Seabreeze

The boys and I scored free tickets from the boss to Seabreeze today: Rochester's answer to Coney Island. Hot. Sunny. Perfect. The busiest day of the year for the park. D'oh!

We rode heaps o' rides including my favorite, the Jack Rabbit, a roller coaster that, when it opened in 1920, was the fastest roller coaster in the world. It's wooden, rickety, still fast and reminds me of the days of my youth. Although they fly by at lightening speed, the panoramic vistas of the vast blue lake and white sailboats are stunning from a great height. 

I even went in the wave pool which is surprisingly fun. For most of the day, however, I relaxed poolside while the kids went down all of the slides and body flumes. Gone for hours I daresay.

Tonight: cookout and sangria at my girlfriend's across the street. Outdoor movies for the kids. 

Summertime and the living is easy.

Wait!

I want my weekend back!

With Love to Uncle Ed

Where do I begin?

With my Mother's Day overnight trip with my girlfriends to the spa at Mirbeau? Waiting in line just to gorge ourselves on steamers and shrimp kebabs at Doug's Fish Fry in Skaneateles? Sipping champagne cocktails with the Daytona Beach-like Moms Gone Wild crowd at the waterfall-fireplaced-grotto-like-outdoor hot tub? Trying to relax (with a pillow over my head) in the "quiet room" while some loud-mouthed chick told the whole room about her husband's celiac disease? Enjoying a fabulous but lengthy, three-hour dinner at the inn complete with capon magro (yummy lobster, shrimp, crab and capon crostini), venison tenderloin (delicious but so not a typical choice for me) and fork-fulls of my girlfriend's hummingbird cake (i.e., a hybrid, cream cheese frosted carrot/banana cake)? Waking up to a full clay body wrap treatment with head massage? Shopping in town the next day -- where timely Christmas music, including the Little Drummer Boy, played in the antique store? Coming home to the hammock and blowing off work for the day?

Where do I end?

With a visit from my mom's much loved, best friend from childhood, Joanne, and her husband John? With the, as always, wonderful barbecue at my sister's house? Or with Joanne carrying on a tradition that my Grandpa Jack established with our families many moons ago: handing my kids $$ as we left to go home? (They were so psyched.)

I guess a few days bookmarked on either end by friends from a) my childhood and b) my mom's childhood is a few days well spent. All in all, a great week with one major sadness thrown in the mix: my favorite uncle on my father's side, Ed, passed away in California. Truly heart wrenching. Our world lost a beautiful soul with sparkling eyes, an infectious laugh and a kind heart. He will be sorely missed.

Winter Wonderland

I find it hard to believe that it could get any more beautiful outside than it is right now. And I am not even a winter girl.

Thanks to my favorite great uncle (a.k.a. my grandfather's sister's husband's sister's husband's sister's husband thrice removed) who penned this fabulous song 30 years before I was born, I am facing unafraid, the plans that I made, walking in a winter wonderland.

When it snows, ain't it thrilling,
Though your nose gets a chilling
We'll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,
Walking in a winter wonderland

Minding My Business

Not that this is noteworthy in any way but today is a professional, client-facing, black dress kind of a day. With me-facing bright pink bra and undies.

Sometimes it's the little things, that no one else can see, that make me happy.

http://www.despair.com/

In the Right Place

As my boss is considering (nay, planning) a move to CO to be closer to her eldest daughter, I have a year to reinvent myself. Find a new job. Open my own business. Become a rodeo clown. Perhaps move to a new city.

A year of soul searching. Prayer. Divine intervention. Miracles.

The July-August 2010 issue of the Harvard Business Review contains an article entitled "How Will You Measure Your Life?" with this golden nugget:

"People who are driven to excel have this unconscious propensity to underinvest in their families and overinvest in their careers—even though intimate and loving relationships with their families are the most powerful and enduring source of happiness."

I want to thrive. Professionally. Personally. Help people. Touch people's lives. Make the world a better place. Pollyanna Pittsford. (I just wanna dance.) And I want to be with my family more than I am now.

So how am I going to measure my life?

Doucheoisie

One of my best friends from college married a wealthy Dutch woman who cannot stand me. As a result, he's no longer allowed to be friends with me. Understood. This past weekend, I learned via a mutual friend that she also refuses to visit his presumably downscale family in Cheektowaga so he has to go alone.

As the Countess Luann de Lesseps would agree, money can't buy you class.

In local news, our crazy neighbors on the corner (post #1, post #2, post #3 and post #4) are at it again.

This time, the husband dragged the wife's entire closet of clothes to the end of the driveway. From what I've been told, it was a giant heap of possibly more clothes than I've ever owned -- from 1964 until today. The cops were called in. The neighborhood gossip levels began peaking once again. But none of that is really of interest to me aside from: a) How/why does he stay married to a lunatic? b) Are there signs before tying the knot that you're marrying a lunatic? If so, what are they? Maybe her juvenile obsession with sex and high heels? Or her preponderance to share her sex life on Facebook (i.e., through a series of brief comments re: how long it took her husband to finish)?

