Class Warfare Again???

It was a Saturday night. My daughter was excited about her jazz concert at school that evening. She plays violin in the school's jazz orchestra. We didn't know much about the concert. We assumed that it would be in the school gym, there would be music stands and chairs set up, they would play their songs, and then we'd call it a day. The jazz band and the jazz chorus was also going to perform so we were ready for a pleasant evening.

Before the concert, my daughter told us that there would be tables set up so that the parents and guests could enjoy it, being modeled after a real cabaret. It was called a 'Jazzeray'. This sounded intriguing, and I couldn't wait to see what it was all about.

We entered the school about a half hour early as my daughter was instructed. My husband and I then walked towards the gym. At the door, there were piles of fold up chairs and he picked up two of them. We entered the gym and this is where things got a little spooky.

There were indeed tables set up but there were obviously not enough to hold all the people that were present. "Aha", I thought, "This is why we had to bring in chairs." All of the tables were taken and, in the back of the gym were all the 'have nots' that didn't get there early enough. They looked like a poor lot, being cast aside in fourth class steerage. We were then among them, carrying our chairs to an empty spot and sitting. There were donuts at each table, courtesy of Dunkin' Donuts. The plates were wrapped in plastic wrap unopened since no one wanted to look like a pig and dig in.

We, in steerage, could only look longingly at the 'Tables' as we called those people. They had so idea of the misery of the 'Floors' (us). They sat back in their chairs laughing and lounging and drinking their bottles of water (provided by Panera Bread). At the side of the gym was a small tray with around 10 bottles of water for the 'Floors'. "Would you like some?", my husband asked. I usually am not a water bottle drinker, but I said yes just to say I could. "I'll get it", I told him, since I wanted to check out what other goodies were at the table. It was a sad sight. There were two large cakes for the students, and one pathetic plastic container of chocolate chip cookies, unopened. I was so hungry that even those little hockey puck looking things looked good. I didn't take any, though, since I didn't want to look like a pig, sort of like the 'Tables' waiting to be the first one.

I returned to my seat with the water bottles salivating at the "Tables' tables. The donuts beckoned me, but I felt like I wasn't allowed to interfere in their glee by asking them to share. I'm sure they would have told me to go back to the bottom quarters of the ship where I belonged.

My husband then noticed that some people had programs for the show. I volunteered to get one at the other side of the gym. I walked boldly to the other side knowing that the 'Tables' didn't even notice me since they were so busy enjoying this 'Jazzeray'. I notice a table near the door with programs and took two. On the other side of the door there were, again those miserable chocolate chip cookies but this time, the container was OPEN!! I glanced around hoping none of the 'Tables' saw me and scorned my pilfering. I took two. They were indeed hockey puck looking, but to me they looked heavenly. I returned to my seat, my husband looking strangely at me with my booty (the cookies, not my rear).

Finally, the gym was hushed and the announcer came to the podium. "Good evening!', she said, "Welcome to our Jazzeray Cabaret. Please help yourself to the donuts at your tables, courtesy of Dunkin' Donuts (shameless plug). We hope you enjoy the show!" I half expected to see the 'Floors' behind me with pitchforks and burning torches just waiting to attack the 'Tables'. Luckily they were well behaved. That was probably due to the discipline instilled in them by their hard working lower class parents.

The concert began. The students worked very hard because it was quite enjoyable. After two selections, however, a student walked on stage with a roulette kind of thing. On it, there were spaces for each numbered table, (yes, they had numbers on them). The announcer explained how the game worked. The student would spin the wheel. Then the table that it landed on would have to answer a trivia question about the Beatles. The table that answered the most questions correctly would be able to come up on stage at the end of the concert to sing 'Hey Jude' with the chorus. The 'Tables' were laughing at the thought of this 'fun' game, but the 'Floors' could only scowl knowing that, once again, they could only look but not touch.

The joy and mirth at this game was undeniable at the 'Tables' tables. We waited quietly for them to finish their game and enjoyed the next few songs.

Once again, after the song ended, out came the wheel again and the whole nightmare started again. I threw my head on my husband's shoulder and said, "Just kill me now".

