I'm Sure It's a Lovely Rooster

A lovely lady in our accounting department lives in a slightly rural area outside of town and has gone through 3 groups of chickens--lovingly referred to as "the girls"--since I've known her. She's a most conscious caretaker of them, but you see, there are predators around. Hawks, bobcats--you know birds and mammals that get a kick out of eating easy prey. She and her husband have built one hell of a henhouse for the girls, and I'm thinking it could be larger than our small abode here in Bradentucky.

There was slight surprise a few months ago when the girls were first coming of age, getting ready to lay their first batch of fresh eggs.  That surprise was an unmistakeable rooster crowing. And that's when all suspicions were confirmed: a man was living in their midst.

It's not really pretty. The rooster is hungry for sex, as all men are, and he's pecked a sore in the back of at least one of the girls. Now chickens do have a tendency to peck on things that have been pre-pecked, and we're hoping the others don't continue to peck away at what's left of her since that is an instinct and inclination. Peck. Peck. Peck. Basically, it's just been a pain in the ass. Literally for the girls.

Today I heard the funniest thing come out of our sweet Mel. After we talked about the possibility of someone consuming the rooster if she was to give it away, she said, and I repeat her exact words,
"I'm not going to eat it, but somebody else can. I don't care."

Is it just me, or is this hilarious?  Even vegetarians have a sense of humor.

An Ear Is Better Than A Tongue

I was just thinking today about a powerful realization my friend the Coaching Goddess imparted on me several years ago.

Are you ready? Here it is:

Many times the best thing you can do for anyone is listen. Acknowledge that you hear them. Don't try to fix. Don't try to advise. Don't even try to soothe with sweet nothings. Just listen and let them know you hear them and support them.

Your friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances will figure it out. If they want your thoughts, they'll most likely ask. Listening validates that all is as it should be, installs confidence that the person confiding in you can figure it out, and if they can't, it provides the knowledge indirectly that she can turn to you for an answer or an idea.

So before any reader goes and decides that this post is about you and any bone I have to pick with you, it ISN'T. Promise. Was just thinking about this today and how it uncomplicates relationships, makes them more whole and provides empowerment to both parties in a discussion.

Two Worlds

Two worlds: 
Vibrating cell phone with 134 text messages, mostly from girls, in a 3 hour outdoor trip
Gurgling river water swollen after a rain

Two worlds:
Crispy fungus growing like warts on a tree trunk
Newly emerging leaves, first red with new life, turning a tender green

Two worlds:
Ken from Minnesota, old friend turned blogger pal, visiting for the week
Florida Husband, always within 50 miles of the coast

Two worlds, now one:
A Palm
A River

Two White Worlds:

Two Worlds:

Being Something, Seeing Something

Dear World, I'm Frustrated. What Gives?

So we all go through periods of time that are...trying. Trying to say the least.

Patience is a trait that's required of us, and I learned when the very young D-Man came into my life that I didn't have quite the level of patience I thought I had. I've been working on it. But unfortunately, patience is one of those things you learn through wading in fields of doodoo. And taking the proper time to get to the edge of the crap-laden field and picking it out of your shoes. The operation can be delicate, but once it's done, you've made it to the other side and have the experience to show for it.

It's been one of those weeks. I'm frustrated with a few projects. With the lack of movement in things. And with obstructions that seem rather unnecessary in personal matters, professional progression and yes, some random things as well.

Now the sensible Gropius says, "Suck it up. Freaking deal with it, Gropius. You have more opportunities and luxuries that a vast majority of the world's population. Are you doing absolutely everything you can to live up to your obligations of service and love in this life? Stop your complaining."

And then the everyday, trying-to-deal-with-it Gropius says, "What's the DEAL?  Why all of this mess, delay, frustration, annoyance, road block party? And just SHUT UP, sensible Gropius. You drive me crazy. And that's just adding on to everything."


Yes, I'm glad it's Friday night. Sittin' on the couch with the boys as they enjoy the Blind Side, thinkin' about the happiness I'll enjoy with tomorrow morning's birding trip to Hillsborough River State Park, and knowin' that Fiddler on the Roof will be fun on Sunday afternoon.

I don't think for a minute that I'm not lucky. And I'll always be full of gratitude for where I am, what I do, the opportunities I'm afforded, the beauty I'm exposed to, the people I meet, and then some.  But every once in a while, I reserve the right to bitch, both because it's human and because I feel the need. And because on my blog, I can say whatever I want with no apologies.

