Look Out! Here Comes Christmas!!

Close your eyes. Brace yourself. Because ready or not, it’s coming.
Christmas is on its way.

Now that Thanksgiving is officially over, it’s time to turn our full attention to the next major holiday coming up in just a few weeks (and for my friends who celebrate Hanukkah…time’s up. Hope you’re ready).

Why is it that Christmas, a holiday which signifies such joy, produces so much stress? We find ourselves getting caught up in the cooking, the shopping, the wrapping and the baking. Can’t we hearken back to a simpler time, when the most exotic item in a Christmas stocking was an orange and a shiny new penny? Girls would squeal over dolls made from corn cobs and boys would hoot with joy over a hoop and stick.

Okay, I’m stealing scenes from the “Little House on the Prairie” books I used to read. But isn’t there a way to simplify our holiday “to do” list? Is there a way to reduce our stress levels while focusing on the true meaning of Christmas? I have a few suggestions.

Stay out of the mall, Target, Wal-Mart, and most of all, Toys R Us. There were no malls or super stores back in olden times, your gift choices were limited to what was carried by the kindly old gentleman who ran the general store. Hmmm, a stick of horehound candy or a set of silver buttons for Ma’s new dress? Decisions were quick and easy. Nowadays, going to any store after Dec. 1 means stress looking for a parking space, finding that perfect gift and standing in long lines at the checkout. If you enjoy feeling your blood pressure creep up as you shop, by all means, hit the stores. Otherwise, take advantage of that thing called the internet and do all your shopping online. Many sites have free shipping during the holidays, and if you’re traveling (like my family always does) you can have your presents shipped directly to your destination. (Horehound candy is available on amazon.com!) If you truly enjoy the act of shopping, try smaller, independently owned toy, book and gift stores. You’ll stimulate the local economy and get better service too.

The type of Christmas music you listen to can have a huge effect on your stress level. Anything by Mannheim Steamroller or The Trans-Siberian Orchestra is guaranteed to send your heart rate through the roof. I don’t know who loves these frenzied instrumental renditions of “Deck the Halls” and “Carol of the Bells,” but whenever I hear them on the radio I have the urge to run my car straight off the road. Better to create your own personal playlist of Christmas tunes from artists like Bing Crosby, James Taylor and Harry Connick Jr. But if you just can’t resist, The Trans-Siberian Orchestra is playing the TD Garden on Dec. 15. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

A word about baking. Martha Stewart would like you to think that everyone bakes their own cookies, pies, cakes and goodies for the holidays. How else would she be able to sell all her cookbooks, baking pans and other items available at your local K-Mart? If you enjoy the act of baking, (and I do) by all means, go for it. Otherwise, there are these fabulous places called bakeries, where bakers rise at 2 a.m. for the sole purpose of creating armies of gingerbread men, legions of cupcakes and countless other holiday treats perfect for gifts, holiday bake sales and Christmas concerts. Instead of spending time in the kitchen, why not enjoy a relaxing massage or facial?

And now the biggie: Christmas cards. I know one friend who makes her Christmas cards by hand each year. Whether or not she actually pounds wood pulp to craft her own paper is unknown, but her cards are a work of art, complete with bits of ribbon and other embellishments which leave me with feelings of awe mixed with a nagging sense that I’m a slacker. Photo cards really stress me out, not sending them but receiving them. I feel guilty throwing away photos of other people’s children (yet they inevitably end up in my circular file). This year, why not try sending an e-card for Christmas? Buy a small box of cards to send to those family members who have not yet heard about the internet, and let everyone else enjoy a digital greeting that takes up very little space on their hard drive, should they choose to save it. Save a tree, save a stamp and save yourself a trip to the post office.

These suggestions may not be for everyone, but I encourage you to take whatever steps you can to reduce your stress and enjoy the holiday season. Will I take my own advice? Maybe. I’ve already sent one shipment of gifts to my parent’s house in New Jersey. My iPod is playing gentle holiday tunes as I write this and my husband is exploring ways to turn a recent family portrait into a holiday e-card. And though I may bake some of my own homemade cookies this season, you can bet I will stay far away from the TD Garden on Dec. 15.

