On "Slumdog" and "Mall Cop" 1/28/09

I am a movie person. Amongst my circle of friends, Maria is the music person, Julianne is the book person and I am the movie person. People frequently ask my opinion on films I've seen and look for recommendations on films that they should see. My love affair with the movies began when I was just a child, my dad carting my sisters and me to anything and everything. (Though I question some of those choices. He took us to see "2001: A Space Odyssey" twice and I still didn't get it.) Not limited to the theater, I watched whatever I could on our home television, enjoying Godzilla movies with the same enthusiasm as old Fred Astaire films. Attending a communications college in Boston allowed me to expand my film-going horizons with foreign films, animation festivals and the like.

It's this extensive film background which allowed me to appreciate the irony of seeing "Slumdog Millionaire" and "Paul Blart: Mall Cop" on the same weekend.

"Slumdog Millionaire" is a small-budget film that tells the story of Jamal, an orphan from Mumbai, India who has made it to the twenty million-rupee question on India's version of "Who Wants to Be A Millionaire". The film chronicles how Jamal makes it to the final question and his motivation for going on the program.

On the opposite end of the film spectrum, "Paul Blart: Mall Cop", is the tale of an overweight, sad sack of a security guard played by comic Kevin James. Paul dreams of becoming a State Trooper but a medical condition keeps him in store security. He spends his days patrolling the mall on his Segway, mooning over Amy, the owner of the new hair extension kiosk "UnbeWeavable". Paul's unsatisfying life is interrupted when thieves take over his mall with credit theft on their minds.

At this point it would be easy to resort to film snobbery and praise Oscar-nominated "Slumdog" to the heavens while trashing the mass-market "Paul Blart". But I'm an equal opportunity filmgoer. I appreciate both "It Happened One Night and "Night of the Living Dead". Most films I've seen have some redeeming value (I loved “City Slickers”, but "City Slickers 2"? What were they thinking?). On reflection, I discovered several parallels between "Slumdog" and "Paul Blart".

Both Jamal and Paul are presented with seemingly insurmountable challenges. Both characters are underestimated in their ability to meet these challenges. And finally, both characters rise to these challenges in order to save the woman they love.

Of course there are differences too. "Slumdog" is likely to take home quite a few Oscars next month, and while it's a finely crafted film, it's definitely not for kids. "Paul Blart" won't win any awards (okay, maybe a Kid's Choice Award) but the sight of Kevin James flying over the handles of his Segway into a mini-van is sure to make your children laugh. Regardless of your preference, both films will have you leaving the theater feeling uplifted. And with the way things are today, that’s a good thing.

But there can be too much of a good thing, so please… No “Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2”.

Spend Less, Save More 1/23/08

The word on everyone’s mind right now is “recession” and we are all feeling the pinch. Stocks are down, home prices are down and I don’t dare open the quarterly statements for my 401(k) investments. Our lives have suddenly taken on the lyrics from that old Kinks song “Low Budget”: “Times are hard but we’ll all survive…I’ve just got to learn to economize”.

It seems like wherever you turn there are articles and lists about how to cut back and live more thriftily. That being said, do I really need to come up with my own list of suggestions? Heck yes!

Are you ready? Here it is: Spend less. Save more.

What? You were expecting something radically different? Suze Orman I am not. Though I have culled some tips from friends and family (and a few of my own) that might make things just a little bit easier.

Financial experts will tell you that you should first establish a budget and stick to it. My husband and I try to do this each year (unsuccessfully). We go through our finances line item by line item until I am ready to poke him with a pencil. Then comes the dawning realization that we spend more than we make. At this point we shut off the computer, run upstairs and hide beneath the covers. It sounds strange, but it works for us.

A friend of mine loves to buy books. She reads at least one new book a week, and purchases most of them. Here’s a tip: There’s this big building in the center of our town. It’s called the Library. The people there are extremely nice and will let you borrow that same book for free. They also have the latest DVDs, CDs and some locations have video games (for the Wii!) And because we’re part of a network, if our library doesn’t have something, chances another library will. Before you look for something on amazon.com, look for it first at ocln.org.

Another tip? Dunkin’ Donuts coffee is cheaper than Starbucks, but do you know what’s even cheaper than Dunkin’ Donuts? The coffee you make at home. We still haven’t gotten on board with the Keurig system (though I covet every friend of mine who has one!) but even Keurig is less expensive than buying your coffee each day. Now if only we could recycle those little pods.

Belong to a gym? Pack a bag and shower after your daily workout. It takes a little extra prep time in the morning, but your membership fee already includes heat and hot water, so why pay for it twice by showering at home? You can stand under that hot spray for as long as you like without feeling guilty, but invest in a pair of shower shoes (there are some things you just don’t want to share with your fellow athletes and foot fungus is one of them).

Get creative with your cooking. Google the words “budget cooking” and you’ll find a whole slew of websites with wallet-friendly recipes. When all else fails, bring back creamed chip beef on toast. My mother used to serve that to us at the end of the month while waiting for my dad’s next paycheck, and my sister enjoys it to this day. Another Anderson family recipe: Spam and bean pie. My mom would layer slices of Spam in a pie plate, add a can of baked beans, sprinkle the whole thing with cheese and then bake until hot. I passed this recipe along to a friend thinking it would gross her out, but she actually thought her kids might like it.

Become a savvy shopper. Read store circulars and compare prices. Be a ghoul and prey on stores that are going out of business (hint: Hanover’s Office Depot and Kay Bee Toys are both closing. Load up on copier paper and birthday presents now.) Beware the warehouse. A friend of mine just joined Costco in order to save money. In addition to the $50 membership fee, she spent $350 on her first visit. Then still had to go to the grocery store two more times that day for other items. And did I mention Costco is in Avon?

Finally, don’t forget that misery loves company, so use the recession as a way to connect with friends in new ways. Start a dinner club with a few couples, alternating at each person’s home instead of going out to eat. Make friends with people who own vacation homes. It’s the next best thing to owning one yourself. Take your kids to the Harvard Museum of Natural History on a Sunday morning or the ICA on Thursday nights when they’re free. You can save money without missing out on a good time.

Ray Davies said it best: I’m not cheap, you understand, I’m just a cut-price person in a low budget land.

Wii are Family! - 1/14/09

Whee! We have the Wii!
My husband and I have long resisted owning a video game system. Both our children are “vidiots”, entering a coma-like trance whenever the television is on. If a friend is playing a Gameboy, you can be sure that my kids will be hovering behind, watching the action over the poor kid’s shoulder. Ditto the computer. So you can understand why we would hold off for as long as possible.

After years of begging, we reluctantly allowed our children to own The Leapster. This handheld, electronic system plays only educational games. Our kids were mollified, learning math and phonics that were cleverly woven into Batman and Madagascar games. Then everyone around them owned the Nintendo DS Lite, so again we reluctantly allowed them to upgrade (bye-bye educational games, hello Lego Star Wars.)

Then suddenly, everyone we knew had Playstation, Game Cube, Xbox or the Wii. My husband is not one to give in to peer pressure, but my mommy guilt couldn’t live with the idea that my kids would be the only ones in Hanover without a game system. It’s hard enough that we’ve never been to Disney (my husband and I being the only two adults in the continental US who have never been to Florida). So when I spotted the Nintendo Wii at Wal-Mart this fall, I quickly dialed my husband at work and asked his thoughts.

Predictably, he felt it was a bad idea. Our kids were pretty good about regulating their handheld game use, but he felt that purchasing the Wii was just tempting fate. They would be glued to the television all day, every day. Plus, it really just wasn’t in our budget this year.

Sadly, I hung up the phone and promptly bought the Wii.

My rationale: A video game system was inevitable. I grew up without a real Barbie (my parents used to buy the knockoff dolls that were either too big or too small for Barbie’s clothes) and to this day I still feel that something’s missing in my life. The Wii seemed like a good choice in that I could control the types of games we purchased, steering away from the shooting games and focusing more on ones that required my kids to get up and move.

Needless to say, the Wii was a big hit with the kids. I love the fact that my 7-year old will come home from school and go for a 10-minute “run” before doing his homework. My 10 year old is the hula-hoop champ of the house. My husband and I spent New Year’s Day playing endless rounds of golf (yes, the Wii won him over.) A good friend and I went in search of the WiiFit because, in her words, “We fat!” And though I was a bit miffed that the WiiFit tallied my fitness age at 61, I console myself with the fact that I’m better at the downhill slalom than I ever was on real skis (and no frostbite!)