The Muppets & Plastic Surgery: Two Peas in a Pod?

I thought I was going to a different sort of special event at the Ritz recently, but it turned out to be a Plastic Surgery Convention. Not really, of course, but I saw a lot of people who looked like this:

So here's Gropius thinking: WHERE do I know her from?

And then, my answer came like a revelation:  DUH. The muppets. I know her from the muppets.

You know, the whole "lips stretched so tight with Botox" thing is fairly, if not really, creepy to me.  Add in your chin, your nose, your cheeks, and soon all you can move are your eyeballs. That's your eyeBALLS not your lids. Those get pretty tight too.

And I just can't help but think how beautiful these women might be if they allowed themselves to age more naturally. Is it a need coming from within to feel more youthful, or is it something to keep the man in their life feeling attracted to them? Not sure. I met a lady who is my age (33) and who is having regular injections between her eyes to firm up that area. Are you SERIOUS?

Honestly. I'm not saying that women who get plastic surgery are bad. Hey--if it makes you feel good and doesn't break the bank, that's wonderful. But why is it so pervasive?  Having yourself operated on because it's "in" is just crossing the line a bit too much for me. But then again, I've never been a conformist.

Texting a Breakup

I'll nominate that for the "No Balls Breakup Award."

I was out and about with two girlfriends on Saturday. One of them knew that a fulfilling relationship of 6 months--the kind where the "I love you's" were in place and had been affirmed-- was starting to feel a little tenuous. Something wasn't quite right. And then the text arrived. This was from a mature, age 50+ business man. Are you kidding?  No balls. Zero.

The worst break-up for me isn't a juicy story but came from a man I was very much in love with. We had an amazing but short-lived relationship that lasted 3 months. It was my last semester of college. He apparently decided that it was time to move on. There was one strange conversation, no explanation and no official "it's over."  That's was it--it was over for whatever reason and I knew it. And hated it. And mourned it. And didn't come close to dating anyone for 2 full years. I didn't want to.

I met Husband at that time, and after we had been dating for 6 months, I received a voice mail when I arrived at home after a long day at work. The message was "I've finally tracked you down and really want to talk to you." I never called back.

I do still care about him and wonder when our paths will again cross. I'm absolutely sure they will.
I'm grateful to be in a loving  and supportive marriage, where the good, bad and ugly of who we are is out there and comfortable. There's trust and loyalty. And there's commonality beyond some unexplainable attraction. We have the blessing of D-Man, take the excitement and the boredom together, and understand that a real relationship is about giving each other the space to do what makes up happy, compromise, making up after disagreements and joint adventures in the exploration of life.

It reinforces my compassion for the recipient of the text break-up. Not only was it a pitiful way to treat someone you've cared about, but now she has an uncertainty before her again. Will I meet anyone? How can I trust someone again?  What did I do wrong?

I know she'll find the one who's right for her, but honestly, I'm so glad I don't have to think about this again. Thanks, Husband, for being the good guy.

What is your worst break-up story? How did you recover?

Spring at Emerson Point Preserve

Could I be any luckier to have the treasures of Emerson only 10 minutes from my house?  Between rain showers this morning, D-Man and I went for a walk along the upland and the mangrove trails with Flanders.

The Spring calls us from our indoor retreats and asks us to embrace the elements, the colors of lushness waiting to explode from budding branches and the birth of new ideas, new life.

Suspended

My general "no violence" mantra may have its exceptions.

Yesterday I got the call that every parent dreads. "D-Man has been suspended from school for two days and cannot ride the bus all next week." All I heard was "fight" and immediately was disappointed that all of my "working it out with words" fell to the way side.

Big Bad Bully rides D-Man's bus and makes it his regular business to harass kids in the halls and on the ride into school. Slapping them on the back of the head, ramming into them, pulling on backpacks, yelling "Your mother is a whore,"  "You're a fag"--all of the disgusting comments that help a nasty kid precede his own reputation--were daily naturals for this kid. 

The bottom line was: D-Man had enough on Friday, March 19 at 8:27 a.m.. And he was first physically assaulted by Big Bad Bully. 

No one disputes that Triple B turned around and hit D-Man--much smaller than him and smaller than most of the boys his age-- in the neck. It evidently knocked the wind right out of him, and took him a moment to recover. The next thing D-man remembers, he was on top of Triple B, "wailing" on him.  After it was all over, the two sat on the bus, waiting for each kid to walk down the aisle and down the steps. We heard from the neighbor that hardly anyone failed to congratulate D-Man for giving Triple B what was coming to him.