The True Meaning of Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving. Ask anyone what it means and it’s likely you will get an assortment of different answers. To children, it is remembering the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag. Thanksgiving is also turkey, stuffing, cranberry jelly, pumpkin pie and green bean casserole. It is stuffing yourself (along with your turkey) until you feel the need to unbutton your pants or lie down on the living room couch. It’s tryptophan, making you sleepy as the afternoon wears on. It’s football, played for endless hours, both on television and in backyards across America. It’s a parade in New York City, with overblown floats, giant balloons and smiling television personalities making inane banter in between holiday commercials.

Let’s get back to the real meaning of Thanksgiving. Break it down to its most simple terms: Giving thanks. How many of us take the time on this holiday to really give thanks for our blessings? We might do a quick survey around the dinner table, asking each person what they are thankful for, but who really wants to delve deeply on this when there are mashed potatoes and pearl onions and gravy getting cold.
I’ve been thinking about my blessings a great deal lately. Three years ago, I joined a woman’s bible study group. We meet every Wednesday morning and discuss a designated lesson (this year’s lesson is Genesis). Each year my group has changed, and though I miss some of the people I’ve been grouped with in the past, I enjoy the opportunity to meet new women, each of whom gives a unique perspective on the lessons.

What’s grown out of this weekly bible study is my willingness to pray for others. In the beginning, I felt awkward telling people that I would pray for them when a family member was sick or a job was lost. It was “safe” to say that to the women in my group, but to my friends and acquaintances? To strangers? Would they think I was a zealot? A “holy roller” or a “bible thumper”?

With each passing year, the phrase, “I’ll pray for you” has become easier to say. No one looks at me sideways or thinks less of me (and if they do, I really don’t care). People are now asking for prayers on behalf of others. Even my agnostic husband is offering up my prayers to help his friends in need.

What does this have to do with giving thanks? I’m getting to that. With so many prayer requests, inevitably I find myself saying a prayer of thanks for my own blessings. Currently I’m praying for several friends who are out of work, which reminds me of how blessed my family is that my husband found a better job situation this year. Praying for children who are sick or undergoing surgery makes me thankful that my own children are relatively healthy. People who ask for prayers due to an unhappy marital situation reinforce the blessing of my own marriage. Praying for friends who have lost a parent prompts me to thank God for every day that my own parents bless my life.

Don’t get me wrong. I complain about my life. My husband and I argue, we stress over money, my kids drive me crazy at times and I often grouse about the state of my life. But when someone I know takes a minute to ask me to pray for them or someone else, I can’t help but pause and reflect on just how blessed I really am. That oft used phrase then comes to mind: There but for the grace of God go I.
Because it isn’t luck or good fortune or good works that gives me the blessings I have. It’s grace.

So on Thursday, when you take a break from football to gather around the table, take a look at those around you, take a moment, and reflect for just a moment on all that you have to be thankful truly for.

Happy Thanksgiving.

TV's Version of "History"

My children are huge history buffs.

“History”, of course, being defined by what they see on television’s The History Channel. You might be familiar with this channel. When it first aired on cable, people used to refer to it as The Hitler Channel, since 90% of their programming seemed to be documentaries about World War II.

Over the years The History Channel has broadened its programming to include an enormous assortment of shows, many which I question as being relative to “history”.
True, there are still the documentaries about WWII. Last week the channel held a Veteran’s Day marathon of the program “Patton 360”, a series which focuses on the battles led by “Old Blood and Guts” himself, mixing archival footage, interviews with veterans and state of the art 3-D animation. My kids were riveted, and I must admit that I got sucked into the Battle of the Bulge episode.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy that my kids have an interest in history. Last year, my younger son was given the “class historian” award from his third grade teacher. She commended him for knowing so much about history, to the point where she learned from him. Often, my kids will spout some piece of information about the Mayans or Pompeii or the San Francisco earthquake or some other historical reference and when I ask them where they learned that, the answer is almost always, “From the History Channel.”

So the truly historical information they are retaining is wonderful. My younger son is talking about wanting to become a historian when he grows up. Although their interest in history is being sparked by a television channel, they are expanding that interest with books and other resources. All well and good.