My family and I laughed ourselves silly when we created our “Miis”, computer versions of ourselves that look frighteningly real. But the best part of all is that we’re using the Wii together. The family that plays together stays together.

So do we love our Wii?
Oui!

Time Flies 1/7/09

While web surfing on New Year’s Day I came across an interesting video entitled “One Year in 40 Seconds”. For those of you who haven’t seen it, it’s a video of time lapse photography showing a wooded area changing through a year’s worth of seasons in just forty seconds. Finding this video on New Year’s Day struck me as ironic because just the night before, as my family and I sat glued to the New Year’s Eve Twilight Zone marathon, I thought to myself, “Wasn’t it just yesterday we celebrated New Year’s Eve 2007?”

As a child, time seemed to crawl along at a snail’s pace. Waiting for my mother at the fabric store seemed like forever. Church was an eternity. It seemed like my next birthday or Christmas or summer vacation would never arrive. When would I finally be tall enough to ride the Zipper? Old enough to get my driver’s license? Mature enough to be considered an adult? (Okay, I’m still waiting for that last one.)

Then suddenly time sped up. Four years of college passed in a flash. My first real job was just a blink of an eye, followed quickly by my second and third. Before I knew it, I was thirty with a steady boyfriend and an eye towards marriage. When my children were born, other mothers warned me to enjoy every moment of their babyhood and not to wish away that time. Struggling with the everyday challenges of being a stay-at-home mother, I couldn’t help but wish for my children to grow up just a little bit faster, be a little more independent, a little less needy.

And now the “babies” are seven and ten. And while I’m thankfully finished with strollers, diaper bags and pack-n-plays, I’m starting to worry about braces and learner’s permits and college tuition. My “milestone” 40th birthday was five years ago, and the next milestone will be here long before I’m ready (okay, I’ll never really be ready.)

I think time is moving faster now because there’s less of it ahead of me. Yes, that sounds morbid, but facts are facts. As a child, a teenager and even a young adult, it was easy to be impatient for everything that lay ahead because there was so much more time stretching ahead of me. When I was younger, I was less likely to appreciate the “here and now”, focusing more on the “what’s next?” Perhaps you have to be older to understand that the cliché “Every day is a gift” really isn’t a cliché at all. I’ll try to impress this upon my children but it may take another few decades before they can fully understand this concept.

That’s all right. I can wait.

On New Year's Resolutions - 12/30/08

Not to worry, there’s still time to formulate your list of New Year’s resolutions. Each year, many of us make a list of ways to improve ourselves. January first, the beginning of the New Year, is traditionally the perfect time to implement these changes. Out with the old, in with the new, right? Let’s look at some of the more common resolutions, shall we?

Number one on the list of popular resolutions is losing weight. Perhaps it’s the overindulgence of the holiday season loaded with cookies, eggnog, rum balls and other goodies that spurs many of us to buckle down and try to lose a few pounds. However, if you think about it, winter is probably the most illogical time to lose weight. What would have happened to our Neanderthal ancestors if they had dropped ten pounds in the dead of winter? Wasn’t that additional layer of blubber necessary to keep the cave-dwellers warm, as well as providing a fat-store when food was scarce? In honor of my ancestors, I think I’ll skip that resolution this year.

Another popular resolution is to get fit. This ties directly into the aforementioned resolution of losing weight. Again, is this the most practical idea for the middle of winter? Roads are covered with snow and ice, the temperature and wind chill pierce your brain and freeze your face. Since that eliminates running and jogging, the next logical solution is to hop in your car and brave the black ice to get to the gym. Of course, you’ll never get a parking spot since the tens of thousands of other members you haven’t seen all year round will be trolling for parking too. Just the thought of it spikes my blood pressure, so I think I’ll skip this one too.

Another common goal is to get out of debt and manage money more efficiently. Both of these are admirable aspirations. Although, by the middle of January, the credit bills from the holiday season will be arriving, which might provoke a feeling of “Oh, what’s the point?” and let’s not forget those fabulous post-holiday sales (A $200 fake tree for $20? I’ll take three!) Best to focus on money management later in the winter, or better yet, wait till April 15th after the taxes are sorted out.

Then there’s the idea of quitting smoking, drinking, gambling, shopping and other addictive behaviors. These are all things that can wreak havoc on our minds and bodies, so trying to quit or reduce these behaviors is certainly worthwhile. Of course, we shouldn’t limit ourselves; let’s throw reality television into the mix. The upcoming train wreck called “True Beauty” sorely tempts me, but I think I’ll resist the allure. Best to limit myself to “Project Runway” and leave it at that.

Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a worthy endeavor to try and improve oneself. Each year at this time I vow that I will be more tolerant and less judgmental (and then my husband thoughtfully points out that somehow I’ve managed to achieve the opposite.) I’ve realized that if you want to make changes to your life, you don’t have to wait until January to do it. True, it was January 2008 that found me launching a blog with a gal pal, something that kick started my writing after years of dormancy. But the chance to actually get paid for writing presented itself in July. In September, a friend invited me to join her Bible study group. In November, someone convinced me to try The South Beach Diet with her. In reality, anytime is a good time to improve yourself.

But by all means; make your resolutions before the ball drops and 2009 is upon us. I promise to be tolerant and not judge you.

Have a safe and happy New Year.

Do's and Don'ts of Christmas - 12/23/08

And so it is Christmas Eve, less than 24 hours until the Big Kahuna of holidays. As my husband, kids and I drive to my familial home in New Jersey, I'm able to reflect on some of the Christmas traditions that I perpetuate each year. So kick back, sip a cup of cocoa and check out my "must" list for Christmas:

1) At the top of the list is a viewing of "A Christmas Carol", and it must be the version with George C. Scott. Yes, I know...Alastair Sim...classic...blah blah blah. I ask you, whom did Alistair Sim play BESIDES Scrooge? George C. was Patton, among other things, and he rocks Ebenezer Scrooge like no one else. Throw in David Warner as a cowering Bob Cratchett and a truly ghoulish-looking Tiny Tim and you're good to go. Follow this viewing with six or eight hours of 'A Christmas Story" on TNT, a go-round of "Elf" for the kids and a showing of Bill Murray's "Scrooged" for my husband.

2) Attend a candlelight service on Christmas Eve: Standing in a darkened church, holding a small lit candle and singing "Silent Night" is another "must" on my list. This also gives my family the opportunity to reminisce about the year my younger sister Amelia managed to light her hair on fire (she was wearing a wreath of garland after playing an angel in the Christmas pageant.) Luckily, my usually Agnostic father was in attendance and managed to beat out the flames before any serious damage was done. A Christmas miracle!

3) Listen to some of the best under-played Christmas songs which include The Waitresses "Christmas Wrapping", The Kinks' "Father Christmas" and "Do They Know It's Christmas?" by Band-Aid. These are the songs you probably won't hear much on Oldies 103 or any of the other all-Christmas-all-the-time radio stations. My husband complains that these stations only have a playlist of about 25 holiday songs. If you take into account that they have multiple artists singing the same songs (6 different versions of I'll Be Home For Christmas") then he's right! Throw in Adam Sandler's "The Hanukkah Song" and my holiday is complete.

4) Torture my children by prolonging the wait for presents: The Andersons have a hard and fast rule about Christmas presents. Stockings are opened before breakfast, all other presents must wait until after. As a kid, my parents would eat their breakfast with record slowness. As my sisters and I writhed on the floor in agony, my father would toss out a "Maybe I'll have another cup of coffee" while my mother brushed each of her teeth individually for hours. Finally, with my parents settled in, my sisters and I could throw ourselves into the bacchanalia of unwrapping. With children of my own, I now understand the fun of this tradition.

5) Visit the tackiest house in East Brunswick, NJ: What do the Pyramids of Giza, the Great Wall of China and the house at Farm's Road Circle all have in common? All can be seen from space. Okay, I'm exaggerating a bit on that last item, but no Christmas would be complete without a visit to the most ostentatious holiday display in the Garden State. Animatronics, blaring Christmas carols, lights embedded in the grass...and ironically, a small sign amongst the multiple Santas and Frosties that says "Jesus is the reason for the season".
The local newspaper interviewed my parents during one such visit. My father's sarcasm was obviously lost on the reporter, because my parents were quoted as saying, "We stand in awe." (My mother fretted for weeks that her friends would think she actually liked it.) Sadly, there is nothing in Hanover that even comes close, so why not take a walk through the bright-yet-tasteful Smith Family display at 428 King Street instead? Drop a few dollars in the jar and help fight Juvenile Diabetes.