Finally after a few more songs and a few more 'fun' trivia games, the concert was over. I glanced at the tables all around and saw that there were a lot of donuts left. "I'm waiting for the 'Tables' to leave to I can scavange their bounty". He looked at me forlornly probably because of the glare in my eyes. I saw one empty table and walked around it looking at the plate to see which goody I could steal and there it was. The donut of my dreams. Quickly I grabbed it, along with a napkin, of course, and started gobbling it down. We then walked out of the gym and into the hallway. I was still scarfing the poor little donut victim down when I realized there were parents around that I knew. "Hi!", I tried to say to them, but the frosting from the donut was all around my mouth by then. I turned towards the wall to clean up, but still had a mouthful when I turned back around. I quickly swallowed it and smiled politely.

We went back into the gym to recover our daughter and saw her standing with her friends eating the cake that was brought for the students. "Hi!", we said, "that was a great concert!"
"Thanks", she replied. On the table in front of her was a piece of the chocolate cake. "Do you want that?", she asked me, "It's extra". I didn't hesitate and grabbed for it. My husband, again, looked forlornly at me knowing that the experience made me stoop to a new low. He didn't realize the being a 'Floor' was humiliating and I wanted to take what was rightly mine. Fortunately my daughter didn't know until later that I was a pig and ate two cookies, one donut, and one piece of cake. If she did, she would be embarassed for the rest of her life at the desperation of her mother.

I can't wait for next years 'Jazzeray'....

Silence is Golden?

I think all the technology in the world has gotten out of hand.

The most affected by all of this, however, are the children. Never have I seen so few children playing outside or reading books. When we were young we were always outside on even the coldest winter days. Being in the house was not very fun especially when mom handed us a dustcloth or a load of laundry to separate. After our chores were done we'd head outside.

In our neighborhood there is a park right down the street. Only on the warm and sunny days will it brim with children and their parents. The only action I see from my house usually is adults with their ipods jogging down the streets.

It used to be that going to school on the bus was a great chance to chat with friends and even create a little mischief. The noise was way too loud and quite often the bus driver would have to stop the bus to yell at the crazy kids. This was a part of Americana that was so common for all of us.

Things have changed.

This Christmas, almost everyone in my son's 6th grade class got cell phones. I will never understand this. What could a 6th grader possibly need a cell phone for? I've always said that if I don't know where my kids are at all times, I have a problem. If they're at school I could call the main office in an emergency. If they're at sports, we have the coach's number if we need it. If they absolutely need to contact us while away, we let them borrow ours.

When I talk to my son's friends, they'll say 'If my mom needs to get in touch with me during school, she can text me'. Or 'If I'm at my friend's house, I can call my parents to pick me up'.

There are REAL phones at school and at people's houses for this purpose.

My son is constantly asked why HE doesn't have a cell phone. I just tell him to respond that he doesn't need one. Once recently, I was talking to my 14 year old niece about the subject. Now, this is a brilliant girl who is a typical teenager. I can't even argue too much about a 9th grader having a cell phone since she is at practices and school events quite often, but the logic is far from clear.

Me: Why do you need a cell phone?
Her: Well, I need to text my friends.
Me: Don't you see them at school?
Her: Yeah, but it's easier just to text them.
Me: What do you text about?
Her: Well, I'll say 'What's going on?' and they'll say 'not much; how about you?' and I'll tell them 'not much''.
Me: That sounds fascinating, but why don't you just talk to them?
Her: I don't know.
Me: You know, someday they might invent a cellular phone that you could actually TALK into. Wouldn't that be cool?
Her: (Dead silence, along with the 'very funny, Auntie' look)

Anyway back to the bus.

One day I asked my son who he talks to on the bus.

"Well, everyone is so busy texting that it's very quiet. No one talks anymore"

How sad.

Away in a Manger

It's finally over. The Christmas rush was crazy again this year. All I remember is the stress of getting just the right gift. I worried over the decorations in my house and if they looked just right. I hoped I sent Christmas cards to all the people on my list.

We really have lost the 'reason for the season'. It sounds hokey, but when you get right down to it, the religious aspect is just a tiny part of the whole Christmas experience.

Every year we try to remember to light the Advent Candle every Sunday. It's usually the kids who remember. We say the prayers and I try to remember what it's all about.

This year on Christmas Eve the kids put out the milk and cookies for Santa and carrots for the reindeer. When they were sure all was set, they went to bed. Later on I went back downstairs to check on things. The table was all set for the nocturnal visitors. As I was turning off the lights, I noticed a sheet of paper right next to our teddy bear Nativity Scene. I approached it to see what it was all about. On it, there was a picture of the baby in the manger with stars all around drawn by my 8 year old daughter. Written on the paper were the words 'Happy Birthday Jesus'.