Triple B's parents rushed to the school, took their poor wounded bully son out for the day and went on about how terrible "this other kid" was. Who is a foot shorter. Who has been tormented by their son for months. And who school administration has failed to protect from bullies like their son.

Today will be a day of chores for D-Man. He's dressed in a baseball cap and Marti Gras beads, no doubt a celebration of sorts of the newly-found bad ass in him. I asked him if he felt he made the right decision. "Yes," he said without so much of a 2-second consideration.

D-Man makes friends easily, he's not violent in nature and he often sticks up for those who have more difficulty on the social side of things. At the same time, the "cool" factor has never really been a problem for him.

What do I do as a parent? Can I blame him? The last thing I want to do is ever, ever encourage this. But perhaps this single action is enough to let everyone at school know that D-Man may be smaller but not weaker. In this case, the line that was crossed and paid for with an embarrassing social ticket for Big Bad Bully will prevent future acts of verbal and physical violence coming from him.

I don't want D-Man to think this is a way to solve anything. Yet, a deep inner instinct I cannot help but suppress tells me that he did solve something. He's coming out on the winning end of the humiliation that many kids endure--humiliation that starts young and, unfortunately, shapes them forever with a terrible feeling of inadequacy. He deserves not to feel threatened at school and he stood up for himself, with consequences, but in a way that frees him.

Not interested. Did you hear that?

Seriously. Stop calling. YESTERDAY.
I get it that times are tough and sales people are operating on overdrive trying to compensate. Whether you’re selling tax services by standing in a Statue of Liberty outfit waving on the street corner or selling yourself as a strong candidate for a job position that’s entertaining 468 resumes, it stinks.

But sometimes they just cross the line by continuing to call and call. And call.

…And call.

I love our IT guy at work—he’s very thorough, documents everything and has a way of writing very long-winded e-mails to explain the minutia of a situation like no one’s business. Today for kicks he shared a couple versions of an e-mail he directed to an overaggressive copier sales person who’s been stalking him. I thought you’d enjoy the original version. Unfortunately, it ended up getting trimmed a bit before sending, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

The company name has been substituted to protect…oh I’m not really sure why, but:

“Hi. I'm currently not interested in meeting with you. If/when we decide to pursue copier pricing options, sometime down the road, I know that [Stalker Copier Co.] is a player in this market segment, and we may or may not call [Stalker Copier Co.] to discuss pricing.

By the way, I've received your numerous voice mail messages, too. I tried returning one of your calls many weeks ago, but it appears that [Stalker Copier Co.] doesn't have an after hours answering machine. If this is case, I highly recommend that you get one as it will improve your customer service. There's nothing more annoying than taking the time to call a company, who's been nagging me nonetheless, and then have the phone ring and ring endlessly so that I have to try to remember to call back at the magic time when I might be graced by someone answering the phone. That turned me off right there. To put the burden on the prospect to have to try and remember to call back at the right time just doesn't sound like a company that's very serious about taking care of people. And heaven forbid that I was a customer trying to place a service call! Now if this is not the case, your answering machine must have been on the fritz the morning that I called back.


One statement in your message below really stands out:


"We don't engage in the high pressure selling tactics for which our industry is renowned."


Are you kidding me? [Stalker Copier Co.] exemplifies the epitome of high pressure copier sales! You've left me message after message. And when you perceived that I didn't attempt to return your call, you tried making a bank shot off of the receptionist. And when that angle didn't work, you tried an end run through the facilities manager. Come on! If high pressure copier sales were a municipality, you would be the mayor (or at least a council member)! Thanks for the chuckle!



Sincerely,


Stalkee



Yeah it’s time to quit. But I have a feeling, she could call again. There are still two days left in this week.

Funny Side Up

The little guidebook I received when I first accepted my role in this lifetime said that humor would be important. You know, like being able to laugh at yourself, chuckle when others fall short of perfection, and get a kick out of the hiccups in life.  Without being mean about it. Just good-spirited light-heartedness.

From time to time I come across those who fail to crack a smile in meetings, who cannot accept tiny eccentricities in others with a hint of hilarity, or who insist on perceiving unrelenting seriousness as an indication of professionalism. In these cases, I am sometimes guilty of judging the humorless offender as absolutely and utterly arrogant.