And now onto the "must not" list:

I must not listen to "The Christmas Shoes". This song has booted Roy Orbison's "Pretty Paper" from the top position as the most wretched, miserable, depressing Christmas song ever. A stranger witnesses a scruffy little urchin buying shoes for his dying mother so that "she'll look pretty if she meets Jesus tonight". Blech! I must also not listen to any of the over-orchestrated stylings of Mannheim Steamroller or the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Their version of "Carol of the Bells" sounds like background music for a "Die Hard" movie. I'll take "Dominick The Christmas Donkey" over this any day.

Eggnog must not be consumed under any circumstances. Aside from my milk phobia, the idea of drinking a glass of something with six billion calories and a thousand grams of fat just doesn't sit right. If you must drink eggnog, please drink responsibly and make sure it's pasteurized. Friends don't let friends get salmonella for Christmas.

I must not eat fruitcake. I value my teeth. And doorstops really aren't food.

I must not react visibly when I open the gift my father ordered from the “Everything 3 for $20" catalog, a great place to buy gifts for his three daughters without favoring one over the other. Past gifts have included garden gnomes and a footrest shaped like a black bear.

And at the top of my list: I must not ever forget that the greatest gift at Christmas is the love of my family and friends. In the words of that ghoulish but wise Tiny Tim: "God Bless Us Everyone."

Merry Christmas

My Mid-Life Crisis - 12/17/08

Recently I borrowed the book “Twilight” from my friend's 11-year old daughter. For those of you not familiar with the book, it's the story of an ordinary teenage girl who falls madly in love with a teenage boy (who happens to be a vampire.) The wildly popular novel spawned three sequels and a cult following to rival even that of Harry Potter. After sinking my teeth into the first book, I immediately borrowed the second. Once that was devoured, I ran out and purchased the third and fourth books in the series. And the movie? I've seen it three times, so far.

My husband thinks I'm strange, my friends think I'm obsessed and when I sit down to think about why this whole phenomenon holds me in such a strong grip, the answer comes to me in the clarity of just three little words: mid-life crisis.

When I think of the term mid-life crisis, this is what comes to mind: Middle-aged man in a convertible (Porsche, Mustang, Corvette, take your pick) and a much-younger girlfriend/trophy wife in the passenger seat. I've never pictured myself sitting in a dark movie theater, watching the tortured Edward and the besotted Bella try to negotiate a seemingly impossible relationship. Go figure.

How else to explain my fascination with the punk-pop band My Chemical Romance. After the release of their CD "The Black Parade" two years ago, I played their music constantly (much to my children's horror), visited their website daily and dragged my poor husband to their concert when they played in Worcester. Yes, there were other people "my age" at the concert. But most of them were chaperoning their teenage children!

I have a Facebook page I visit daily (okay, hourly), and I've learned to text my friends using terms like "OMG", "TTYL" and a few I won't print because you could easily decipher them and hey, this is a family newspaper.

When you add up all these little nuggets, they may not equal a Porsche convertible but they scream "mid-life crisis" just the same.

I never gave much thought to a mid-life crisis when I actually turned 40. That day was spent crying and feeling sorry for myself until my husband came home with two dozen roses, a spa gift certificate and tickets to the musical "Mamma Mia". After that, 40 didn't seem like such a big deal.

It's only in the last couple of years that these thoughts have crept into my head: What will I do for the "second half" of my life (assuming I live to 90, something I'm not sure I want to do...) what have I accomplished? Have I made the right choices? How will I leave my mark on this world?

I need only look to my family, my friends, my children and the rebirth of my writing to answer most of these questions. I doubt I'll take up bungee jumping or go on safari or ditch my husband and kids for some 25-year old boy toy.

However, the next showing of "Twilight" begins at 12:10... See you there!

The Christmas Letter - 12/10/08

Each day I wait for that dreaded holiday staple to arrive at my door. No, it’s not fruitcake, but it’s as sickeningly sweet and just as hard to swallow: The Christmas Letter.

Before you flood me with e-mails and phone calls, I will concede that not all Christmas letters are terrible. We are a generation of busy people, and though we have the best intentions of keeping each other up to date in our lives, we don’t always follow through. The Christmas letter allows people to share the highs (and sometimes lows) of the past 12 months with family and friends.

However, when I receive a Christmas letter, I can’t help but feel that it contains two underlying messages:

#1: You’re not important enough in my life to warrant a phone call or even e-mail when something great happens to me, so here’s my year in one generic page.

#2: My life is better than yours.

Most of the Christmas letters I receive seem to be a laundry list of perfect lives, complete with acne-free, even-tempered, overachieving children (“…Sally was valedictorian of her pre-school class, and enjoys throwing pottery and reading Russian literature in her spare time…”), envious vacations (“…Aspen was just getting too routine, so this year’s we’re giving Gstaad a try!”), and exhausting activities (“Bobby’s decided to scale back on his sports this year, focusing only on football, lacrosse, hockey, karate and soccer. He sure misses the swim team.”). It’s just not possible to be that smug and happy outside of a Hallmark Hall of Fame movie. Is it?

Then there’s the annual letter from my husband’s friend Charlie. Charlie is a 60-something free spirit who spends his year leading cross-country ski tours along the edge of The Grand Canyon, taking groups of kayakers to Belize and acting as a white-water raft guide in the Grand Teton Mountain Range. My husband’s shoulders droop a little after reading Charlie’s letter, so he hugs his children tight and tells himself that yes; he did make the right choices in life.

Each year I threaten to write the Anti-Christmas Letter. It would probably go something like this: “Happy Holidays everyone! Wondering what we’ve been up to this year? Mike continues to spend 3-4 hours in the car commuting to Providence each day, we’re so thankful that gas has gone down to $1.75 a gallon. Xander’s asthma is finally under control but now there are braces in his future. Cooper’s doing much better in school; only one trip to the principal’s office so far. Thankfully, our CPA friend was able to intervene with the IRS on that 2005 tax mix-up…”

Actually, I don’t need to write a letter like this because my husband’s cousins send it to us each year. Connie and Ted are decent, salt-of-the-earth, mid-western folk. Each year their letter contains horrific tales of illness, industrial accidents, death and loss of limbs (really.) It’s like a Christmas letter straight from the book of Job. And yet, invariably they end each letter with, “We are so thankful for all of God’s blessings.” It’s the one letter we get that actually makes us feel better about our lives.

So by all means, send me your cards, your photos, and if you must, your Christmas letters. But I warn you, the latter will just end up underneath my holiday paperweight: the fruitcake.

Chipping Away at Selfishness - 12/3/08

And we now segue from the season of giving thanks to the season of giving. Black Friday, the official start of the holiday shopping season is in full swing. Of course, we have been assaulted by toy catalogs, holiday commercials and pre-Thanksgiving sale flyers for over a month. The current state of our economy doesn’t help. Warnings to save for an impending depression fight with messages to stimulate the economy by buying more.

And our children are caught in the crossfire.

Each year I try to find a way to enforce the message that “…’tis better to give than to receive”. My children understand this, in theory. Yet they still make impossibly long lists of the things that they want from Santa. It doesn’t help that my parents have a history of overloading my children with presents each year. “Quantity over quality” is their motto, padding the supply of decent gifts with cheap toys from the odd lot and the dollar store. Christmas day devolves into an orgy of unwrapping. It reminds me of that Gordon Gecko quote from the movie Wall Street: “Greed is good.”

It’s not that my children don’t understand the concept of giving. It’s just tempered by their desire for receiving. Case in point: My older son spent a week raiding the cans in our pantry for a school sponsored food drive. I was impressed by his intent to carry as many cans as he could to school (along with his fully loaded backpack and his ultra-heavy snare drum). Towards the end of the week, I discovered his real motivation: The class that collected the most cans would win a pizza party. Sure, the idea of giving food to the needy was all well and good, but it was secondary to beating the other 5th grade classes and reveling in celebratory pizza.

There are opportunities all year round to show children how to be selfless, but during the holiday season there are just that many more. The Hanover Food Pantry is always in need of food staples for local families. Santa’s Helpers allows you to “adopt” a needy family, shopping and wrapping gifts from a wish list. The Hanover Mall usually has a Giving Tree for senior citizens who ask for such basic items as flannel shirts and warm gloves. Toys for Tots is another favorite. With locations nationwide (including our own Hanover Fire Station) you can let your kids choose a toy for a child who might otherwise go without. For several years, my friend Amy Perkins has donated her time with Christmas in the City, an all-volunteer holiday party given for children who live in homeless shelters. My husband and I have helped in the past and I can’t wait for my kids to be old enough to help too. To see thousands of children walking into the Bayside Expo, being cheered and applauded by hundreds of volunteers, is an experience both heartwarming and heart wrenching.

