video camera and actually remembering to take it with me to the chapel program so my husband could at least watch a replay of our daughter's 17 seconds of fame. Sliding into the gym minutes before the program started, I had forfeited all the good spots on the bleachers. Determined to find a good angle for filming, I parked myself on the end of a semicircle of first graders on the gym floor, trying not to wonder (or care) if any other parents thought I was a crazy pageant mom. 

As soon as the first notes wafted from the piano, I flipped on the camera and hoisted my right arm in a proud parent salute, my eyes darting back and forth between live action and camera screen. The kids belted out song after song about pilgrims, Indians (I know the term isn't PC, but if Florida State can get away with having some guy decked out in full Seminole face paint ride onto their football field every week and slam a spear into midfield, then I guess a bunch of five- and six-year olds should get a pass too), and eating turkey, until I was afraid our short-life battery and my tired arm would give out before the poem was recited.

I am proud to say that both the battery and my arm made it through the entire show. I am embarrassed to admit that I shot most of the program, poem included, with the camera on pause. I didn't even realize it until I got home and attempted to show my dad, who'd pulled house duty with our 15-month old so I could focus on the program (for all the good that did), her big moment that was, oddly, nowhere on the camera.

Needless to say, I let my husband man the camera during the preschool show, which lasted approximately seven minutes.

Hope your Thanksgiving was happy and that you enjoy this rendition of the holiday classic, "I'm a Little Indian."

The war on women

Watching one "15-minute" segment of the recent presidential debate before dozing off inspired me to make an attempt to return to the world of the socially and politically informed (Yes, I am one of those moms who completely checked out of the current events loop when my kids arrived on the scene. I will be the first to admit that I usually can't stay awake long enough after the kids go to bed to read in uninterrupted silence or watch the news, and on the rare occasions that I can I prefer vegging out with a mindless home decorating magazine to watching graphic images of the violence in the Middle East or following the latest reality TV show "celebrity" break-up news.)

So it was that I found myself trolling for post-debate commentary to see what I'd missed in the 60 minutes that I'd been snoring on the couch. 

I was not surprised to find polarized, passionate discourse replete with references to Big Bird and intolerant assertions from liberals who pride themselves on their tolerance (can I get an amen if you've ever disagreed with a lefty and been told you're wrong?) Nor was it news to me that there's a war on women. What was news to me was that Public Enemy No. 1 is the ultra-conservative, misogynistic GOP.

Women from sea to shining sea are claiming that Republicans won't sleep until every birth control pill has been flushed into the Atlantic and every woman returned to her rightful place at the helm of a well-kept home. Having been out of the loop for more than half a decade, I can't really say if these assertions are politically accurate, but what struck me in reading article after article about the persecution and injustice we as women face was: have we identified the real enemy?

A wealthy male presidential candidate whose wife chose a career in child rearing makes a convenient poster child for the war on women. But ladies, before we launch an overseas attack, let's take care of business on the homefront.

Let's stop spending billions of dollars each year on breast augmentations and Botox and start liking what we see in the mirror.

Let's stop blaming legislation for the fact that we can't achieve superwoman status and admit that we simply can't do and have it all. Let's make those difficult choices, accept the trade-offs that come with them and support our sisters who choose a different path.


Let's stop judging other women's marriages (or divorces) and parenting styles and start being more sympathetic and thoughtful when a friend opens up about family struggles.

Let's stop cutting ourselves down and start building stronger self-images, friendships and support systems.

Let's make like Nike and just do it, ladies. If not for our ourselves, then for our daughters.

Making the grade

We've been back to school for about a month in our house, so I figured now was as good a time as any to get back to the blog. (Thanks, by the way, to the two people who told me they've missed my posts.)

I'm happy to report that our daughter loves kindergarten. So much, in fact, that when I told her that she would get to ride home with me from her apple-picking field trip later this month rather than taking the bus back to school she balked. "But I just love school!" she cried. "Can't I ride the bus back and you pick me up at carpool?"

I'm thrilled she's thrilled to be there and even more thrilled that my son, who was very vocal over the past year about his intent to never go to school, admits to liking preschool. So, all is well on the emotional front. Not so much on the logistical front.

If I were to be graded on my back-to-school performance to date, I'd see letters that I never saw on real report cards in my entire career (ECON11 aside.)

Summer Reading Program: B-
In what was surely a precursor to the misery I will enjoy over the duration of my kids' elementary school days, the summer reading program was a hybrid of reading and artsy-craftsy activities, all based on a camping theme. I love reading. I do not love crafting. 

