Designer jeans for girls?

Designer jeans for little girls? Who came up with this one? I guess the designers and major department stores felt women were not spending enough money on premium denim, so they decided to hit up small children as well.

 

My daughter Kalie is six years old and will be entering first grade in the fall. She is a sweet shy little girl and up to this point, rather naïve to name brand jeans and designer shoes.

 

As most women are aware, a major department store has their “anniversary sale” every summer. Some of the other housewives were over when I received the catalog for the sale. We all sifted through it. A few of the women, noticed the children’s designer jeans were on sale. They were considering purchasing the “premium” denim for their daughters.

 

I gasped and then let it drop. I know everyone has their own comfort level on purchasing clothes for their children and what is an appropriate amount. I have to admit, I cringe when I have to spend more than fifteen dollars for any one piece. That is a splurge to me!

 

My daughter noticed us ladies looking at the anniversary sale catalog and soon found interest in it. Later that night, she opened it up and pointed out all of the items she recognized her friends owned and what she would like.

 

I was not expecting to have this conversation with Kalie at age six.  I have been preparing my speech for when she turned sixteen, I guess I was a decade off. I sat Kalie down and explained that we do not always get everything we want, and when we want something bad enough, we must work for it. Kalie looked at me a bit confused, but decided it wasn’t worth pursuing ….or so I thought.

 

I went out with my sister this last weekend for drinks at the mall and to get Kalie’s shoes for school at the sale. Kalie was very specific on what she wanted and what she found to be appalling. I couldn’t believe my ears…what had I raised? A bubblegum popping, mall shopping post toddler? Could this be?

 

Of course I reminded Kalie how grateful she should be to receive new shoes each year. I also let her know we have a budget and that she would not be getting the “designer” shoes her friends owned, but the shoes I found appropriate in taste and in price.

 

When I got home later that evening she was still awake, waiting for her new shoes. After opening her box, she was excited at that shoes I purchased and ran to her room to try them on. I realized, Kalie and I had made it through the first round unscathed….but I fear the future. I guess I will have to lead by example, and show my daughter designer labels don’t define a person, they’re merely just labels….and if that doesn’t work, burn the Anniversary Sale catalog before she sees it!

 

 

Teaching is a luxury?

Since I was in my twenties I had always thought about becoming a teacher. At first I thought I would enjoy high school, until I recently noticed today’s teenagers intimidate me. Not sure how good I would be if I let them lead the class. After volunteering in my daughter’s school, I realized I enjoyed fourth and fifth graders quite a bit.

 

So finally the time was now, in my late thirties, to finally follow through on a dream I never pursued. I anxiously called a college advisor in the education department at one of the local universities. The advisor, Miriam, was great. Miriam explained in detail the length of time it would take to become a teacher, the classes required and the financial commitment. Everything seemed perfect!

 

I was able to envision myself enrolling in school again (I love school and would be a professional student if permitted). The time constraints seemed a bit daunting, but doable and the tuition was not nearly as bad as I had first thought. So hear I was ready to sign up right there and then, until Miriam began to explain to me the difference in starting salaries of teachers with a certification verses teachers with a certification plus twenty credits.

 

As Mariam’s words came out, “33,000 to start, but with the extra twenty credits you can count on 39,000 to 40,000.” It was a complete and total blur that took over at that point. What? What about the state maximum of 75,000, when do you reach that? How long does that take?

 

As I hung up the phone and went on with my day, a sinking feeling in my stomach took over. As much I would love to be a teacher, how could anyone afford to support themselves, let alone a family on that salary?

 

The following weekend my family was over celebrating my birthday. I began to explain the financial plight of teachers to my dad and sister. Each of them looked at me confused, I think surprised at how ignorant I was, and secondly, stunned at how personally I was taking this.

 

I have a very difficult time understanding how someone will not only go for their four years of college, but they are required a fifth year for certification purposes. Lastly, a prospective teacher can start off at a bit of a higher rate, and I must highlight “a bit” if they earn a masters in education or earn extra credits to apply towards their salaries. Lets just note, would be teachers do not get a tuition break at local universities, instead they pay the same rate as business majors and computer science majors.

 

I am surprised that someone who spends as much if not more time with our children, than parents do, are so poorly paid and reimbursed for their time. My Dad and sister felt like being a teacher is like being on permanent vacation. They both pointed out that teachers only work 9 months out of the year. They don’t work weekends, and never need to take work home. That to be a teacher is a luxury.