It’s the nature of children to be selfish. From the time they are born, we cater to their needs, feeding them when they cry, changing them when they’re wet. But if we can just chip away at that selfishness, a little bit at a time, then perhaps each year they will think a little less about themselves and a little more for others. At least, that’s my wish.

The Holiday Shuffle - 11/25/08

Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother's house we go: LITERALLY.
As you read these words, my family and I will be heading out to Central New York for Thanksgiving with my in-laws. The six hour ride to the end of the Pike and beyond gives me ample time to reflect on the evolution of what I like to call "the holiday shuffle"

When my husband and I first started dating, we each went our separate ways on major holidays (my family's in NJ). After dating for a while, I tested the waters by driving from my parents’ house after Christmas to spend a few days at his family’s home. When we moved in together it became Thanksgiving with his parents, Christmas with mine. (My parents make a big deal out of Christmas. Lots of lights, tinsel and in the words of the Grinch "all the noise noise noise NOISE!")

This worked out well until kids came along. At this point my husband thought it only fair that his parents should also witness the magic of Christmas morning with wide-eyed children squealing over presents from Santa. Much as I hated giving up Christmas with my parents, grudgingly I agreed to alternate holidays each year. Marriage is all about compromise, right?

There are pros and cons to spending the holidays with each of our families. Both houses have terribly uncomfortable beds. His parents have a separate bedroom for our kids, while we all bunk together at mine. My parents have The Dish Network and televisions in every room in the house. His parents have an "older" television (I'm being kind) with rabbit ears providing three network channels and a fuzzy local PBS station. My parents have water pressure that kicks butt. His parents have a weak mist and you risk freezing or scalding if someone so much as looks at the faucet during your shower. My parents have housecats but his parents have horses. My dad used to work in a school, but his parents own a school. They purchased my husband's old school building when it became obsolete, so my kids can run down to the gym and shoot hoops no matter what the weather.

Friends ask, "Why can't your families come spend the holidays with you?" My entire family lives within minutes of each other. Why on earth would any of them schlep here for the holidays? I'm the one who decided to move away. My husband, an only child, has just his parents, but there are horses to feed and water (you can't just scoop the litter box and leave a big bowl of kibble) and then there's that school building. It houses the post office and apparently the boiler is right out of Stephen King's "The Shining". Turn your back for a second and it'll blow sky high.

What would it be like to celebrate Thanksgiving in my own kitchen, where I can screw up my own gravy? Wouldn’t it be fun to hunt Easter eggs in our own backyard? We fantasize about waking up Christmas morning in Hanover, something we've never done. How lovely it would be to get up at our leisure, sit on our own couch, drinking our infinitely better coffee from our own mugs, watching the kids rip open their presents. Recently I suggested we try spending Christmas Eve and Christmas morning at our home, then driving to the grandparents in time for Christmas dinner. We both agreed that this would be a good compromise.

Of course we'll be doing that NEXT year (when it's his parent's turn!)
Happy Thanksgiving.

On Engine LIghts - 11/19/08

"This little light of mine...I'm gonna let it shine...” This was a song I learned in Sunday school as a girl. It was a comforting song. It got me thinking of all the times that a light can be reassuring. Lights on the runway will guide a plane to a safe landing. To a small child, a nightlight is the difference between a good night's sleep and a night spent with one eye on the closet door. Motel 6 has the homey tagline "We'll leave the light on for you...” And survivors of near-death experiences say that a warm, white light is waiting for us all. So you can see how soothing just one small light can be.

Unless, of course, it's the engine light on my dashboard.

Upon seeing the engine light, most normal humans would think, "Okay, time for a tune-up". Being a glass-is-half-empty kind of girl, I see the engine light as the first step in a series of cataclysmic events: Expensive repair = bankruptcy = foreclosure = living in a cardboard box. This is the same type of jump I made when an eye doctor told me she saw "something" in the back of my son's eyeball. To me "something" = mass = tumor = cancer = the unthinkable. (FYI, it was scar tissue, completely harmless.)

This particular engine light and I have a history. Last summer, it came on without warning. I took the car to my friends at Sullivan Tire, and after some brief diagnostics they suggested replacing the gas cap. This was a relatively inexpensive fix, and a common culprit in emission-related warning lights. The fix was made, the light was re-set and the technician told me that if the light did not come back on within my normal drive cycle (whatever THAT is...) I could assume that the problem was fixed. If, however, the light returned, they would have to do further diagnostics which (direct quote) "can get expensive." I drove for the next few weeks with one eye on the dash and one on the road. Just when I thought I was home free...the light came back on.

Trying to remain calm, keeping visions of moving my family in with my parents at bay, I called my buddies at Sullivan and made an appointment for the upcoming weekend. For the next several days, I drove with that blazing yellow engine light constantly taunting me that I faced potential financial ruin, praying to God for serenity. The day before my scheduled appointment, while waiting in line at the Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru, the light suddenly went off. And stayed off.

My first thought was that God had answered my prayers and fixed my car. That sounds blasphemous, I know. God has many more important prayers to answer than my ailing minivan. And then my friends at Sullivan told me that sometimes the emissions problem corrects itself, and the light shuts off on its own. Still, I couldn't help but wonder if a higher power was involved.

Months have passed with nary a problem, when suddenly last week, the light came back on. A month before Christmas, two weeks before our Thanksgiving pilgrimage to my in-laws, it could not have come at a worse time. But instead of freaking out and spending precious time worrying, I decided to just be a grown-up and soldier on.

Then the light went off again. And that's when it hit me: My car is messing with me.

Before the Personal Computer - 11/12/08

What did we do before the personal computer?

I think about this as my children get on the bus to school and I mentally review my daily "to do" list. Computers make our lives so much easier. We are able to pay bills, renew library books and order groceries, all with the click of a mouse. A phone conversation with a friend or teacher, which might ordinarily stretch to 20 minutes, can be accomplished with an instant message or an e-mail reply.

If computers are such timesavers, then why is there never enough time in my day to get everything done?

My laptop, which was purchased for business reasons, now sits at the edge of my kitchen counter. This way I can stay connected with the world while making lunches and emptying the dishwasher. When I actually pack up my laptop to take to a job (yes, that's the reason for the laptop, it's portable!) there's an empty space next to the fruit bowl that somehow makes me feel incomplete. That should be my first warning sign.

First order of business each day is checking my e-mail. This lets me stay in touch with family, teachers, work acquaintances and a whole host of others. In theory, it shouldn't take more than 20 minutes to reply to my emails, delete my spam and log off. Right. Except I need to participate in that recipe exchange. If I don't forward this chain e-mail, something bad will happen within ten hours. And I just have to let me friends know whether I prefer diamonds or pearls, champagne or beer, and what color crayon I would be (I never know what to pick for that, but my friend Donna always chooses black.)

Once those pressing issues are complete, it's time to check Craig’s List. Why, oh why did I discover Craig’s List? Because a friend of mine got a free flat screen television there, that's why. To be fair, I check the job listings under "writing jobs" for myself and “TV/video/radio jobs” for my husband. The latter category seems to have evolved into a nationwide casting service, with daily postings such as,” National TV Show looking for men who cheated because of failing economy" and "Did Jealousy Cause You To Do Something Crazy?" Once I'm done with job searching, it's time to check out the "Free" category. No flat screen televisions today, only a pommel horse, a breadbox, hemp shoes (?) and a Dora the Explorer foldable toilet seat (tempting... no thanks).

From Craig's List I move on to my new Facebook page. A few college friends begged me to join Facebook in order to stay in touch. Within a day I had dozens of new friends who were sending me cyber-drinks and pieces of flair for my “wall” (my Facebook home page). This morning a friend "K'dnapped me with the giant sticky flypaper to Geneva". Huh? Perhaps Facebook is best left to the teen set after all.

I won't even get into the other websites I tend to stray to, thanks in large part to my friends who thoughtfully include links in their e-mails (however the link to the flatulence-filtering carbon underpants was certainly entertaining.) Before I know it, it's 2:45 and here comes my middle schooler off the bus. Instead of sucking up dirt with my vacuum, the vacuum of cyberspace has been sucking up my time.

So, to answer my own question: what did we do before personal computers? Everything else we were supposed to do, that's what!

Girls Night In - 11/5/08

Let's hear it for Girls Night In!