Example: Yesterday, I posted what I thought was a joking (but un-mocking and un-hurtful) comment on someone's Facebook status and got chewed for it by another person. I guess the key words here are "I thought." Now I'm sure I'm not as funny as I think I am, so I don't actually make a point of trying to be the funny one in every situation. (Yes, nothing is more annoying that one who tries to play the clown and just doesn't cut it.) But I found this instance to be a bit over the top and felt the urge to reply, "Bite me."
I didn't do that, of course.

I can't emphasize enough how important it is to see the lighter side in things and to appreciate it in other people--that is, it's important if you're ever to keep a sensible distance from the crime of overindulging yourself in...yourself.

I'm grateful to work with a team of people who strive for the best in leadership and innovation yet laugh as part of the daily ritual. We can even get a common chuckle at our own mistakes, since we are people and they do happen every now and then. Remembering a time when it wasn't quite like this in the office, I am even more appreciative for the gift of humor and the role it plays in my own sanity.

Please, Universe, always keep the Funny Side Up on all of my orders of breakfast, lunch and dinner in life's menu of experiences and give me compassion for those who just can't laugh.

Lettuce Lake

A short hour's drive from the world of Bradenton sits a cypress-covered oasis on the outskirts of Tampa.

Lettuce Lake hosts wading birds along its edges, woodland migrants flitting about in the red maple tree canopies, ospreys grabbing Spanish moss laden branches for their Spring nests and abundant reptile life sunning in half-submerged mossy logs.

It was such a treat for us.

Duckweed dotting the water surface.

Yellow rat snake hunting or searching for a nearby tree to climb.

D-Man takes his chances with Swamp Thing.

Water lettuce, for which the lake is named.

American alligator chillin' out on a log.

Fresh spring cypress growth.

Old oak tree split apart by lightening or disease.

Florida is full of treasures. It was a beautiful weekend with new places to visit. We were happy to see so many others on the boardwalk and trails at Lettuce Lake.  Love this time of year! 

Peep Eaters & Special K Lovers Beware

Today I saw a commercial suggesting that a bowl of Special K "Chocolatey Delight" cereal is a profoundly satisfying substitute for chocolate ice cream. First the television actress stared at the scrumptious carton in the freezer long enough to burn the image and the idea of ice cream in my mind for the next few hours. Then she turned, smiling, to a bowl of flakes with what looked like rabbit turds in it. Not very effective, Special K marketing execs.


It really gets me thinking about nasty looking foods and how they’re marketed, especially around Easter. So here’s a good SAT question for you:

"Special K Chocolatey Delight" is to "appealing" as "Easter peeps" are to _______.

Edible. The answer is edible.

Frankly, I cannot think of anything more repulsive than a peep.

I hope you still love me after this. Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. The National Geographic Peeps Contest (yes, it's for real--check it out) has inspired me to list the Easter confectionaries that make me want to blow chunks. Among them I cite:

1. Peeps (I'll put them at #1.)

2. Cadbury eggs (What the hell IS that crap in the middle?)

3. Jelly beans (I know, this could classify me as un-American.)

4. Gummy anything (Yes, you are actually consuming fishing lures.)

Maybe it makes me boring, but honestly, I’m just a chocolate girl when it comes to candy. And I just don’t think the damn Special K cereal can substitute.

Unfortunately, another calorie-induced holiday is upon us. I’ll be hanging out on the other side of Florida at my parents' house and hoping this away-from-home Easter (combined with the fact that D-Man is now 13) will diminish my obligatory $30 pocket emptying exercise on the candy aisle. Don’t take it personally, Easter Bunny.

By the way, if you dare to go to the Peeps website, make sure the volume is turned to a moderate level. Flanders is looking at me like “Damn you! It’s loud. It’s annoying. And I’ll never get this out of my head!”

If you make it out of there alive, you will find Peep Fun Facts, Peep Recipes and Crafts, even a Peep Fan Club. Who knew? The one thing you won’t find is a list of ingredients. And how long the human body is naturally preserved after death if you’ve eaten more than 10 Peeps in your life. Mmmmm. Mighty fine thought.

Are you a Peep eater? I want to know.

The Earth: A powerful image.

It's true. The sight of the Earth from space is one that practically brings a tear to my eye everytime I see it.