 

I found myself defending teachers, but I could see that both my sister and dad were not going to budge. They really felt that teachers led some sort of leisurely lifestyle.  What was I worried about anyway, I was married to a husband who was able to support our family? The income earned, would just be extra.

 

What about the single parents who teach? What do they do? How do they get along? It was pointed out that they would not live in my neighborhood (which is nice but certainly nothing fancy), they would not drive my car (a minivan) and they would not have the things I do. It occurred to me my sister and dad were right. The teacher would be forced to live in communities far outside of the immediate metropolitan area, be forced to live in confined quarters, most likely rented, and they would need to metro into work, since they would not be able to afford gas for their car, if they had one at all.

 

The biggest sore spot, was how would a single parent teacher feed their family? I am not talking about going out to dinner several nights a week, eating steaks and imported exotic fruits, god forbid they even consider anything organic. But simply the staples; bread, flour, milk, cheese, meat, beans, local fruits and vegetables. Their children would be forced into anorexia, or as my dad and sister pointed out on food stamps and school funded meals. What was wrong with that? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. To be a teacher in today’s society, living in a metropolitan area is a luxury. A luxury that a single parent should never consider, only single people who find materialism to be overrated or wealthy individuals who are able to teach for pure fun…

 

Is there something wrong with this picture or is it just me? If anyone out there is a teacher, has been a teacher or knows a teacher personally I would greatly appreciate your feedback!…or for that matter, if you simply have an opinion on the topic.

 

 

 

 

 

Working in solitude

Over the course of the last year I have begun to more seriously rethink entering the workforce, which you will be reading a lot about. After looking into becoming a teacher, which I have always wanted to do, my husband convinced me to start writing again to see how it felt to go back to work. The last few months I have written a few articles for a woman’s website. Writing again, has brought me great joy. It has given me the chance to escape and dream of what could be.

 

Thinking I should take my writing more seriously, I locked myself up in my home for three days last week. I wrote endless, worked on my website and even did a bit of research. At first it was exciting to be so productive! I felt like I was truly accomplishing something. Finally, I was able to see some progress being made.

 

By the third day, I wondered how it felt to be outside in the sun, since I was hidden away in my office. My kids asked if they could have a playdate or go outside and ride their bikes.  Three days locked away, does something to a person. The solitude can be at first exciting and even needed, but after awhile it can break the human spirit. I guess that is why in prison they put inmates in solitude for bad behavior.

 

My children looked at their mother, who at this point was completely mentally and physically drained. I am sure they wondered who abducted their mother and where they could find her. My response to them was, “lets wait and see, mommy is really tired right now”. Of course they looked at me in confusion; I hadn’t done anything in the last three days.

 

Later that evening I told my husband I was not going to go back into writing. It was too removed from people and I noticed after just three days there was a difference in my mood and ability to connect with the outside world. I decided I was going to go directly back to my first dream of teaching and call it good. After some research about being a teacher, which will I will write about in future articles; I wondered what could I do to break up the solitude of writing again. To work in solitude full time is not worth any amount of money.

 

It occurred to me, writing can be fun and even therapeutic. But what could I do to breakup the monotony of the mundane? It occurred to me I could continue to volunteer at my daughter’s school. Volunteering has allowed me not only to support my daughter, but I have had the opportunity to meet people who I truly enjoy.

 

Secondly, I could join the gym/tennis club up the street. I have been wanting to get back into tennis. What a great way to fit in some exercise while enjoying an adult playdate with the girls.

 

Lastly, I would have to work at scheduling myself lunches out with friends, drinks in the evening with the ladies and the simple act of playing with my children.

 

I still have not decided what avenue to take, weather or not to write again or pursue teaching….but knowing that solitude is not a single option, but instead an option that allows for many other opportunities if desired.

 

 

Introduction to Facebook

Facebook….what a fabulous invention! For those of you who are not familiar with Facebook, a Microsoft networking tool, let me fill you in. Facebook is similar to MySpace, but with a more mature audience and operates in a more private setting. This networking tool is like virtual bar, but with a motto you must be approved before entering and mix your own damn drinks!

 

Nine months ago one of the other housewives introduced me to this tool. At first I was a bit leery. I had heard rather seedy stories about Myspace and I wasn’t looking for new friendships. But with a bit of coaxing, Gretchen had me signed and up and ready to go. It took several months for me to feel comfortable inside the online application. I wasn’t up to date on proper virtual etiquette. With a few snags here and there, mostly on my part, I began to swift through the pages with ease.