Over the years, as a stay-at-home mom, I have come to appreciate the value of the few precious moments I spend away from my children. I've joined book clubs and social clubs, attended craft nights and wine tastings, all for the chance to spend a few hours with the grown-ups. It makes me a better mother.

Although Girls Night Out is a generic term that women of all ages use when they get together, I've decided that Girls Night In beats it by a mile.

Sure, it's fun to go out to a restaurant or bar and have a few drinks and a few laughs with the girls. But logistics are involved: First decide on a venue. Should we carpool? One friend always wants to leave by 9:30, so driving with her means an early night. Do we sit in the bar or in the restaurant? The bar can be loud and crowded. Elbowing my way to the counter, shouting to be heard above other patrons, loud music or enthusiastic sports fans can be tiresome. Then there's the issue of the bill. Should we start a tab? Whose card do we put it on? Do we split it evenly, even though I had one glass of wine and my compadre had six? There's the issue of a designated driver (usually its whoever's pregnant but in my circle those days are pretty much over).

Girl’s night in is so much easier. As a consultant for a direct sales company, I have seen firsthand how women enjoy gathering at someone's home to share a glass of wine and more than a few laughs. It really doesn't matter whether you're there to buy candles, kitchen tools, skin care products or jewelry. What matters is the companionship amongst friends.

I recently hosted movie night for my girlfriends. My husband and sons were attending a Cub Scout cookout, so I had the house to myself for several hours. What better way to relax than to invite my peeps over for a showing of "Baby Mama" with Tina Fey and Amy Poehler? It was designated BYOMC (bring your own movie candy). We popped bowls and bowls of popcorn with real melted butter. Typically, women dress for other women, but on this night my friends were encouraged to wear sweats or even pjs. Best of all, I didn't feel the need to make every corner of my home spotless. As long as the television area was cleared of toys and the bathroom was clean, that was good enough for us.

The evening was a success. Not even my son vomiting in the upstairs bathroom could dampen our spirits (too many s'mores at the Cub Scout cookout. And since I was entertaining girlfriends at the time...clean-up duty fell on my husband's shoulders. Score!) Best of all, between the popcorn, candy and $1 movie from Red Box, the entire night cost me about $10. That equals a martini and a half

With the economy in a slump and everyone watching their wallets, Girls Night in is the cheapest date around. And the memories? Priceless.

The Halloween Costume I'll Never Forget - 10/29/08

The good news is: Halloween’s on a Friday. The bad news is: Halloween’s on a Friday. My kids are thrilled at the prospect of trick or treating on a weekend (thankfully no early soccer game for us on Saturday). Unfortunately, this also means that Hanover’s high-spirited teens (unintentional pun) will also have a later curfew. Hopefully, we’ll curtail our candy begging early enough to avoid any unidentified flying eggs or toilet paper.

Ah, Halloween. Or as I like to think of it, the unofficial start of the holiday weight-gaining season. I actually think my kids enjoy Halloween more than Christmas. Christmas presents are ripped open within minutes, but trick or treating takes hours and the candy can last for months (or until I can distract them, then foist it on my husband’s co-workers). My boys start planning their costumes in June. Knowing full well that they will change their minds a half dozen times before October, I wait until just before the iParty coupon is due to expire before committing to a final outfit.

It’s funny to see the progression of their costumes over the years. Chronologically they have been Elmo, a dinosaur, a robot, a firefighter, another robot, Harry Potter, Star Wars characters and an anime hero. This year my 10-year old will keep it simple with a “Friday the 13th” style hockey mask, machete-glove and pirate hook. Precious. Smile for the camera sweetie, we need to capture this proud moment.

When asked which costume was my favorite as a child, my children were horrified to learn that I once went out as a pack of cigarettes. My father made the costume, painting a large box to look exactly like a pack of Tareyton’s, complete with a red stripe down the front, the Surgeon General’s warning on the side and tinfoil on the top (with a special flap that allowed my head to poke through.) My dad even crafted a long, fake cigarette for me to carry. Mom smeared black under my eye to tie in with the ad campaign at the time (“Tareyton…I’d rather fight than switch.”) And the response? People loved it. Everyone commented on how clever my costume was, how innovative. I was so enamored; I wore it two years in a row.

Today’s parents would probably be appalled to see a child trick or treating as a pack of smokes. But is it really any worse than killer clowns, flesh eating zombies or the Grim Reaper? (Not to mention those political masks; now those are scary.) Looking back, I loved my cigarette costume for many reasons: It was unique. No one else had one. Best of all, it was made especially for me. My dad, not one to express his feelings in words, was able to show his love by creating a costume that still makes me smile 35 years later.

Happy Halloween!

New Math? - 10/22/08

It seems to be a rite of passage for parents of school age children to smile, shrug their shoulders and wistfully ask themselves: "What the heck is new math and what was wrong with the old one?"

I should state that I am not a math person. Numbers are my enemy. Basic math was fine, but fractions were tricky. Algebra and geometry were a nightmare. Ditto for chemistry (remember having to balance equations? It involved MATH!) My high school geometry teacher, Ms. Richvalsky, should be nominated for sainthood because in order for me to understand what she was saying, I needed to sit in her class twice a day. (Skipping lunch allowed me to pull my grade up from an "F" to a "B". Not too shabby, huh?)

One of my all-time favorite movies is "Stand and Deliver", the story of Jaime Escalante, a math teacher who challenges at-risk teens in East L.A. to go from learning remedial math to mastering AP Calculus. I could relate to those kids (except for the fact that they were barrio youths and I'm a middle aged white woman). Math is hard. Freshman math was required at my cushy, liberal arts college but somehow I managed to eke out a passing grade. At that point I figured my math days were over.

Fast-forward twenty-five years. Volunteering as the designated "homework helper" for my sons I thought, "It's basic math. How hard can it be?" I figured it would be years before they realized just how inept I really was. Three weeks later, during open house, my son's third grade teacher asked if there were any questions. I raised my hand and asked, "What happens when the homework helper doesn't understand the homework?" She gave me a slightly sad look and said she'd be happy to explain any of the math problems I didn't understand. Jaime Escalante, where are you when I need you?

Suddenly I was faced with terms like looping and regrouping. What was wrong with counting on our fingers (a handy system I still utilize)? Hundreds and tens and ones were now boxes and sticks and circles. Remember those cute friendly ovals we used to call "sets"? Now they’re called Venn diagrams (as in "Venn did math become even MORE complicated?) My fifth grader is multiplying triple digit numbers using something called a lattice (which I thought was either a decoration on the outside of your house or a pie crust I am just too lazy to make). Was it so awful to stack the numbers on top of each other, carrying digits as we go? And what happened to the times table? I miss it!

It seems that every generation complains about "new math". My theory is that math is revised every 15 years or so not for the purpose of making it easier to understand, but to insure that parents cannot do their children’s homework for them.

As for English homework? Bring it on!

My LIttle Town - 10/15/08

I was reminded of something recently as I drove through the streets of Hanover. At the risk of sounding like Sarah Palin: Gosh darn it, we sure do live in a pretty town (wink wink).

Full disclosure: Autumn is my favorite time of year. Nothing can compare to the crisp coolness, the intense blue sky, pumpkins and mums on doorsteps, the faint whiff of wood smoke in the air... And of course the ever changing color palette of the leaves. Add to the mix our beautiful town center, Briggs and Holly Hill Stables, Four Corners, and the historic homes throughout the town and you really do have a lovely place to live.

Prior to moving to Hanover, my husband and I lived in Norwell (also a pretty town, but not quite as pretty as Hanover, in my humble opinion). We found ourselves looking to purchase our first home, and decided to look at the surrounding towns on the South Shore. We actually debated about whether to include Hanover because (and I'm embarrassed to admit this) all I knew about Hanover was THE MALL. I based my opinion solely on what I had seen along Rt. 53 (shame on me). When our realtor took us around the area, I was happily surprised to learn that Hanover was such a charming town.
As this column was kicking around my head, I noticed that Yahoo published a list of the Top 10 prettiest towns in America. The good news is that Hanover was amongst them. The bad news? It was Hanover NH. On what do they base their decision? Landscape? Architecture? The lack of Dunkin' Donuts or McDonald's in the area?

First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt once made the claim that Hingham "...is the most beautiful Main Street in America", and while I don't care to take on the Hinghamites, I will say that I drive through Hingham weekly, and while it is a picturesque town, I put Hanover right there beside it for beauty.