If you think I'm a cornball, so be it. But for me, it's an overwhelming image seeing the oneness of our planet's experiences--wrapped up in one package including all of nature, people, continents, weather, atoms forming every material, cells forming every simple and complex organism--as one swirl of blue and green.

It's extremely powerful. I love it. And at times when we seem so diverse in thought, when differences seem to surmount similarity in the human experience, this image brings me back to the reality of what we all share.

From an artistic perspective, this sphere of spectacular color and pattern is simple and complex at once, encapsulating the brush strokes of cloud formations atop massive continents and the reflections of the distant but heavy influence of the sun.

How we can change for the better, open back up to beauty and come back to a single focal point when we observe the brilliance of our world from this point of view!

Cats vs. Birds

I find myself in the middle of an interesting argument.

I'm a pretty strong environmentalist and have a degree in Environmental Science from the University of Florida and 33 years of passion for all things nature. And I'm an advocate for animal rights as well--not a freak but someone with a deep concern for the welfare of our fellow creatures. Sometimes the two clash and I am left in a state of confusion that can't give birth to the right answer (for me).

Such is the case with the great feral cat debate. We have tons of them in SW Florida. The offspring of domesticated cats that were abandoned, they have never known a house or home. Wild, with wild instincts and savvy survival skills, they're left on the streets and often wouldn't come to a friendly extended human hand if it was offered.

Wildlife advocates, with data to back it up, claim that feral cats severely impact populations of ground nesting birds and other wildlife, regardless of whether they have plentiful food from dumps or thoughtful restaurant owners who may leave healthy scraps in the parking lots. Animal rights enthusiasts, armed with their own studies, claim there is no such proof of this impact, that the environmental impact studies are flawed, and that catch and release spay/neuter programs are making a big dent in the exponential populations of feral cat populations.

Now I'm a data gal. Frankly, I'd like to see a new study that's been commissioned by an independent party. Leaving emotion on both sides out of the equation, I want to know what's going on, and if, as I'm inclined to believe, feral cats are causing significant impact on bird populations and other wildlife, I think we can be solution-minded instead of finger-pointing. Either way, humans have the capacity to cause serious destruction but can also be very crafty in problem-solving. We're smart and creative. Let's take stock of our assets but first look at facts.

Do you have a feral cat issue in your part of the world? I can't stand to see any creature getting hurt by a human hand--whether it's an abandoned cat that is now hardly considered domestic, or whether it's a member of our traditional wildlife team. Either way, the harm is linked to our carelessness and we're ultimately responsible.

What a Fabulous Role Model You Are

NOT.

The sad thing is, D-Man was actually excited about Home Economics this year. He really thought it would be cool to learn how to make biscuits from scratch, sew a button, how to stay accountable, job/life skills, etc. And quite frankly, I was looking forward to it as well. The day when a button falling off doesn't herald "time for new pants!" is the dawn of a new era.

A dream deferred. It's been no such story. D-Man, you see, is not very fond of this so called teacher. And he has good reason.  Let's just call this lame woman, who is simply waiting for retirement like a sorry lump of dough, Mrs. Fescrock. Seriously, the Dough Boy himself has more personality.

This morning, we had our meeting at the school to talk about progress thus far and to plan for next year. At this meeting, all of his teachers are required to attend, along with the supervising instructor in charge of special accommodations.  Mrs. Fescrock plops herself down wearing a thick red, fugly coat as if to make sure we knew she wasn't planning to stay.

• Fescrock: "Well. I don't know how this escaped my notice. But this meeting wasn't on my calendar. And I have some deadlines. So I'm asking to be excused."
• Gropius (Silently. While laughing? Fuming? Not sure which.): "Are you SERIOUS? You're teaching my kid about accountability and job skills? WTF?  Deadlines? Let me tell you about the 25 deadlines I have waiting for me at work."
• Fescrock moved on: "Thank goodness you're involved. If you weren't, I can see the situation with your son going...spiraling out of control."
• Gropius: "That's a pretty strong statement. I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

Fescrock then moved on to tell us that "just about every day" D-Man has gum in his mouth. And as if we didn't hear it the first time, "Just about EVERY day," she repeated.

Well you know what, Mrs. Fescrock? I really couldn't give a crap about the gum. And if you care so much about it, I have a newsflash for you. It's March 8. School started in August. We haven't heard anything about this until now. I guess it's those deadlines getting you, right?