In summary, the kids had to complete a minimum number of activities to satisfy the basic requirement. Those who completed 50 activities would be rewarded with a special dessert in the library after school resumed. 

Momentarily forgetting that I a) do not enjoy making nature collages, b) work outside the home, c) have two other kids who require my attention and d) do not enjoy making nature collages, I told C we'd aim to earn that dessert.

Four days before the packet was due, I admitted defeat. It was logistically impossible for us to complete 24 activities in 96 hours. Fortunately, she has an optimistic streak. After a few seconds of disappointment she shrugged and said, "Maybe we can do it next year." Or not.

Back to School Night: D
With our toddler sick on back-to-school night, my husband flew solo to that event. Never again.

Four weeks into school, I still have not returned the milk break and cafeteria snack forms that I am allegedly required to return regardless of our participation in those programs. Nor have I signed up for the four requisite lunchroom and carpool volunteer shifts that we are asked to work over the course of the year.

My husband did sign us up for two Scientist of the Week slots, but my unit is on Fire Safety. (Seriously?) I'm hoping our local fire station offers free guest lectures.

When he returned with a legal envelope bursting with papers "that we're supposed to read. I figured you could look through them", I asked if he told the teacher why I wasn't there.

"No."

"Seriously?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Now I look like a deadbeat mom!"

"No you don't."

"Yes I do!"

"You're a teacher-pleaser."

"As a teacher, don't you appreciate that?"

Apparently not. I gave myself credit in this subject for sending in the summer reading packet and school supplies.

Supplies Procurement: C
I'm not sure if I should deduct points from the above for sending in the wrong school supplies, but that sure is what I did. Apparently the supply lists are unique to each campus in C's school, and I printed the wrong one. It became apparent to me only after my daughter skipped out of school the third day with a backpack full of Model Magic.

"We only use Playdoh," she advised when I asked why she was bringing home her supplies. Certain that Model Magic had been on the list, I walked over to her teacher to clarify.

"Oh, you must have printed off the ES supply list. I think they use Model Magic. It's fine, though. We have plenty of Playdoh. The only thing you'll need to send is a white pillow case."

Determined to prove that I wasn't a complete idiot, I went home, printed the RC list and stomped off to Target to buy an additional $75 worth of Crayola Twistable Crayons and No. 2 pencils.

Cafeteria Management: C
Because I missed Back-to-School night, I wasn't entirely plugged into the process for buying lunch in the cafeteria. 27 years ago, you forked over a dollar. These days you rattle off a PIN.

With plans to go out for a celebratory back-to-school lunch with my mom on her first Friday of school, I provided C with a light lunch and explanation why. Apparently one of the cafeteria workers was concerned by that and asked my daughter if she planned to buy a piece of pizza to eat with what she'd brought from home.

"No," C replied. "My mommy hasn't put money in my account yet."

No explanation as to why (the school says they e-mailed her PIN and account set-up instructions to my husband, he claims he didn't receive the e-mail) or that we were going out for lunch #2 in an hour and a half. Why is my family conspiring to make me look like a horrible mother?

Carpool: B
In a Murhpy's Law moment, I pulled into the carpool line on the first day that kindergarteners participated in it only to discover that I'd forgotten my number. Pinned in on all sides by parents who hadn't forgotten their numbers, I left my Stepford Wife minivan running and jogged over to the gym door, praying they would give me my child and the two neighbors I was also supposed to pick up that day.

They did, and I am giving myself points in this subject for being on time every morning that I have been responsible for dropping off the neighborhood carpool crew. Don't think that's noteworthy? Talk to my father.

And that's just my kindergarten report. My performance as a preschool mom is fodder for a whole other post. Here's hoping my eight-week progress report shows improvement.

I don't feel old until . . .

One would think that having three kids, a mortgage and a minivan would have grounded me in the reality that I am, well, old, a full-fledged grown-up who gets called "m'am" by teenaged cashiers and "Fill-in-the-blank's mom" by my kids' playmates. But the thing is, most of the time I don't feel old.

Looking out on the world (vs. at myself in the mirror), I still feel as if I'm looking through the 26-year old eyes that drank in the lapis skies of Kapalua while honeymooning in Maui. Then I look at pictures from that honeymoon and see my husband and I, almost a decade younger, looking . . . young. Well-rested. Young.