 

This virtual networking tool has allowed me to reconnect with people from my past. I use Facebook daily now to update online photo albums for family and friends, who otherwise, would never receive hard copy pictures from me….I am bit lazy.

 

Recently, I discovered a new tool within Facebook, instant messaging. My husband has been trying to get me to sign up for instant messaging, but I couldn’t understand the big deal. There was no one that I felt I must instant message via the virtual world. If I must talk with someone and it required an immediate response, I would have picked up the phone, or so I thought.

 

However, late last night, my brother in law saw I was logged into Facebook and messaged me. We were allowed to talk back and forth via the instant messaging application, without disturbing anyone else in the wee hours of the night. I had so much fun! Lately, I have used the application to have instant conversations with friends from my past, some I haven’t see in almost two decades. 

 

Facebook is certainly worth your while to check out. If not to reconnect with your past and network for the future, than just for the mere ability to say you tried. What do you have to lose?

The Perfect Birthday Gift

 

Well tomorrow is my birthday and my husband has been feeling terrible. He overscheduled himself at work and won’t be around to celebrate it with me. He has asked what he could buy me, “is there anything you want”? Every year we go through this dance, me trying to think of something I don’t own that I would really like. Every year the same, I can never come up with anything.

 

The reason I can never come up with anything, is there is nothing that I wouldn’t buy myself, of course within reason. If he drove up in my dream Toureg and I could toss my Odessey, well all bets would be off! But for practicality reasons, three children and the impending recession, that will never happen. My husband is not a romantic man, so we have come to the understanding never to expect the unexpected.

 

Well this evening things have changed. I told my husband there was something that I wanted, peace and quiet! I snuck up stairs, locked the doors to the bedroom and filled the soaking tub with what felt like the best bubble bath ever! I applied my favorite mud mask, rested my neck upon a lush pillow and sunk in chin deep. As I relished in the private moments to myself, a little Michael Buble played in the background. For the first time in a long time, I felt completely and totally relaxed.

 

I remember my Aunt always saying she didn’t want her husband or kids to purchase her gifts. All she wanted was someone to grind her coffee and have it freshly brewed for her as she awoke in the morning. As a teen, I couldn’t understand. I had a never ending list of things I wanted for my birthday….Well Aunt Renee’s words finally made sense to me today. The best gift ever, is not always purchased.  Sometimes the best gifts are those that allow us to enjoy the simple things that make life special.

Table food isn’t so bad after all..

This morning after feeding the kids breakfast, my faithful companion for the last twelve plus years was right at my feet, ears perched back, waiting with excitement at what might come her way. Her name is Nikki and she is a black lab who, until recently has never eaten “people” food. Early on, the vets told us to only feed her “specialty” dog food. So of course I listened, followed the rules and deprived my poor friend the simple pleasures of life.

 

Recently Nikki had begun to slow down and her kidney disease seemed to be getting the better of her. She no longer pushed her little nose up against the back of my leg in hopes of going for a walk. Nikki wasn’t chasing the kids around the staircase in her version of  tag. Over the course of the last month, Nikki took a dive for the worse. She stopped eating, would barely drink and got so week, my husband would have to carry her up and down the stairs.

 

Nikki has been the first being I have ever been responsible for and nurtured, other than myself. And for that matter, I didn’t even take care of myself until my mid twenties. Isn’t that what mothers are for?

 

Always thinking I was doing the right thing, Nikki would sit and watch us enjoy a juicy cheeseburger, eat fresh succulent watermelon at summer’s height, and indulge in the decedent chocolate cake served at birthdays. Every so often, she would whimper, hoping for a mere chance at tasting our culinary delights. I of course, thought I was doing the right thing, keeping her from “harmful” people food.

 

As people began to take notice of  Nikki’s quick decline, a few friends confided in me. They told me the treats their canine friends enjoyed indulging in. One friend told me his dog enjoyed ice cream, a neighbor agreed and said every time they went through McD’s, they ordered an extra vanilla cone for their dog. That was all I needed, things were going to change.

 

Soon after hearing stories of the others treating their dogs, I began to stop feeding Nikki her bland and tasteless prescription dog food. Instead I thought I would make her last days memorable, and indulge her every food craving.

 

It began with a simple sandwich. Nikki lay barely able to lift her head as I placed the gooey, peanut butter filled sandwich up to her nose. It was like a drug, she took a few sniffs, lifted her head and with great delight gulped down the entire sandwich. She looked at me a bit confused, wondering if she was going to be scolded. Instead, I patted her head and vowed from that day forward, I would never give her dog food again.