Anyhoo, what's really of interest to me is much more simple than the nonsense above. When I drive past these neighbors, smile and wave, would it be so difficult for them to return the wave? It's a simple, kind gesture that says, "Hi." It also says, "Sure you might be a freak parade but that's okay. We all have our problems. Let's agree to coexist peacefully."

As the Countess Luann de Lesseps would most likely agree, moving into a new town and neighborhood so that your children can have better opportunities (i.e., the wife's words, not mine) but then treating your neighbors like social pariahs is counterproductive. Not that I, personally, will be providing her family with any opportunities; but, hey, I'm a nice person. Perhaps I could provide a small degree of happiness in an otherwise bizarre life if they'd only be willing to glance at me.

Just a thought.

Power Pop

I can't believe it's been over a week since I wrote in this space. Life is definitely taking over. But during that time frame, I had a really, really nice weekend with one of my BFF's, Margaroo, who was in town briefly from Australia. We didn't actually do much of anything but we hung out, ate cheeseburgers, visited our alma mater to buy t-shirts, took a walk along the pier, watched movies, and chatted about all of our typical mutual interests from music to (of course) God.

Thanks to the hubby for allowing (nay, encouraging) my parental absence for days and thanks to Mroo for driving all the way up here just to sit around!

Spiritual path aside, one question that Marg posed still has me baffled. When people ask "what type of music are you into," how do you respond? My typical response is "alternative" but even my version of alternative isn't really alternative anymore. It's mainstream alternative, if there is such a thing, and it's barely current. Nothing edge-of-your-seat underground for sure. But, then again, many of my friends have never heard of some of the mainstream bands I've liked over the past few years (e.g., Wilco, Rilo Kiley, Travel by Sea, New Pornographers) including Margaret's favorite, Supergrass.

On the radio yesterday, I heard an old school favorite: Matthew Sweet. As I sang along, I thought maybe "power pop" might be a better qualification. That definition allows my musical taste to span many decades and doesn't imply that I'm onto anything really cool. Now I have to Google what power pop really means . . .

The Best of Travel with Kids

TripAdvisor just posted my review of Turtle Beach Barbados. It sounds a bit negative because I’m comparing it with other recent all-inclusive experiences but we really had a fabulous time (JetBlue aside).

I think combining all of our trips into one amazing hotel experience would be fun—preferably within driving distance. To do this, we would take the best of the best from each which brings me to . . .

The Night Sweats' Best of All-inclusive Travel with Kiddies Awards (2004-2010)

1. Majestic Colonial, Punta Cana

• Meandering pool snaking throughout property
• Top-notch food
• Elegant lobby and premises
• Miles of walk-able beaches
• Sweet little church on site

2. Crown Paradise Club, Puerto Vallarta

• Sauna-like pool
• Tons and tons of kids; very family friendly
• Fun kiddie cocktails
• Club Nitro kids’ disco
• Flea market next door
• Convenience from airport

3. Beaches Boscobel, Ocho Rios

• Pool with tall, fun slides
• Ocean facing room with lanai
• X-box game room

4. Marriott Aruba Resort and Stellaris Casino, Aruba

• Calm, warm ocean for kids

5. Turtle Beach Resort, Barbados

• Safe island

6. Club Med, Sandpiper

• Kids’ Club

7. Gran Caribe Real Resort and Spa, Cancun

• Nothing (I repeat, nothing)

Wow, just writing this list made me feel so over-the-top, spoiled and indulgent. I want more! Thanks mom for years and years of decadence. I don't deserve it but I certainly LOVE it.

She's So Stinkin' Gorgeous

"I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles."

— Audrey Hepburn

Room with a View

Look Around

Minutes ago, while I was sitting poolside with the kids enjoying the music, sunshine, blue sky, banana daiquiri and sound of crashing waves, I asked them, "Look around, what do you see?"

Son #1: I look around and feel lucky.

Son #2: I look around and see happiness.

Agreed.

My Wish List

My mom asked me over the weekend what I wanted for Christmas. My answer: EVERYTHING. I personally think that I must be the easiest person to shop for 'cause I really do love everything I see. The more expensive, the better. Just kidding. It makes no never mind.

Military coat? Check. Hugs? Check. Zebra rug? Check. A clean house? Check. Cute prints from Etsy? Check. She & Him CD? Check. Jewelry of any type? Checkmate.

Speaking of which, isn't this custom necklace really sweet?



I would wear it while listening to this -- yet another soulmatesque song that my girlfriend Margaroo and I have in common. How can two people living in different hemispheres always, without fail, discover they are totally into the same bands? It's been happening for decades now, literally since the day we met. Crazy!

Friday the 13th

In lieu of giving in to the "bad luck" of the day, I thought I would capture thirteen things that make me happy (in no particular order and not an exhaustive list).