And then I get glossy photo collage thank-you cards from newly minted brides and grooms and think, "When did it become acceptable to send a blanket 'thanks for everything' photo card instead of a handwritten thank-you note?" Then I feel old.

The geezer in me thinks, 'Photo cards are for Christmas. Where's the monogrammed stationery? The personal note about how they'll think of us every time they whip up a batch of brownies with that hand mixer? The signature, for crying out loud?!?'

The thing is this bride is a lovely girl (old folks like me can call twenty-somethings "girls"), well-mannered, polite, sweet. I'm sure she's very appreciative of our gift (which, for those of you who were thinking you wouldn't have bothered with a handwritten thank-you for a hand mixer either, was cash for their nest egg. The hand mixer thing was for illustrative purposes only.) She has lovely parents who, I'm sure, taught her proper manners.

Which leads me to believe that the photo card must be a sign of our "convenience at all cost!" times. Well, it's a sign of the end times, if you ask me.

Crotchety old ladies like me prefer tradition over efficiency, the pen over the photo printer. A handwritten note indicates value - the writer values your investment in them enough to invest a few minutes of time in return. We also think all new brides should suffer like, I mean, share the same rite of passage that we did when we wrote 220+ thank-you notes back in 2003.

For a split second, as I stood there holding that card, I thought, 'Perhaps I'm overreacting. Perhaps I'm just out of touch. Perhaps this is the new standard for expressing gratitude.' So I did a litmus test with my husband.

"A 'thanks for everything' photo card?" I asked, checking his face for a reaction.

"Yeah, I know. That's what I thought too," he replied.

How I do look forward to growing even older with this man who appreciates the importance of a proper thank-you card.

An inconvenient truth

First, a confession: I like Taylor Swift songs. Not all of them, but a handful of them, which I gleefully crank up in my car as I did on my way into work Tuesday.

Given that the kid is barely old enough to order a cocktail, I expect wisdom from her songs. I just like the catchy tunes and the fact that she actually plays and writes her own music. So I was surprised to find myself getting philosophical (at 8:30 in the morning, no less) in response to this five-word phrase from the song Ours: life makes love look hard.

In my experience, love is hard. Loving someone else (a spouse, a child, a sibling) means you love yourself a little less, and human beings aren't hardwired to do that. Whether you believe it's a product of evolution or the Biblical fall from grace, people have an innate tendency to look out for No. 1.

The Wikipedia definition of love includes words like kindness, compassion, and "the unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for the good of another." Love is, by nature, unselfish, and people are, by nature, selfish.

Think I'm a pessimist? Think of all the times you've been angry at your spouse or significant other. Why were you upset? If you dig deep enough, I'd be willing to wager that it stemmed from the fact that your needs weren't met. You didn't get "your way."

Even loving your kids can be a challenge of epic proportions. No one on the planet is needier and greedier than young children. According to Parent Further, most kids are still self-centered at the age of nine. I would argue that most of us never completely outgrow that tendency toward self-absorption, we simply learn to keep it hidden from the outside world.

Yet it always rears its head in some fashion.

For instance, my husband and I struggle to accept the loss of freedom that comes with being a parent. We envy those people who can do what they want to do when they want to do it. We don't get to do what we want to do. No fair! So we lose our tempers (with the kids and each other), and then we realize that we're modeling the very behaviors that we're trying to teach out of our kids.

Love is not simply a feeling. It is a choice, a daily decision to prioritize the needs and well-being of another person ahead of your own.

The good news is, when you make the choice to love other people they're probably going to love you back (even when you're cranky and critical.) By virtue of the fact that we're all innately self-centered, we all have moments when we're a little bit difficult to love, and circumstances of life - slim budgets, sleep deprivation, stress at work - don't make it any easier.

So for the record, Ms. Swift, I say love is hard. But worth every difficult second. I hope my loved ones would agree.

Help Wanted

Salary.com has a fun Mom Wizard tool that helps moms - both stay-at-home and "working" - calculate their hypothetical average annual mom salary based on how many hours each week they devote to duties associated with traditional roles from janitor to psychologist. Based on what 6,000-plus stay-at-home moms reported in a 2012 survey, they're worth an average of $112,962 per year and earn most of that by clocking some serious overtime. Since I'm a "working" mom, my fictitious annual paycheck is slightly higher at $121,000 and change.

While you don't apply and interview to be a mom (consider the impact on population if that was, in fact, the process), I would envision the posting looking something like the following:

Position Title: R.E.M (Results Everywhere Mom)

Description: The R.E.M. serves as Subject Matter Expert on all topics and utility player for home and away teams.