Now if Mrs. Fescrock was the science, math or language arts teacher, I might make a greater point of reaching out to the principle. Since she's Queen of Pillsbury in a Can, I could care less. (Yeah, that's right--have you ever seen a home ec teacher who teaches kids to use ready-made?) I hate it that poor D-man has wasted nearly a year putting up with her doodoo.

Thank goodness the rest of the faculty are lovely. It sure does make a difference in how much our son develops a passion for the subject. Looks like we'll still be getting new pants when we lose a button. I'd like to give Mrs. Fescrock a new pair of pants--in honor of her retirement, of course.

So Industrious

I amaze myself. I can accomplish tasks like no one's business, build a base of blog posts from now through eternity, form an army of lists, rid my house of even the most miniscule dust mite, and do just about anything I set my mind to...when there's something else I should be doing that I don't want to do.

For the love of Pete, is it POSSIBLE for me to avoid working on this presentation any longer? It's not that I hate the thought of doing it. I enjoy the subject matter and have had a blast giving a similar presentation multiple times. But every time I do it, I tweak it, add more, take away some and customize it a little for my audience. Like a good little marketing girl.

But the truth is I'm getting sick of it. Maybe not sick of it. I'm just tired of obsessing over whether or not it will be new and exciting for each audience. You know how it is when you become insanely familiar with something. You assume everyone else is too. My biggest fear is presenting something that everyone already knows, thus making myself a bore and wasting everyone's time.

There's also the fact that when I come home from work, I don't want to work anymore. I know I'll change my mind like tomorrow, when I'm obsessing over something different. But sometimes I really yearn to leave the job at work. I suppose I can do that. It's just a matter of mental self-control, right?

Husband just said "I'll bet if we got a padded toilet seat, you'd spend all of your time in the bathroom. You would have a nice, soft space for your computer activities and could stay in the bathroom all the time."  Nice, Husband, nice.

How do you balance your work and play? Do you obsess over weird things?

Do Yourself A Favor And Visit GoFugYourself

Most of the time, I don't even know who these snarky girls are tearing down, but regardless, they're funny as hell. And after the Oscars, I afford myself the luxury of taking more than a cursury glance at their incredibly hilarious website, GoFugYourself.  Yes, one day it's my goal to launch a similar blog here in Sarasota/Bradenton to fug all of the outfits worn to our overfilled charity ball calendar. I will make no friends doing it, but it would be a riot.

I hate to admit it, but I could spend a LOT of time on this site. Here's my favorite fug from their overactive Oscar Fugging:

"I'd have been curious to see where that bodice was going. Unfortunately, on the way there, it got hijacked by an Amelia Earhart fetishist, and then left to die in a cheap science-fair volcano that erupts plastic leis."

(Photo and copy from GoFugYourself.)

Now is that damn good writing or what? That was sooo much better than I could have done. I thought the dress looked like the haphazard melting of a Snoopy Snowcone.

If you did happen to watch the Oscars last night, maybe you're like me: that is, you got incredibly depressed when they did the John Hughes commemoration, displaying very scary versions of Anthony Michael Hall, Molly Ringwald, Judd Nelson, Ally Sheedy and the rest of the clan on the stage. This accomplished two things: a.) Making me feel 10 days older than water and b.) Making me really glad I do not and never have abused drugs.

Did you have a favorite Oscar moment? Or do you hate them like Husband does?

Personally, I haven't seen half the films that were nominated but feel a secret pleasure that James Cameron didn't win. Honestly, I had enough of his giant ego-head when the Titanic was around. That ship has sailed.

Peerenting

...And while I'm on the subject of parenting, I'll just drop an unpaid advertisement for Modern Family. Husband and I think this show is an absolute riot. It adequately portrays the plight of husband, wife, kids, gay couple raising an adopted daughter, mixed raced couples....everything that exemplifies today's fam. We adore all of the characters. And the show provides such a good laugh, precisely because it's so right on.

In light of Friday night's post, I'd just like to throw this out there for those with kids and those without kids:

Did your mom/dad ever try to play the "friend" role instead of that more formal "parent" role? Did it work? Did you see through it? Do you do this with your kids?

I'm always on Husband to enjoy his relationship with D-Man but to do it less in a "hey, I'm just another one of your buddies" role and more in a "let's have some quality time together but don't talk to me like I'm an abused peer" role.