 

Over the course of the last few weeks, Nikki’s menu has changed.  She now eats peanut butter toast for breakfast, macaroni and cheese for lunch, snacks on apples and even gets her chance at the occasional ice cream cone. I have never seen Nikki so happy. She is now walking up and down the stairs, a bit slow, but on her own. She has begun staring out the window barking at the cats that walk by (her favorite past time), but mostly she has pep back in her eyes. She delights at hearing me walk into the kitchen. She springs to life like a puppy all over again.

 

I realize I am on borrowed time…but at least this borrowed time is filled with wagging tails, sloppy wet kisses and eyes filled with gratitude for finally give her the chance to really live.

The Treadmill of Tranquility?

I am not sure what comes to mind when you hear the word treadmill, but for me it conjures up painful memories of returning home from freshman year of college. Lets just say, academically I was struggling, but socially I blossomed and blossomed I did, with a weight gain of 35 pounds.

 

I remember that summer well. My mom tried to ignore my wardrobe while my brother would point and poke snide little remarks at me, “where do you plan on parking that thing”, while pointing to my rear side. Dad took a different approach.

 

My dad was an avid runner, he could sprint like a cheetah with minimum effort. Every day after returning home from my summer job, dad would take me to the local park for what I like to call pure torture! As he glided through the trails at lightening speed, I huffed and puffed trying to carry the extra package I had accumulated from school.

 

By the end of summer, I had lost almost all of the extra weight, but the memories of panting for breath and begging God to just take me then and there remained with me.

 

So hear I am today, a few years away from forty, fighting the havoc that Mother Nature is so viciously taking out on my body. After reading an article in Self Magazine, I decided to take their advice and add 15 more minutes onto my daily routine of weights and cardio. With age, comes more effort.

 

It was time to roll out the dusty treadmill, sitting in the corner of the bedroom. As I approached the treadmill for the first time, images of gasping for air and praying to my almighty maker flooded my brain.

 

After the first week on the treadmill, I noticed there was a certain rhythm to each step, almost hypnotic. Instead of following the chants of some instructor in one of my many exercise DVDs, I had an opportunity to explore my own thoughts. I have found I have time to reflect upon my day and think about the conversations had, the articles read and the meaning behind them. The time on the treadmill is no longer fifteen minutes of pure torture; instead it has become fifteen minutes of tranquility.

 

Who would have thought an activity that that caused me such strife could become an activity that provides such pleasure?

Finally sitting and taking notice

Do you ever have a moment to yourself, a time to reflect on the life you own? The life you were so eager to create and live, the life you dreamed would once be yours? I am living that life, not the exact specific specifications, but certainly within the grand scheme of things.

 

This life I am grateful for and have been so proud to own, it is the life that eager on lookers peer into, and perceive to be so perfect. Not perfect because I am Barbie and I am married to Ken, or that we own a massive mansion in Malibu. But the simple American dream, the family institution that was always thrust upon us as a mark of success.

 

I have found myself in the midst of living my American dream, with a constant void, that regardless of what I consume I am unable to fill. I have spent several years thinking if we moved, the itch would be scratched. If we decorated or renovated, I would feel better in my surroundings. If I could lose those last eight pounds, happiness would be present. It hasn’t been until lately, that I have decided to take a closer look at my void. A mere attempt to delve deeper into my soul, into those deep dark caverns, that I rarely care to acknowledge exist.

 

I find myself among peers who are also living the American dream; 2.5 children, a home, a dog, two cars and a mortgage to sweat over. Normally I have spent my life sitting in the inner circle, basking in the attention. Lately, for some unknown reason, I find myself peering in from the outside, unable to understand what it was I found so important to begin with. I see the world around me collapsing, and for the first time, I have begun to notice the things and people who surround me.

 

I now wonder how long has it been or has it even ever been, that I ever noticed what was happening. People come in and out of our lives all the time. Most people will only be present for a period, a mere moment you both share. Few, but hopefully some people will be there with you throughout the duration. Those are the things I understand. What about the people that come in and out of your life, more that once, maybe even twice? Are we supposed to stop and take notice? Is it for just a mere moment to share in time or is there something more that if we are not careful, might slip away yet again?