However, it’s the other programming on The History Channel that I question. For example, they can identify almost every type of military weapon, modern or antique, from watching shows like “Lock and Load with R. Lee Ermey” and “Top Shot”. There’s something about my nine-year-old being able to tell an M16 from an AK-47 that makes me uneasy. This is history?

And then there’s “Monster Quest”, the program that delves into the history of Bigfoot, Birdzilla, The Jersey Devil, giant killer snakes, dragons and the Chupacabra (not to mention several other monsters I’ve never heard of). “Ice Road Truckers” follows truckers in Alaska who haul supplies across a 350-mile highway made of frozen lakes and permafrost. Since the frozen highway lasts for only 8 weeks, a spin-off series entitled “IRT: Deadliest Highways” takes these truckers to India to let them drive trucks along the narrowest mountain passes. When I ask my kids how this pertains to history, they parrot back the History Channel’s catchphrase, “Mom, it’s history made every day.”

Personally, I do enjoy “Pawn Stars”, a series about a family-owned pawn shop in Las Vegas. It’s kind of like PBS’s “Antiques Road Show”, only not as classy (Hey, it’s Vegas). People bring in items ranging from old motorcycles to Pez dispensers, though the items are secondary to the grouchy banter between the three generations of men who run the place. In each episode, Chumlee, a bumbling employee, is guaranteed to break something or screw up in some way. Hilarity ensues.

For those who like their antiques on the less seedy side, there’s “American Pickers” which follows antique store owners Mike and Frank as they travel cross country in their van searching for found treasure to be “picked” from other people’s attics, basements, barns and sheds. My big mistake was watching this show before heading to the Brimfield antique fair. Every dented, oil can and rusty tin sign caught my eye, practically shouting “What, you’re going to pass me by? If Frank were here, he’d buy me.” My in-laws have several buildings full of stuff. I’m tempted to drop a dime on them with the Pickers.

I guess we’re a History Channel household. There’s something for everyone, whether you prefer the gloom and doom of “Nostradamus” and “Life after People”, the Ragin’ Cajun folk on “Swamp People” (“...Clint Landry owns a turtle farm and camp where he and his buddies like to swim in the alligator-infested bayou and play pranks on each other…”) or just a good, old-fashioned documentary on the Third Reich. And though I sometimes question the “historical” aspect of some of its programs, it’s a heck of an improvement over the tripe being shown on Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network.

Hmm. There’s an idea. Maybe we can get the cast of “iCarly” or “The Suite Life of Zack and Cody” to go bayou swimming with the Swamp people. Now that would make history.

What Moms Do

Last week I read a news story about a political candidate’s mother stealing a lawn sign bearing the name of her son’s opponent. My first reaction was to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Then I imagined the embarrassment the mother must have felt, being caught red-handed. Add in the embarrassment of the political candidate, who will now be known as “… that guy whose Mommy stole a sign for him on election day.” How do you live that down in your political career?

After reading the entire article, it became clear that the mother was embarrassed, the son disavowed any involvement in the incident and I was left thinking about the things that we mothers do for our children.

Granted, I have never stolen a political sign for my child (I did take one once just for fun, but I had had a drink or two and the name on the sign was just too tempting: Herb Lemon. Political candidate? Or chicken dish?) I’ve also never hired a hit man to bump off the mother of one of my child’s sports rivals, as Wanda Holloway did in Texas in 1991. Holloway thought that if she killed the mother of her daughter’s cheerleading rival, the girl would be so overcome with grief she’d drop out of the competition for a coveted place on the cheerleading squad.

The movies are full of female characters that go to great lengths for their children: Barbara Stanwyck as “Stella Dallas”, Joan Crawford’s “Mildred Pierce”, and of course Shirley MacLaine’s frantic turn around the nurse’s station, screaming for her daughter’s medication in “Terms of Endearment”. Though I haven’t had histrionics in the middle of a hospital, I do try to be the “squeaky wheel” when it comes to being an advocate for my child.

Here’s the problem. We all want to do everything we can for our children. But each day is a balancing act of just how much is too much? We don’t want to be classified as a helicopter mom, the ones who hover constantly over everything their child does. But childhood can be a minefield of tricky situations. When should we step and in when should we step back?