I think she gets it.

The Tiny Titan

For years my son has loved sports - any kind of sports. He has played football, baseball and lacrosse and is also interested in soccer. We have concentrated on his love of sports for so long we forgot that our daughter might be interested too.

This year she expressed an interest in playing lacrosse. This made me happy since she chose not to joing cheerleading this year, a decision I wholly approve of. Previously she took karate lessons, but when she progressed and she was smallest of the students in her class, I felt too protective and pulled her out. She had been surrounded by students of all ages including adults. She was disappointed, but she quickly adjusted to the change.

We signed her up for lacrosse this spring. I wasn't sure if she would really end up liking it. It was her first team sport and I was afraid she would feel overwhelmed. I should have known better. That girl isn't afraid of anything.

At her first formal game the coach put her in for the face-off. All the parents were thinking the same thing: Why in the world would they put one of the smallest girls into the middle of the action? I wasn't able to be at this first game but my husband told me she won the face-off easily. She was just lucky, I thought. At least she might gain some confidence.

At her second game the coach again put her in for the face-off. I was ready to comfort her when she failed at her task.

No problem.

She won the face-off and ran down the field with the ball. She passed it, but the other player didn't catch it. I was stunned. She didn't think anything of fighting for possession. Unfortunately, the game was called soon after because of a thunderstorm.

Yesterday was her next game. I wasn't able to get there on time so our friends took her. I arrived several minutes into the game. My daughter wasn't on the field and I couldn't see her standing on the sidelines. I got a bit worried but I was sure she was OK and I watched the game.

Our team was doing well. The goalie blocked two of the passes when another thunderstorm started.

I still didn't see my daughter and started to panic. Everyone was walking quickly to the safety of the school building. I was so confused and scared. I looked down to see a small player standing in front of me covered in pads and a huge helmet. It was quite strange since I didn't know why this child was not with her parents. I bent down to see what the problem was. I saw blond curls escaping from underneath her helmet. Two brown eyes stared at me. I looked again and realized it was my daughter underneath that huge goalie uniform. She looked like the Michelin man only in miniature.

After I recovered, I told her how proud of her I was that she blocked the passes.

"How did you get to be the goalie?" I asked her.

"The coach asked who wanted to do it", she answered, "so I told him I would."

Like I said before, that girl isn't afraid of anything.

I walked towards the building, my little girl waddling beside me. When we got to the protection of the school overhang, the coach helped her take off all of the padding. He pulled her helmet off and there was those sparkling brown eyes and golden curls.

"Good job!" he said. The parents around us congratulated her too. "Since you did such a good job, here's a T-shirt just for you!"

Our daughter thanked him nicely and we went on our way. I was speechless but she thought nothing of it.

How could this child belong to a mother who was an introvert and was never really interested in sports? I guess she takes after my husband. He's an extrovert who has never shied away from a challenge. Thank goodness she takes after him.

Although she can be a challenge sometimes, I'm sure that when she grows up she'll have the confidence to succeed in life as well.

(Technology) Terror on Wheels

I knew right from the start of our relationship my husband's true love (besides me, hopefully) was his cars. I really do admire his long term committment to that common form of transportation. However, through the years, it has become apparent that our thoughts on the subject are quite different.

When we got married and we bought my first car, he nicely suggested that anything that is put into the car in the morning be taken out the same day. He respected the automobile so much that he wanted it treated carefully. I had no problem with this. After all, I usually only had my purse and maybe a bag for work.

Fast forward six years...

Our son was born in 1997 and things were never the same. In addition to my purse, I needed to bring a diaper bag full of stuff to clean, change, and feed this new person. Often while in motion, I would need to reach back from the driver's seat (I know...not safe) and give the baby his pacifier or blankie, etc. Inevitably some things would fall on the floor and stay there for weeks. Anyway, the rule of 'you bring it in and take it out the same day' didn't last.

But I digress.

As I have said in the past, all this new technology drives me crazy. It has now entered the domain of the motor vehicle. My husband loves all the bells and whistles that are available and after buying vehicles with these features, I now insist on simple old fashioned controls. My truck has six buttons on the radio so I can choose which station I want. The heating and cooling controls are knobs that I can turn to control the air.

Today I left my truck home so my husband could pack it for our trip to the Adirondacks this weekend when he comes home from work. He left his car for me to drive. I've only driven it once or twice before so I'm not quite used to it yet.