 

Of course, I do not have the answer. But for the first time, I am taking notice. I find myself sitting back, in no real hurry, ready to listen, ready to discover what I have so thoughtlessly passed by before.

To be unfacebooked

That song on the radio “it’s too late to apologizeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, yeah, yeah,” by Timbaland, keeps playing in my head like a broken record.

 

Recently, after a decade and a half (but hey who’s counting) I facebooked an old friend, seeking his advice and help. How excited I was by his acceptance, it would be fun to catch up. I have found myself in the midst of a midlife crises, trying to redefine my washed up housewife ways.  Over the last year, I have been reviewing my life and the choices I have made. Most of the choices, I am happy with and actually quite proud of. But there has always been one path, untraveled …that has recently begun to gnaw at me.

 

In my twenties I had an opportunity to be teacher’s aide for a friend who was a coach/teacher. At the time, I was dating my now husband. Too much excitement must have purred from my lips when I went to tell him about my volunteer work, that understandably, my now husband was not as keen about my opportunity. Oh, did I forget to mention, the history teacher/coach I was going to be assisting, I had met in a bar a year prior and had quite a thing for?..details… details …

 

Of course, all of you ladies know what decision I was faced with and what a twenty something unsure of herself opted to do. Silently I slipped away, and never followed through on a prospect which may have lead me down a completely different road.

 

Fast forward to present day. For a few short days, the coach and I spoke via e-mail. He offered me invaluable advice on how to begin reentering the workforce. At the same time, I was pleasantly surprised he wasn’t just a dumb jock, but was rather smart and had a witty writing style.

 

As they say, history repeats itself. My husband whom has free access to my e-mail account, I have never had anything to hide, was perusing my mail. Yet again, there must have been too much enthusiasm spilling from my e-mails, you can guess the rest. This time not an immature post pubescent teen, I was faced with making the same decision I had done so previously, but this time as a grown woman. 

 

Well the ex teacher/coach took the high road and apologized for any wrong doing and assumed all the blame. Of course it was not his fault, I know that. I felt so awful for putting him through such drama. I assumed we would continue to stay connected not by e-mail, but by following each other’s Facebook profile and blogs. So later that day I found myself checking my e-mails and Facebook, just to find out I was UNFACEBOOKED. Is this possible? I have never heard of a friendship breakup via Facebook. Of course there had to be a first and it was me! My friends dropped from 26 to 25 that day and my heart sunk even further. So how does that song go…it’s too late to apologizeeeee…yeah, yeah…..

Passing the baton

A mild muggy heat greeted me this morning, as a reminder the beginning of summer has just begun. As much as I would like to rejoice in the coming months of parks, pools and good old fashioned summer tans…a gloom lies overhead.

 

Last night my Aunt, who was 90, passed away. She was recently diagnosed with terminal cancer and diabetes. We were told she had anywhere from 6 weeks to 6 months to live. A woman of 90, she had lived a full life, raised four children, loved five grandchildren and even had time to meet and know her first great grand daughter.

 

My tears this morning were not for the sadness of her life, but for the sadness of knowing she will not be wandering down to the lake to greet me over summer as usual. There will be no heckling over Christmas Eve appetizers and no oohing over my little cousin’s new engagement ring. Instead, as the adage goes, she will have to live in our hearts and our memories.

 

My body aches not only for my loss, but the gradual and what feels like continual loss of a generation that defined my family. The passing of the baton has just occurred. My Uncle, his sisters and brother will have to carry on the torch. I sit anxiously and even scared at the next passing. What will happen when it is one of my grandmothers? How will my parents handle their new role? How will I handle knowing that I am responsible for keeping these people, I love and hold most dear to me, alive. Not for myself, but for my children. I will be the one retelling the stories of my Grandmother’s strength and feistiness, in a time when women were docile. I will have to draw pictures with words so my kids understand the lake home they visit over the summer was built by their loving great aunt. I will have to try to make them understand how special they are and how lucky they are to have the blood lines of those before them.

 

I guess without hesitation I must take the awkward and painful step forward and accept the passing of the baton myself. My siblings, my cousins, and I are the up and coming new middle age, raising the new generation of our family. Hoping and praying I provide our children with the rich history my parents provided me with. I will fight to make sure they understand that our family is special. We stick together, love together and create a history together.

 

To me, my Aunt didn’t die last night, she moved on to the next phase. I am now ready for the responsibility for carrying her memories and keeping her alive, just as she had done for the family before I.

 

This is dedicated to the loving memory of my Aunt Louise 6/20/2008.