For example, if my child has an issue with another child, my first inclination is to let them work it out themselves. As long as my child isn’t being bullied or abused, it’s healthy to let them try to work out the situation without parent intervention. However, if that other child crosses the line, I have no qualms about picking up the phone and speaking with the teacher, or the other child’s parent. I would expect that parent to do the same if their child was on the receiving end and my kid was to blame (and guess what…I have gotten those phone calls. They are not fun.)

Homework is another issue. My friend, who is a mom herself, always asks me how many hours my parents spent cracking the whip while I did my homework. My parents were always available if I needed help, but they operated under the general assumption that I was completing my homework each day, on my own (I was). There was no constant redirecting of my attention to the books; they simply asked me if my homework was finished before I went to bed. Maybe this hands-off, sink-or-swim approach would work better than the constant badgering directed at my 7th grader each night.

When it comes to academics, social situations, sports and other activities, we just want our kids to do well and feel good about themselves. But what about those times when they do poorly? What about those times when they don’t feel good about themselves? When a child gets cut from a sports team, receives a poor grade on a test, or is not invited to a birthday party, do we step in and try to “fix” it or do we use it as a teaching moment? The road ahead is full of challenges. Do we soften the blow now or do we let them toughen up for those situations in their future when they will really be challenged.

There is no right or wrong answer. Some of us will hover. Others will let their kids tough it out on their own. I try to look to my own mother as an example. She didn’t steal lawn signs or hire hit men or call my teachers every week. She didn’t demand to know why I wasn’t invited to birthday parties or try to scrounge up some long lost cousin for a prom date. She didn’t chase the neighborhood boys away with threats, but she did visit my 8th grade principal to stop a classmate who was bullying me. She didn’t hover, but in everything she ever said or did for me, she let me know just how much she loved and supported me.

What better example to follow than that?

Trying to Live in the Moment

I love the fall. It’s my favorite season. Every year at this time, I drive through the streets of my town and marvel at the incredible palate of colors on display. Each day brings more beautiful colors than the one before, and I consider myself truly blessed to live amongst such a breathtaking display of nature. There’s something about an October sky that sets off these leaves to their best advantage. It seems as if the outline of each leaf stands out against the sharp, blue sky. Indian summer is always nice, but my favorite part of the season is the crisp cool air with just a hint of wood smoke. The air is also filled with the scent of dried leaves, and they make a crunching, shushing sound as you walk through them.

It’s true that I complain about our bitterly cold winters and our hot, humid summers. But I know that if I moved to an area with a different climate, I would miss those few weeks each year when the trees change from shades of green to rich hues of gold and red and orange.

Alas, I’ve noticed lately that there are now more leaves on the ground than on the trees. Thanks to a few rainy, windy days, many of the trees have shed most of their leaves. My front lawn is completely covered with leaves. At this point in the season, the beauty of fall suddenly becomes tinged with a bittersweet sadness. Rather than enjoying the last few days of nature’s unique art show, I begin envisioning bare branches, icy cold weather and a winter that seems to last for eternity.

Why do I have such a hard time appreciating the “now”? Why can’t I just live in the moment and not try to rush whatever might be in store for me tomorrow?

This is a common problem for me. I prepare a meal and, rather than taking my time to enjoy it, I rush through it to get to the next item on my “to do” list (in this case, clearing the table and loading the dishwasher). When I go to the theater to see a much anticipated movie, I check my watch several times throughout, wanting to get this experience “done” rather than just enjoying each minute of it. When my children were little I wished that they could be just a little bit older, so they could do more for themselves. Now they’re rapidly approaching the age where they won’t need me for much more than a ride to the mall and some cash for their wallets.

Maybe I should blame it on society. My first column dealt with the fact that people consider July 4th the mid-point of summer. Before the true mid-point of summer arrives, stores are touting their “back to school” items. This year I saw my first Christmas commercial on October 10th. We hadn’t even reached Halloween yet and suddenly it’s time to get ready for Christmas. We worry about our third grader’s MCAS results because one day (ten years in the future) that same score may prevent them from graduating high school. So can you blame me for having a hard time appreciating the “now”?