Maybe there is something about our town that hasn't been considered by the folks at Yahoo or the former First Lady. I believe you can't measure the beauty of a town until you factor in its people. Last night as I was driving through town around sunset, I paused at the corner of the Congregational Church, waiting to turn onto 139 by Briggs field. The fading sun was turning the steeple a vivid orange (what film people call the Magic Hour) and as I waited to make my turn, another Hanover friend drove past my car, giving me a bright smile and a warm wave.

Beautiful streets and historic homes are the building blocks that make up the place where you live, but it’s the people of the town that make it your home.

My Financial Savvy - 10/8/08

In these uncertain economic times, it’s only natural to turn to the experts for financial guidance. Many of you know me as a mother, a Pampered Chef consultant and now a weekly columnist. But what you might not know is that people all over the world seek my financial assistance in multi-million dollar transactions.

Just this morning, I received an e-mail from Saeed Ahmed, a merchant in Dubai, looking for someone to help him collect his sixty million dollars from “…a insurance/Security company abroad...” Yesterday, I received an e-mail from Christina Zuma, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Zuma of Zimbabwe. She writes, “This might be a surprise to you about where I got your contact…” (Yes, Christina, especially since I can’t balance a checkbook to save my life). Apparently, Christina got my e-mail address as a “reliable person” after fasting and praying. Her murdered parents were farmers and now Christina needs me to help her access her father’s $5.5 million dollars that is now in a “metallic trunk box” in Abidjan Cote D’Ivoire. Wow, 5.5 million… I’ve GOT to try farming.

Ms. Rena Monibar e-mailed me from a refugee camp in Senegal, asking me to help her retrieve her father’s $7.5 million (they have computers and e-mail in refugee camps?) The late Alfonoso Gonzalez who, until his death was a member of the Helicopter
Society (?) loved to give out alms to the poor, hungry and needy. His will, containing $30 million is ready for execution and guess who they want to give it to? Me! (I’ll take all the alms I can get.)

If none of these appeals for financial assistance seem familiar to you, perhaps you have better spam filters than me. These arrive daily, along with offers of teeth brightening treatments, $1 Viagra and the Ultimate Pet Nail Trimmer. Of course I know that these are scams, looking for that one gullible person who thinks, “At last, my chance to strike it rich.” Reading over these requests, with their outrageous circumstances (plane crashes, bus crashes, car crashes) and even more outrageous spelling and grammar mistakes makes me wonder: How stupid do they think we are?

Several months ago my phone rang. A computerized voice cheerily asked me if I would like to lower the interest rate on my credit cards. If so, press 1. I was immediately transferred to Debbie, a helpful customer service rep. When I asked which of my credit card companies she represented, she explained that she worked for an independent company that could lower the interest rates on all my credit cards. To get started, I just needed to give her the bank names and the credit card numbers. I played along for a bit, asking questions in an oh-so-innocent voice until finally I said, “Debbie. C’mon. Why would you think I would actually give you my credit information?” There was a pause and then she angrily shouted, “We’re scam artists” and hung up on me.

I guess I should strengthen the filters on my spam folders, which would eliminate most of these fraudulent e-mails. But I might miss the daily adventures of my “clients” in Africa, the UK and other exotic locales. It’s kind of like my own personal Internet soap opera. On the home front, I’ll try to improve managing my own money. Today I’ll actually start writing the checks down in that thingy. What’s it called? Oh yes, the ledger.

The Lego Store - 10/1/08

Muslims go to Mecca. Jews go to Jerusalem. Catholics go to the Vatican. And now, my sons can finally worship at the altar of the almighty brick.

In other words: The Lego store has opened.

This column may not make sense if:

• You’ve never spent a Sunday afternoon sifting through a vacuum cleaner bag, searching for a Lego that was inadvertently sucked up the hose.

• You’ve never felt pain as the most tender part of your foot connects with that tiny Lego brick hidden in the carpet.

• Your children have not come to blows over who gets possession of the Storm Trooper bodies.

• You’ve discovered (midway through building) that your set is missing a part, necessitating a call to Lego and an express shipment from Denmark.

If none of these scenarios seem familiar, feel free to skip right to the birthdays.

My older son began his love affair with Legos with a small set purchased from, oddly enough, a zoo gift shop (with all the monkey masks and lemur key chains, the Lego kit seemed an odd choice). His fingers were still awkward, he needed help identifying the right pieces and fitting them together, but as soon as the set was complete, it was obvious he was hooked.

Larger kits soon followed, and before long his requests for assistance tapered off until eventually he could sit for hours at a time, methodically reading directions and assembling his sets brick by brick without any help. Any fears I might have about his ability to focus fly out the window when I see him completely engrossed with his Legos.

Now both of my boys are Lego freaks, saving their allowances for Star Wars, Mars Mission and Indiana Jones sets. My older son has even done three tours of duty with Sylvester School’s Lego Robotics Team (proud Mom moment: His rookie team won a trophy made of Legos at the First Lego League competition last year.)

Another Hanover mom and I decided on a reconnaissance mission to the new Lego store at the South Shore Plaza in Braintree. My heart began to beat faster as I spied the familiar red and white logo across the mall. Those of you with daughters close your eyes and imagine an American Girl Place opening in Braintree. Yeah, it’s like that.

As we entered the store, our mouths dropped in awe as we saw every possible Lego set displayed along the walls. There were barrels of Legos for in-store play. Key chains, Jell-O molds, school folders, magazines, all sporting the Lego logo and just begging to be bought. And finally, the piece de resistance: the entire back wall of floor-to-ceiling bins containing a pick-n-mix assortment of Lego parts. Just grab a pre-priced container and shove in as many pieces as you can.

Composing myself, I asked the employees about their new location. Yes, they will host birthday parties, starting in January. Yes, they get an employee discount (hmmm). One employee was visiting on his day off, taking the six thousand-piece Taj Mahal set home to assemble. Sporting a Transformers t-shirt, he chatted with me about his adult Lego club, and that’s when it hit me: This could be my son, twenty years from now.

If there’s a brick-head living in your house, be sure to take them to the Plaza for what’s sure to be a fun, exciting and possibly expensive afternoon.

On Making A Difference - 9/24/08

Hanover will have its new high school. When the official word came down, I was of course thankful. If we decide not to move to a remote location to become Christmas Tree/Blueberry/Maple Syrup farmers (my husband’s dream) then my children will have the benefit of a brand-spanking new school building. Hooray!

This got me thinking about all the folks who have put their time and effort into making this new high school a reality. If I tried to name everyone, it would be like an Oscar winner’s thank you list: Way too long, with an orchestra loudly trying to drown me out as the hook comes to drag me off stage. And of course, names would inadvertently be forgotten.

There are those who have spent years working for this dream. (You know who you are, and we do too.) More recently, the people at HHSYes have put their lives on hold, working countless hours rounding up volunteers, compiling data, crunching numbers and a thousand other details. Then there are people like me, whose volunteer effort was placing a sign on my lawn, co-writing a letter to the Mariner and holding a sign and waving like a lunatic on Election Day. And then there are the people who were only able to do one simple but vitally important contribution: vote yes.

That one simple act may not seem like much in the grand scheme of things, when so many others did so much for so long. But without your one vote, or your neighbor’s vote, or your husband’s vote, there would be no new high school. You never know how something so small can impact the lives of others

Case in point: My friend Julianne has always had high regard for my writing abilities (even when I did not). Last January she suggested we co-write a blog. I couldn’t believe how much I had missed writing. When the Around Town position became available, it was Julianne who demanded I pick up the phone and apply for the job. So when I have that five-book deal, it will be Julianne I have to thank (okay, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself here). With one small suggestion, she literally changed me life.

It reminds me of one of my favorite holiday movies, “It’s A Wonderful Life” (I loved it long before Ted Turner crammed it down our throats 24/7). Clarence the angel shows the despondent George Bailey what life would have been like had he never been born. George’s brother is dead (George wasn’t there to save him from drowning), George’s kids are non-existent, and his wife is a spinster, his uncle committed to an asylum. My favorite line is when Clarence says to George, “Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives, and when he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?”

Take a moment to think about the things that you have done, for your family, your friends, your neighbors, and even strangers. That meal you made for the needy family at church. Picking up a friend’s child from school so that she can go on a job interview. Checking off the “yes” box on a town ballot. It may seem like a small thing, but it can change lives in ways you never imagined.

Talking about 9/11 - 9/17/08

This past Thursday marked the seventh anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. I fully expected my 5th grader to come home and ask me the question I’ve been anticipating each year: “What happened on September 11th?”