First issue I have: Instead of a key, it has a fob that you carry on your person. When you get close enough to the car, you simply press the open key on the fob. Once inside the car, you just turn the ignition, no key required, to start the car. As long as the fob is near you, you don't have to worry about a key. This makes no sense to me. Isn't it just as easy to carry a key with a fob? Once you put the key in the ignition you don't have to worry where your keys are. When I ask my husband the reason for this unnecessary technology, he just says that it's cool. OK. I'll buy that.

Next, I pulled out of the driveway and wanted to turn on my favorite morning radio station. This vehicle has GPS with that annoying screen that you're not supposed to look at while you're driving. This was not a problem since it was in night mode and the screen was dark. As I was driving and listening to an annoying station, I tried to figure out how to change it. With one eye on the road and one eye on the screen I kept pushing buttons hoping to find the magic button that would lead me to my station.

Just when I started screaming , I tried one more button, and my friendly DJ's were talking to me. My heart calmed down. Next, I needed to find out what time it was so I could tell if I'd be late to work or not. I knew, from riding in the passenger seat, the the clock was on the top right of the screen. Unfortunately, the screen was still in night mode and I couldn't quite see the time. Oh well. I figured I'd get to work when I got there. No big deal. Then the car started to get hot inside.

I turned my attention to the three evil buttons below the GPS screen. I knew this thing had climate control, one of the most horrible inventions ever, so I realized my work was cut out for me. Luckily, I just turned the knob from 'auto' to regular and was able to turn down the heat.

After all this I was feeling much better and decided to watch the GPS in action. I knew enough to push the 'Navi' button to get the map. This was useless, however, since the damn thing was still in night mode and I couldn't see anything. When I get really frustrated, I have learned to take a deep breath and realize that it is not a big deal. I didn't need the map. I had been taking this route for ten years now so who cared if I followed the map?

I finally pulled into the driveway at work and parked the car. I started to turn of the ignition when I saw the screen turn to day mode. This car has a vendetta against me, I swear. It was laughing at me since it had the last say in the matter. I got out of this beast of rubber and metal, fob in hand. I locked it and didn't look back. Right now I'm safely in the building and the evil vehicle is outside waiting for me to get done with work. I think I'm ready for the battle later on knowing what I know now. I have the fob on my desk and I'm keeping a close eye on it. You never know when it will attack.

I just know that when I get home, my husband will have a big smile on his face and ask, "How was the car?". I hope he's ready for me to throw daggers at him with my eyes.

I'm Hungry!

Being a mother is not the easiest job in the world. Not only do we feel responsible for our families, but a lot of us hold down full time jobs. Unfortunately a lot of husbands choose to live in the past. They feel their work is done when they get home. Luckily this doesn't exist in my house. But for those women who have to deal with it, I find it incredible that, even with their jobs, they still clean the house, care for the children and cook meals.

When I was growing up my mother worked as a teacher. Her work day was over at 2:00 but then she would go home and take care of everything else. She constantly had a dust cloth or vacuum in her hand. Dinner was always on time and consisted of a well-balanced variety of foods. She also took care of all of the laundry and grocery shopping along with managing finances. My father would come home from work and sit in his chair with a beer. Mom would be busy making sure dinner was on time so he wouldn't get upset. If he was outside doing something she would keep dinner warm so as not to upset him. After dinner he sat in his chair again, read the paper and watched TV. Mom would be cleaning up the kitchen. My sisters and I would help but not as much as we should have.

This was all I knew. Every night there would be a meal on the table. When she was a child this was what was expected of her. Since my grandmother worked full time my mother would come home from school, clean the house, and have dinner ready before my grandmother got home. To this day she doesn't find anything wrong with having to do everything. You would think this would pass to the next generation.

Not so.

I never saw the logic in that way of thinking. If I was working just as hard as my husband, why should I be responsible for all the family stuff too? My husband is just like me and we share the responsibility. I remember when my grandmother was alive and I was visiting her, she let me know what she thought of that!

"You'd better get home and have dinner ready for him", she'd say.

"He'll be fine", I'd reply. "He knows how to feed himself."

She'd shoot me a look that could kill. "You know, he's not going to put up with that for very long. You'd better make sure everything's done!"

I would laugh at her, but she'd still have that look that would say, 'just you wait and see!!'.

Even though I feel deep down that my house should be clean all of the time and dinner should be prepared every night, the logical side of my brain thinks that's crazy. We do quite well with sharing the chores, but there is one thing that doesn't work out very well.