My friend Julianne is a Health and Wellness coach. Part of her mantra is to focus on the moment. Don’t dwell on yesterday (it’s gone) and don’t worry about tomorrow. The most important thing is to concentrate on this moment in time.
Julianne’s good advice applies to more than just exercise and eating habits. Rather than worrying about how to pay for my child’s college tuition in six years, why not just enjoy the progress report that came home with all “A”s? Instead of worrying about my parents’ future health, why not be thankful for their current good health and enjoy all that it allows them to do? Instead of beating myself up for the junk food I ate yesterday, why not embrace the healthy choices I’m making today?
And instead of picturing cold, icy roads and barren branches, why not enjoy the spectacular display of colors that is right in front of my eyes until the very last leaf falls to the ground?

Hey, it’s a start.

Get Ready For Halloween

Halloween is Sunday. Are you ready? Have you draped your house in cobwebs, set-up fake gravestones and dusted off your favorite Spooky Sounds CD? Have you been to the Spirit Halloween store countless times to see what new and disgusting items are available this week? Have you scoured the internet looking for that obscure piece of your child’s Halloween costume, a character so below the radar that not only is the costume impossible to find, but your child is guaranteed to prompt endless inquiries of “And what are you supposed to be?”

If not, you better get going. Halloween was a big deal when I was a kid, for the sole purpose of the pursuit of candy. Yes, we wanted cool costumes, but that took a backseat to the potential trove of sweets awaiting us on Halloween. Back then, costumes were limited to the ones that came folded in cardboard boxes with clear plastic fronts, all the better to see the cheaply made masks of Wonder Woman or Superman. There were no specialty party stores where you could chose from hundreds of clever (and crass) costumes. It was either a boxed costume or your own imagination (and your mom’s sewing machine). When all else failed, we raided our father’s closets and went out as bums (what my kids now call hobos).

The costume selection has changed significantly over the years. During the fall, party stores devote a huge amount of floor space to elaborate costumes for both children and adults. And speaking of adults, since when did Halloween become more of an adult celebration than one for kids? I don’t recall my parents ever dressing up and attending Halloween parties. This year I was invited to three adult gatherings, each mandating that attendees come in costume. Adult parties prompt the dilemma of what type of costume to choose: Funny, clever, scary or sexy?

I enjoy the funny and clever costumes the most. A friend’s husband attended a party with what looked to be a large magnet around his neck and little yellow chicks glued to it (chick magnet.) A friend of mine once dressed in a grey sweat suit with shipping labels, packing peanuts and bubble wrap glued to him. He was a shipping magnate. It’s also fun when couples coordinate their efforts. One year my friend and her husband bought matching tacky tourist costumes, but added a twist: she dressed as the husband, complete with mustache and he dressed as the wife, with anatomical (ahem) enhancements. That same year my other friends decided to tap into pop culture crafting their own coordinating costumes: Britney Spears and K-Fed. It was frightening how well they nailed the look, she with a cheap blond wig and a baby doll hanging precariously off her waist and he in a white tank top and porkpie hat. I give them props for creating their own husband/wife costume, rather than resorting to the tired plug and socket combo from the party store.

Last year I attended a party dressed as a midwife from Hell, complete with bloody scrubs, surgical mask and a two-headed baby doll in tow. When it comes to Halloween parties, I’d rather have a silly or scary costume, but many women prefer to go the sexy route. Check out Iparty or ItzAParty and you’ll find that 90% of women’s costumes are short, skimpy, sexy outfits that have little to do with their subject matter. Lucky us! No longer are we limited to being Naughty Nurses or French Maids. Now you can be a High Speed Hottie (NASCAR), Caddy Shack Cutie (Golf), Naughty Wizard (Harry Potter) or the worst offender of all: Sexy SpongeBob. Imagine leaving your kids with the babysitter as you sashay out the door in your Sexy SpongeBob outfit? At least the manufacturers have thoughtfully included plus-size versions of these costumes so those of us who aren’t a perfect size 4 can join in the madness.

Why the flood of risqué costumes? My friend Jessie claims its all part of what she calls the “Snookification” of America. Too many hours spent watching programs such as “Jersey Shore” and “Rock of Love”, resulting in a warped view of how women should dress and act. Think I’m kidding? Iparty has a “Jersey Shore Snooki” leopard dress costume this year. Just add your own barf bag and arrest record and you’re all set to party.