On 9/11 my children were 3 years old and 6 months old respectively, way too young to have any idea of what was happening to their world. I didn’t allow them to see any of the horrifying footage on that terrible day. Over the years, I’ve turned off any recap of the events of 9/11 when my children are nearby. Still, I’ve fully expected that a friend or a teacher would have mentioned something that would prompt that hard question. Each year I’ve thought about how I would answer, adjusting my explanation to be appropriate for their ages.

When my son came home from middle school on Thursday, he mentioned that there had been a moment of silence. I asked if he knew why and he said he thought it was to honor the patriots of the civil war. Tempted though I was to correct him, I kept my mouth shut. My second grader remains oblivious. Maybe I’m sheltering them too much, but I’d like to preserve their innocence for just a bit longer.

When the questions finally come, as I’m sure they will, I will answer them as honestly as I can, hopefully in a way that doesn’t give them further anxiety about traveling by plane or visiting a tall building. But how do you begin to explain religious fanaticism to a ten-year old? If we can’t wrap our minds around such a savage act of hatred, how can they? I vividly recall the sick feeling that no matter what I do as a mother, I cannot completely protect my children from harm. Nearly forty years earlier, my own mother felt the same way while pregnant with me during the Cuban missile crisis.

I’ve collected a few books on 9/11 geared towards children, and we’ll read them together when they are ready. I’ll try to focus on the heroes from that day, and the way the country pulled together in the face of adversity. I don’t want to keep my kids in the dark forever: It’s my responsibility to teach them about that day because they will be the future politicians, religious leaders and caretakers of the world. It will then be their responsibility to help ensure that it never happens again.

Too Much TV? - 9/10/08

I recently filled my gas tank at the Gulf station on Rt. 139 in Pembroke and discovered something disturbing (other than the price of gas): Each pump had a built-in video screen broadcasting a variety of news, sports and entertainment. My first reaction was horror. Televisions at the gas pump? Are we so video-dependent that we can’t even pump our gas without being electronically stimulated?

My second reaction was, “Cool! Something to watch other than the numbers on the pump.”

Don’t get me wrong; I am a card-carrying member of the television generation. My childhood was spent in front of endless re-runs of Gilligan’s Island, The Brady Bunch and H.R. Pufnstuf. I’ll be the first to admit that I watched way too much television growing up, and continue to watch way too much as an adult. I actually contemplated a TV-free summer for my family, until I realized that “Project Runway” was starting their new season in July. So yes, television has been and continues to be an integral part of my life. But c’mon, there should be limits.

After my experience at the gas pump, I started thinking about all the places I had seen video screens lately. Of course most of my friends have DVD players in their cars (yes, I do too.) There is a large video screen by the deli counter in Shaw’s, broadcasting helpful food tips. There are video screens at the checkout lines as well. Many medical professionals have televisions in their waiting rooms. Ditto for nail salons (although they always seemed to be tuned to golf for some inexplicable reason). The hotel I frequent in Chicago has a video screen broadcasting CNN in the elevator. No more painful eye contact with fellow passengers, just 20 floors of Wolf Blitzer and friends.

Are we further isolating ourselves from each other by eliminating the need to make conversation in common areas like the doctor’s office or the food store? Are we doing a disservice to ourselves by not reading more books or magazines while we are waiting to see our physician? Or is the answer more television? Think of how much easier a mammogram or prostate exam would be if you had HGTV or ESPN to distract you?

While I doubt I could give up television altogether, I do think that the old adage “everything in moderation” is the key. Those of you who saw the film “Wall-E” this summer might remember the humans of the future, overweight and slumped in their
La-Z-Boy recliners, communicating with each other through video screens positioned six inches from their noses. Is this our future?

Perhaps I need a television intervention. I can just see myself surrounded by family and friends. “Laura, we want you to know that we care about you, but you just can’t raise a family and watch ‘Law & Order’ 24-hours a day. Please, just hand over the remote. It’s for your own good.”

Designer Dogs - 9/3/08

Growing up, our family pet was our dog, Laika. Named after the unfortunate Soviet dog that was sent into space, our Laika was a mix of German Shepherd and Siberian Husky. Whenever someone asked about her breed, I would say, “She’s a mix of German Shepherd and Siberian Husky”. Imagine the looks I would have received had I said, “She’s a Shuskie”.

Suddenly we have an enormous number of new dog breeds that seem to be created for the sole purpose of sporting goofy names. It’s only recently that I have started to notice all the Cockapoos, Labradoodles and Schnoodles in my town. Whenever I drive up Rt. 53, I pass a sign that says “Golden Doodle Pups”. A friend commented that a Golden Doodle sounds like something you might order in a Chinese restaurant.

Researching this column, I found several sites that referred to these animals as “designer dogs”. Do these dogs have the Tommy Hilfiger logo bred into their hindquarters? The Ralph Lauren Polo pony tattooed on their ears?

Actually “designer dog” is the term used for a cross between two purebred dogs. This is different than a mutt, which has an uncertain ancestry. Breeders cross two different purebred animals to try and combine the best properties of each breed, while at the same time lowering the percentage of genetic problems. Now you can have the easy temperament of a golden retriever with the hypoallergenic properties of a poodle. As the mother of an asthmatic child, I can appreciate this idea. But a small part of me still wonders if these breeds are being crossed primarily for their silly names.

If you cross a Spaniel with a Yorkie, would you get a Sporkie? I didn’t find that listed under hybrids on www.dogbreedinfo.com, but I did see a Torkie, a Chorkie, a Corkie and a Snorkie. A Chihuahua/Dachshund mix is, interestingly enough, a Chiweenie.
A Bolognese cross-bred with a Poodle becomes a Bolonoodle (and that is something you can get in a Chinese restaurant.)

The poodle seems to be a popular dog to throw into the mix, if only for the fact that it adds an “oodle” or a “poo” to the final name. In addition to the Cockapoo, there are Bossi-Poos, Doxiepoos and Jack-a-1oos. There are Foodles, Scoodles and Saint Berdoodles. My son asked if you crossed a Cocker Spaniel with a Golden Doodle, would you get a Cocker Doodle? If so, their poop would of course be: Cocker Doodle doo.

As Shakespeare once wrote, “What’s in a name?” The most important thing is the love that is shared between a dog and its owner. So here’s to all the purebreds, hybrids and plain old mutts that bring us joy each day.

Preparing for Middle School - 8/27/08

The teacher assignments are here, the supply list is in hand and suddenly the truth hits home: I am a middle school mom. I won’t haul out the old wasn’t it-just-yesterday- I-was-putting-him-on-the-kindergarten-bus sob story because you’ve heard it before. Every middle school parent experiences that feeling.

This should not come as a shock to me. We have been discussing middle school for over a year. Whenever my son complained about the amount of homework he had (which, by the way was nothing) I would say, “You think this is a lot? This is nothing compared to MIDDLE SCHOOL.” When he lies in bed at night, reading until all hours, I am the one threatening,” Get your sleep now because when you’re in MIDDLE SCHOOL, you’ll have to get up even earlier.”

I went to the middle school open house last spring and met the principal and the guidance counselors. They gave us a very nice presentation on what to expect and were very patient in answering all of our questions. After the 4th grade visited the school, I asked my son what he thought. He whispered two words: “It’s big.”

So throughout the summer I have been mentally preparing myself for all possible issues that could arise in middle school. I’ve been formulating a battle plan for homework, sleep schedules, and practice time with the combination lock. I’m anticipating lost notebooks, missed assignments and down-to-the-wire book reports. And just when I think I have all my bases covered, a seasoned middle school mom throws me a curveball.

Her: “You know they change for gym class in 5th grade?”
Me: “Um…yes”
Her: “Make sure he doesn’t wear tighty-whities…he’ll get picked on.”
Me: Stunned silence.

With all the potential issues and problems that can affect my child in middle school, I now have to worry about the right underwear? Another middle school mom confirmed this. Granted, the film “Risky Business” was 25 years ago, so whatever coolness Tom Cruise gave white briefs is long gone. Plaid boxers from American Eagle or plain dark boxer briefs are de rigueur these days. Here I thought I got off easy by having boys. No Uggs or North Face jackets in my house. Maybe some Vans or Sean John jeans down the road. But this? Now?

Apparently, what I’ve been teaching my son all along is true. It’s not what’s on the outside that matters; it’s what’s underneath.

The Olympics - 8/20/08

I have a love/hate relationship with the Olympics. Actually love and hate are probably a bit strong. It’s more like interest and indifference. As a child, I was raised in a sports-free environment. Both my parents were academics and had zero interest in any type of organized sports. The exception, however, was the Olympic games.