Neither of us likes to cook.

What a terrible person I am!!! Aren't I responsible for ensuring that my kids get healty meals so they can grow up big and strong? Isn't it child abuse when they only get a bowl of cereal for dinner? As much as I want to give them a decent meal every night, I can't. The idea of cooking makes me sick.

From years back when I'd try to make a decent meal, I would get very angry. This is a strange thing that no one can understand but me. I wasn't angry with my family. I was angry at the idea that humans need nutrition to survive. Who thought of that anyway? Wouldn't it just be easier to take a pill everyday instead of all that cooking nonsense? And why was I expected to supply this 'nutrition' everyday? With my husband helping, I still needed to cook several times a week. As time went on the meals got worse and worse.

Now we have spaghetti with jar sauce at least two to three times a week. Cereal is another staple at the dinner table. Occasionally my husband will go to the freezer and put artificial chicken product patties and processed french fries in the oven. I have to admit he's better than me at this since, when he 'prepares' dinner, he always includes a vegetable.

I'm not really a big fan of food. If I like something I'll eat a lot of it. It's very hard to cook something that I can barely look at, let alone eat. The guilt of my failings overtakes me everyday. I just know that my family will sit me down one day and tell me that their lives were miserable because I didn't fulfill my motherly duties of providing nutrition.

It amazes me when I see my friends get home and start working in the kitchen. There is no anger in their eyes and they almost look like they enjoy cooking. How bizarre!
I'd rather clean the basement than cook a meal.

One day when I was feeling guilty I told my kids I was sorry. My son looked at me, somewhat confused. "What do you feel guilty about?", he asked. I looked at him with concern in my eyes. "I'm sorry I don't have a decent meal for you every night like the other mothers", I told him.

"Mom", he said, looking at me with brows furrowed, "I don't get it. We eat every night. I like what you and Dad make. Why are you so upset?"

I replied, "The other mothers always cook for their families every night. They don't always pour cereal or boil pasta for the zillionth time. I feel bad that I don't take the time to make something better".

He looked at me again with concern in his eyes. "Mom," he answered, "I like everything you do. You spend time with us and make us laugh. You're the best mom I know. Who cares about dinner?"

Again, the wisdom of the children triumphs everytime. Even though I stink in the kitchen, I must be doing something right.

Mine, Mine, MINE!!

Through the years I have observed how animals mark their territory in different ways. My dog(s) have always shown their superiority by marking every tree in sight even though they are 'fixed'. It's fascinating to me because I have to get a life. Actually I have always thought it a strange way to declare their turf.

I experienced this yesterday but not with my dogs.

It's routine in our house that my husband gets home from work and gets the kids off of the bus. They are trained to know that the first order of work, after snacks, is to do their homework. By the time I get home the homework is done. It's a great system since they don't have a chance to procrastinate.

Yesterday, after a dental procedure, I went home for the day and was able to get the kids. My husband stayed late at work since I would be there. The kids walked in and got their snacks. Soon after, with a bit of prodding, they started their homework. I went upstairs to pick up.

"Mom!," my son yelled, "I need you!"

I went downstairs to see him working on his math homework. I like to pride myself on the fact that I aced calculus in college. I explained how to solve the problem, carefully watching him to make sure he understood me. He seemed confident and the next answers were correct.

Not long after I heard, "Mom, I need you!"

He was on another section on his math homework that was puzzling him. I went downstairs again to teach him how to simplify and solve the problem. As I was doing so my husband got home from work.

"How's it going?" he asked as he walked in.

"It's good", we replied and went back to math problems. My husband sauntered over and looked at the work we were doing.

"Are you showing him how to do it", he asked,looking intently at me, "or are you doing it for him?"

I peered up at him from over my glasses and said, "I'm showing him, duh. I'm not a moron."

He quickly shot back, "Well I don't want HIM to be a moron."

What had gotten into my husband that he would think so ill of me? That wasn't like him at all! All of a sudden it occurred to me:

I had peed on his tree!

I had invaded his territory by helping my son with his homework, a task he usually undertakes. Maybe it's an instinctive behavior for all males to be territorial, but I hadn't realized I had tread into such forbidden territory. I guess even the gentlest of giants can still have these instincts.

After realizing this was a result of such primitive behaviors, I didn't take it personally. The pack leader in my house is still the most wonderful man I know.

...But he'd better not talk to me like that again!