Sexy or scary, clever or crass, or simply chaperoning your little princess or goblin, here’s hoping that no matter how you choose to celebrate Halloween, you give yourself over to the spirit(s) of the season.

Trick or Treat.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Recently I wrote about the milestone birthdays I’ve helped celebrate this year. This weekend, I will celebrate one of the most important of all.

This Friday is my dad’s 80th birthday.

You might know my dad from the bits and pieces I’ve included in my columns over the years. He’s the man who crafted my favorite Halloween costume of all time; a pack of Tareyton cigarettes. It was also my dad who took me to scary movies when I was a teen, though he would always see the movie first to be sure I could handle it. (“The Exorcist” when I was thirteen? What were you thinking Dad?)

It’s my dad who likes to order Christmas presents from the “Everything 3 for $20” catalog (I have two sisters…). Speaking of Christmas, it was my dad who happened to be standing next to my younger sister in church on Christmas Eve when she set her hair on fire during the candlelight service. Luckily, Dad beat out the flames before anyone noticed. You may also recall that my dad has eaten countless servings of Spam and Bean pie as well as the black jelly beans that no one wanted at Easter. Dad’s the one who tapes the Thanksgiving Day parade, so we can play back any mishaps ad nauseaum.

Dad’s the one who clued me in to our real family history, complete with gravediggers, jugglers and prostitutes. He’s the one who gave us rides on his back in our swimming pool, took us to the Jersey shore for two weeks every summer and who sent me a letter shortly after my college graduation telling me just how proud he was. He’s the man who still does the NY Time crossword puzzle in about 20 minutes…in pen.

These are all tidbits about my dad that you may or may not remember from my columns. But those are just a fraction of the things that make up my dad.
My dad was the first kid on his block to own a television. He charged his friends comic books to come and watch it. He has a divot in his forehead where one of those friends hit him with a rock.

My dad can build or fix anything. Our house is filled with bookcases and cabinets built by my father. When something breaks, the first person I seek out is my dad.
My dad is smart, MENSA smart. Yet he still enjoys watching “America’s Funniest Home Videos” and “Kung Fu Theater.” A doctor of education, he spent more than 30 years working as an elementary school principal in a tough neighborhood. After disciplining unruly students all day, my dad came home to three unruly daughters. But he stuck it out, year after year, in order to provide for his family.

Somehow my dad managed to send all three of his kids to college, including his middle daughter who chose a fancy, private college which didn’t offer much in the way of financial aid (hint…it’s me). He then proceeded to pay off that same daughter’s student loans. He bailed me out when I proved myself unable to manage my first credit card. He loaned money on several occasions and held me to a payment schedule to teach me the responsibility of paying back a debt.

My dad was the one who went driving around at 2 a.m. searching for his teenage daughters who ignored their curfew and didn’t think to call home. This was long before cell phones, and now that I’m a parent myself, I can’t imagine how awful that must have felt.

My dad gave each of us away at our weddings and danced with us at the reception, though he wasn’t much for dancing. He surprised us by joining an amateur theater group and played small roles in productions of “The Crucible” (as a magistrate) and “You Can’t Take It With You” (Mr. Kirby). He laughed about a reviewer’s assessment of his “wooden” performance. After he retired, he surprised us again by becoming a Mason. Zooming up the ranks of the order my agnostic father was appointed the group’s chaplain. He assured me this was proof that even God has a sense of humor.

Dad slices pizzas with scissors, loves licorice All Sorts, and once scared the hell out of his 2-year old grandson by plunking a Santa hat on his head and booming “ho ho ho” (we have it on video). He is generous beyond belief, devours library books by the dozen and is nearly deaf as a post. His back deck is the world’s largest buffet for the neighborhood birds and squirrels. He is on AOL Instant Message almost every day, and I chat with him every chance I get (it’s easier than shouting over the phone). He has been married to my mother for over 50 years, and has been a steady, stabilizing influence on his three daughters for nearly that long.

What do you get for someone who has done so much? A gift just seems inadequate. So Dad, this column is my gift for you.

Happy 80th Birthday, Dad. I love you.