Responsibilities: Space restrictions prevent posting here. See Addendum for details.

Required Skills: Must be able to multitask, think on your feet, sympathize (with children who've scraped their knees, husbands who've 'had a rough day', etc.) and operate on fewer than five hours of sleep. Mastery of these skills qualifies applicants to perform all tasks associated with said position as well as Executive Leader of Any Country in the World. Responsibilities may differ. See specific Executive Leader postings for details and application requirements.


Preferred Characteristics:

• Able to execute all tasks (see Addendum) with one hand. In addition to responsibilities associated with the role, this preference applies to conducting personal activities, including hygiene and electronic communication.
• Agreeable to time and temperature constrictions on mealtimes. Specifically, must be able to consume meals while standing, walking, driving or breastfeeding anywhere from 30 seconds to 30 minutes after the food has been served.
• Adept at teaching complex concepts (e.g. time, space, appropriateness, etc.) and answering questions from the routine (are we almost there?) to the uncomfortable (how did that baby get in your belly, and how is it going to get out?)
• Possessed of a superhuman immune system, ensuring that all job responsibilities, as outlined in Addendum, are executed 24 hours per day, seven days per week through viral, bacterial and previously unidentified family epidemics.

Benefits Package: Medical and 401(k) plans vary by location. Holidays and vacations are negotiable but not guaranteed. The R.E.M. is excluded from labor union opportunities.

Energy monsters

Just when I think I've made peace with the long list of areas in which I'm under-performing (have you seen my laundry room? Read my post about how my kids watch TV before bed?), I am reminded, this time by my local utilities company, that the list is, apparently, infinite and now includes "responsible energy consumption."

That's right. We're energy hogs, and as the self-appointed lights police of our household I took the news very personally.

According to our Smart Energy Profile, Louisville Gas & Electric Co.'s (LG&E's) latest initiative to shame, er, educate people on the topic of energy stewardship, we used 42% more energy than similar homes in the last two months. Our ranking last month? 89 out of 100.


Had it not looked like our monthly bill, I probably wouldn't have opened the envelope, as I have reached my saturation point with their pleas for us to enroll in demand conservation programs (relinquish control of my thermostat to the powers that be at LG&E? I don't think so.) And were I not hyper-competitive, I probably wouldn't be at all bothered by these statistics. But 89 out of 100? Seriously? We're doing that badly?

So I read the profile, which included a personalized action plan for beating some of our neighbors, I mean, operating a more energy efficient household. Our tips included closing the shades in the summer (wouldn't this necessitate turning on more lights? Or maybe we should invest in head lamps?) and testing and sealing any leaky ducts (our house is over 80 years old. Everything leaks! Ducts are probably the least of our concerns.)

Indignation quickly replaced my embarrassment over our abysmal ranking. While certainly a nice reminder that little changes can make a big difference, the profile didn't reflect the converse of that theory: little people can also have a gigantic impact on energy consumption.

Though our home was originally designed to accommodate a family of four, by today's standards we're packed in like sardines. I would be willing to bet that we are one of few five-person families living in a same-size house. So there, LG&E!

To compound the situation, our kids are always here. Daycare is in our living room, which is wonderful in so many ways but costly in terms of energy consumption. Unless we ask our parents to strap on one of those head lamps and bundle up in the winter, I'm afraid we'll have to keep hogging it up until our youngest enters kindergarten. In the fall of 2016.

Feeling compelled to justify our wastefulness, I went to LG&E's Web site to further customize our home profile with the number of adult and child occupants. While there, I also sifted through the company's full suite of recommendations for reducing energy use.

Wash clothes in cold water. (Mostly) already doing this, though primarily to preserve clothing quality rather than conserve energy, but since the site didn't require me to state my motive it counts.

Unplug appliances and electronics when not in use. No can do. Besides the fact that unplugging our TV and Dish receiver would reset the entire system each time, one of my OCD hang-ups is when the clock on a small appliance is flashing the incorrect time. Constantly resetting clocks on everything from coffee makers to iPod docking stations would drive me mad. It's not worth the $16 we'd save each year.

Host "fancy dinner" nights. Let your kids trick out the table with linen cloths, bedazzled centerpieces and candles, then turn out the lights. Okay, this wasn't an official recommendation, but we did it last night at the kids' request. Saving money while setting the stage for a semi-peaceful dinner scenario? Now that's what I call a smart tip.