I have vivid memories of watching Mark Spitz win 7 gold medals, of Nadia Comaneci’s perfect 10. The 1980 “Miracle on Ice” with goalie Jim Craig scanning the crowd and mouthing, “Where’s my father?” still gives me chills.

As an adult, something shifted and eventually the Olympics began to bore me. They became a nuisance that pre-empted my favorite television shows. I was exasperated when the summer and winter games were split. Now I had to endure the Olympics every two years! Names like Kerri Strug and Michael Johnson were vaguely familiar, but by then the Olympics had just become background noise.

And now Beijing. Something made me plunk my kids down for the opening ceremony on 8-8-08. Perhaps it was all the hype about the pageantry. Here was a country that had hidden in shadow for years, bursting into vivid color for the entire world to see. Whatever the reason, my children and I were riveted. My 10-year-old refused to go to bed until the last athlete had entered the stadium and the torch was lit.

Now I see why my parents made the Olympics a family event. Each night is a geography lesson (Maldives? Where’s that?) My children know that gold is great but there is honor in silver and bronze as well. Watching the athletes circle the arena, faces shining with pride, my children now know that representing your country is the highest honor of all.

Michael Phelps and the men’s relay swim team taught my children that strength and determination can overcome incredible odds, and that you should NEVER talk smack about an opponent, especially before a race. (Vous comprenez Monsieur Bernard?) My children understand that not every superhero wears a mask and cape; some of them wear Speedo swimsuits.

We will continue to watch for the next four days until the torch is extinguished and the tourists return home. Heck, I might even fantasize about my own kids participating someday. Assuming, of course, that competitive Lego-building is a recognized event in 2016. We all have our dreams!

Summer Reading - 8/13/08

Summer is a perfect time to catch up on reading. With my favorite shows on hiatus, I tend to leave the television off and spend my evening hours losing myself in a really good story. Recently, I finished “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy. I had seen it at the top of several must-read lists, and after seeing the film “No Country For Old Men” (based on a McCarthy novel) I thought I would see what all the fuss was about.

The story follows a father and son through a post-apocalyptic world. Each day is a life-or-death struggle as they follow “the road” south, hoping for a warmer climate as winter approaches and hiding from bands of cannibalistic thugs in a desolate, ash-covered world. The images were haunting, the writing poetic, and though I appreciated the book (enjoyed just isn’t the right word) I felt a cloud of sadness and depression when I was finished.

Shortly after, my friend Donna gave me a book she had read in 48 hours. Donna is notorious for her slow reading, so I was intrigued to see, once again, what all the fuss was about. I noticed a familiar HQN on the back cover. And as I began the story, I soon realized this was a Harlequin Romance novel. Suddenly I was sucked into the world of Kayla and Kane (does anyone know anyone with names like this outside of daytime drama?) He was a detective with a wounded soul, she a plucky businesswoman trying to clear her family’s name. As I devoured the book, phrases such as “body made for sin” and “a face that would tempt a saint” leapt out at me. It was cheesy, it was improbable, but most of all it was WONDERFUL! 48 hours later, my cloud of sadness was gone.

This reminded me of the time when my husband and I were dating and went to see “Schindler’s List”. The previous weekend we had seen “Philadelphia”. As we left the theater in stunned silence, my husband suddenly turned to me and said, “The next movie we see HAS to be a Jim Carrey film.” (We saw “Ace Ventura: Pet Detective” the following weekend.)

By all means, enrich your mind with drama, documentaries and fine literature. But every so often, give it a bit of fluff to balance everything out. Think of it as mental floss.

A Primer on Corn - 8/6/08

My friend is a corn snob. I won’t name names (she knows who she is), but while the rest of us eagerly grab whatever imported sweet corn we can get our hands on once the temperature rises above 70 degrees, my friend patiently waits until the dog days of summer before indulging herself.

Let’s face it; farm stand corn blows supermarket corn away. Why? It all comes down to chemistry. Once picked, sweet corn starts losing its sweetness as sugars are converted to starch. Buying locally from farm stands ensures that the corn has been picked recently. Florida corn can be found in the supermarket as early as Memorial Day weekend, but getting the real deal means being patient.

I wasn’t always this corn savvy. Many years ago I vacationed on Nantucket with some friends over the July 4th holiday. When someone suggested a barbecue, we jumped on our bikes and pedaled out to the local farm in search of corn. Eagerly we asked the woman in charge if they had any fresh sweet corn. With barely disguised disdain she replied, “Not yet.” Two little words, emphasis on the second that spoke volumes: “Idiots. Come back in 3 weeks.” Immediately the old adage “knee high by the 4th of July” popped into my head. We slunk away in embarrassment, and spent the rest of vacation taking turns imitating the corn lady, exaggerating her contempt for us by drawing out the phrase “Not ye-e-e-e-t” to comic proportions.

My husband furthered my education by tending a sizeable garden, which included a few rows of corn. One night, when the corn was ripe, he set a pot of water on the stove to boil. When the water was ready, we went to the garden, picked a few ears, shucked them, and immediately threw them in the pot. The corn we ate that night was so sweet, it should have been considered dessert.

Short of moving to a farm, I probably won’t eat corn that fresh again, but visiting local farm stands this time of year is the next best thing. My corn snob friend is in her glory right now, serving it several nights a week until the season ends. I think I’ll follow her lead. Pass the butter!

My Black Thumb - 7/30/08

I confess: I’m horticulturally challenged. A “black thumb” doesn’t begin to describe my ineptitude when it comes to gardening. So far, the only things I’ve been able to keep alive are my children. Luckily they don’t require weeding or watering.

When my husband and I purchased our home in Hanover, the perennial beds surrounding our property delighted us. My delight quickly turned to horror when I realized that I would be the one trying to maintain these plantings. Each spring I play the is-this-a-weed-or-is-this-a-flower guessing game. (Typically, I guess wrong. This year I nearly pulled out all our coneflowers.) After nine years, I’m convinced that the previous owners drive by and just shake their heads in disgust at what passes for landscaping in our yard.

This being said, I now have a much deeper appreciation for those unsung heroes who lovingly maintain the floral beds on the traffic islands throughout our town. Unlike other towns, there are no plaques crediting their efforts. Once in a while I’ll see someone pulling weeds or dragging a hose across the road, but generally these folks work their magic undetected, like garden ninjas. Who are these citizens who dedicate their time so that everyone can enjoy their efforts? And whose idea was this? Do flowers improve traffic safety? Are we more likely to come to a full stop if we have something pretty to look at?

A friend of mine cultivates an island at the intersection of Rt. 53 and Water Street in Pembroke, a high traffic area. While working on her island, she was approached by a police officer. Thinking she was about to be praised for her efforts she was quite surprised to hear him say, “While I applaud your dedication to community service Miss, I have to say that what you’re doing right now is utterly foolish. You’re taking your life in your hands!” He then recommended several safety precautions, including a fluorescent orange vest. Most people limit their comments to, “Can you come to my house when you’re done?” Original. She hears that about ten times an hour.

So the next time you come to a stop in front of the library, at the end of Spring street, or any of the other lovely oases here in town, take a moment to admire the handiwork of those anonymous gardeners who make our streets just a little more beautiful. And if by chance there happens to be someone pulling weeds, roll down your window and just say thank you!

The Mid-Point of Summer? - 7/23/08

But summer just started…
While celebrating July 4th, I was surprised to hear more than one person lament "...the summer's half over!"

Technically, summer began on June 20th and ends on September 21. That would make August 6 the middle of the summer. Personally, my summer begins when my kids are out of school and ends when they return. As a child I remember Jerry Lewis’s tearful rendition of “You’ll Never Walk Alone”, the finale of his 24-hour telethon ushering in the fall.

So why is it so many people perceive July 4th as the mid-point for summer? Perhaps because the seasonal aisle at Wal-mart now stocks crayons, markers and pocket folders in place of sunscreen and insect repellent. The Lands End section of Sears now features a display of down vests. My Bed, Bath N' Beyond circular is filled with "dorm essentials". Not so subtle clues that scream, “BACK TO SCHOOL!”

Granted, we are a forward thinking nation, but for just a few weeks could we please live in the moment? These are supposed to be the lazy, crazy, hazy days of summer. Do we really need to rush it out the door? Soon enough the beaches will empty, football practice will begin and we'll be back in the routine of bus schedules, bagged lunches and homework. Can't we just enjoy ice cream, fireflies and baseball for a little while longer?

Thank you for allowing me to vent. Now excuse me while I go purchase my Halloween candy.