D-Man is frequently using a new set of words--like "that's so BEAST" to describe coolness and a dramatic "Woooooow" to describe an unfair decision we've made. We've started using them too. Maybe because we know if we do, it may reduce the number of times we hear D-Man say them. It's just not as cool if your parents are saying them. 

Enjoy this typical clip from Modern Family on peerenting:

The Boys' Club

It's Friday night and I just awoke from a 3 hour nap. Exhausted from a stressful week, I fell asleep after a couple of slices of cold pizza and two articles in this month's Audubon magazine. What's going on at 11:12 p.m.? 

Apparently, Husband is treating D-Man to "Alien Vs. Predator." I'm so, so not amused. The second I walk in the den, I hear "Okay, it's time for bed, D-Man." 

Maybe I'm just being ultra-sensitive here, but I feel like this completely enforces the "Gropius as Dark Overlord" theme--one for which I do not care.

It seems that as D-Man has gotten older, all of "those things" that I knew I would never allow my kid to do-- like watch violent films, play video games for more than 30 minutes a day, and spend more than half of every weekend at someone else's house--all happen on a regular basis.

Honestly, I think a huge part of it is two very different views of parenting. And I'm not saying Husband is wrong. But I don't like my role as regulator, breaker up of the Boys' Club activities. Husband doesn't realize it, but always, it makes me the bad one. Something that's extra uncool since I'm the step parent.


I'm not so silly to think that today's 13 year old isn't experiencing a whole different level of media, conversation and exposure to unfavorable crap than I did at that age, but I would like to think that as a parent, I can control the level of exposure.  Parenting is hard. Being part of a united parental duo is hard. And increasingly, I'm finding that my expectations are countered by the fun of the Boys' Club pair, my 35 year old Husband-Kid and my 13 year old stepson.  Thankfully, only one of them may read this posting, and he'll get over it.

By the way, I've never seen Alien vs. Predator until the last little bit tonight. It's completely inappropriate for a young audience, but for adults, it's pretty ridiculous and could be funny if you have a few drinks. I'll put that on my to-do list. Way at the bottom.

P.S. Husband is a super good dad. I don't mean to intimate that he isn't. We just--diverge--on a few things.

The Things I Feel Guilty About Hating

Doctor's appointments. Car maintenance.  Trips to the grocery store.

My goodness, what the hell is wrong with me?  I have access to health care, transportation and food, and I dread the very vehicles that allow me to thrive as a free and healthy individual. It's terrible and I'm working to change my perspective on it all.

Yes, I'm one of those people who believes that once you buy a car, it should give itself oil changes, change its own tires, you know...anything that might need to be taken care of after 8,976 miles.

Today's short visit to the Honda dealership wasn't so bad. I was carefully anticipating that moment, however, that we all know will come. The tech appears in the waiting room with a clipboard and a look of seriousness to explain an additional $300 service I need to add to the oil change. Oh, okay! I don't think so, buddy. But thanks anyway.

In a way, it's frighteningly similar to the doctor's office. Although my true hatred of the doctor's office began with the start of annuals, it didn't help a few years ago when I went in and had a nurse freak out on me. I'd always had very low blood pressure. That was before the craziness of family, intense work and volunteer life overtook me. So I went in for an annual several years back and sat down for the mandatory blood pressure check. Here's what happened:

Nurse:  "Um. This can't be right."
Me: "What?! What?!
Nurse: "Uncross your legs, maybe that will help."
Me: "Is something wrong?"
Nurse: "Hey, Betsy...could you come in here and do this reading for me?"
Me (freaking out): "Could you PLEASE tell me why you're freaking out?"
Nurse: "Your blood pressure is REALLY high."
Me (thinking): "You are a complete and total idiot. You should work in a place where you have no human contact."

So it turned out by THIS time, after all of this unprofessional BS, my blood pressure was really high. Of course.

It wasn't high enough to be on medication, but I still get full of anticipation about what my blood pressure could be everytime I go in. We'll see tomorrow morning. I, um, posponed my appointment by like 6 months.

Terrible, I know. Too bad I can't postpone grocery shopping that long.

And really, I am grateful everyday for the opportunities I have for such gifts in my life.

While You Were Sleeping...

Oh, Flanders, Flanders, Flanders....

I know it must get tiring to be on the alert all the time.

Sometimes you just have to chill. And take a soothing nap.

But be no fool, the squirrels are taking full advantage of your afternoon siestas.

Yes, one eye open is a compromise. I know you work hard. Just sayin.'