1. Snuggling with my boys
2. Sunshine (on my shoulders . . . )
3. Travel (for pleasure v. business)
   
4. Dancing wildly
5. Cupcakes
6. Cocktails with my girlfriends
7. My husband's cooking
8. The holiday market at Union Square
9. Birds (e.g., sparrows, finches and sandpipers)
10. Church bells, candles and incense
11. The smell of fresh pipe tobacco
    
12. Christmas (e.g., trees, lights, songs, festivities, presents)
13. Stinky (our passionate, incessantly hungry, bulimic, black cat)

Oh. Did I say thirteen? I meant a baker's dozen plus one . . . 'cause you can't help but look at these cuties from a bygone era and feel real joy. (And no, it's not Bowie, Henrik Lundqvist, Paul Rudd or John Cusack, so there.)

I'm Still Reaching for the Stars

Thanks to my happy-go-lucky, 6' tall brother for more uplifting news!

A recent study published in the journal Economics and Human Biology indicates that tall people live better lives and are happier, on average, than their height-challenged counterparts -- which, for women, means those of us who are 5'4" or shorter (i.e., me).

Whoa doggie. Looks like I've inherited the disadvantaged, les miserables, shortie gene. Shocking. This may explain why I'm always searching for that elusive state of being called "happiness." It's right around the next corner, for sure, apparently killing time with my taller friends.

According to a related article on Bloomberg, "the findings support a hypothesis put forth in 2008 that tall people are more likely than shorter people to have reached their full cognitive potential." The research concludes that the findings are almost entirely explained by the positive association between height and both income and education.

Did I defy the odds with my super impressive graduate degree and highfalutin salary? Without them, would I be down-and-out, devoid of laughter and utterly despondent? Darn it all. If I were just a bit taller, perhaps I wouldn't have to think so hard on a routine basis and, instead, I could fill my days with glee.

Is it any wonder that Gary Larson picked the shortest guy in the class for the cartoon below?



To think this was published >20 years before the research confirmation. Ah well. Does this mean they have to lower the glass ceiling even further for me?

Summer! Finally!

It's never too late for summer to begin! Yay! Four-day weekend!



(Insert jazz hands here.)

Mini-weekend: Day 16

"I don't want to get to the end of my life and find that I lived just the length of it. I want to have lived the width of it as well." --Diane Ackerman

Found that quote in the book Positivity that I read this afternoon while soaking up the sun in my hammock. I agree -- I want to live larger than ever before. Days like today make life worth living. It wasn't all fun and hammock. I even cleaned my room, chatted on the phone and did a few loads of wash. I could break out into some Karen Carpenter right about now. Relaxation + freshly laundered clothes = top of the world. (Doesn't take much, really.)

I also started the book Happy for No Reason which is less scientific than Positivity and has ties to The Secret so I'm prematurely thinking it may be more hogwash than substantive but what the hey? It appears to have more stories and that always bodes well for holding my interest at the very least. And one of the first chapters is called, "Practicing Happiness." As a six month practitioner of the mini-weekend, I'm loving the self-affirmation.

Now to incorporate all the positivity into my 13-hour work days. D'oh! First off: stop complaining!

Yours truly, Pollyanna Pittsford

Mini-weekend: Day 15

With the exception of finishing up some member satisfaction research for one client and taking part in a conference call with another to discuss future reporting requirements across eight separate databases (yeah, my sweet spot -- not!), yesterday was another mini-weekend.

Had an early morning massage. Went to Sticky Lips with my bible study girlfriends. Played kickball with Son #2. And signed the paperwork on new windows and siding. Now my new furnace won't be lonely. Who needs beautiful clothes, trips to Europe and botox when you can instead invest those same $ in premium vinyl siding?

Alas, today's Knowledge @ Wharton contains an article aptly entitled, So You Think Owning a Home Will Make You Happy? Don't Be Too Sure. Yep, we're living the dream!

Chasing After the Wind

Last night, Son #1 was positioning his army men and tanks all over the family room floor and breathlessly chattering nonstop about squadrons, reconnaissance teams and surveillance missions. He even had a few men stationed on the mantle that I noticed as we headed off to bed. Snipers, he informed me.

In the midst of all of this, he noticed the book that I blogged about yesterday.

Son #1: Mama, you don't need to read a book about play. Just get down on the floor with me and think strategically.

Once again, trumped by a nine year old.

Why is this topic of happiness so interesting to me? Simply because I'm a chronic malcontent?

According to recently published research that my loving brother shared with me: I am not alone. Women's happiness has declined over the past 35 years both absolutely and relative to men. In other words, men may have been the primary beneficiaries of the women's movement! Go figure.

To make matters worse, it's all women. Married and single. Career women and homemakers. Childless women, women with families and single parents. All educational groups. All ages. All races (where known). It's universal: women are less satisfied with their family's financial situation, have become increasingly dissatisfied with the amount of available free time, feel decreased social cohesion, and are facing increased anxiety and neuroticism.

Why? Possibly because even though women have greater professional opportunities, we still carry the emotional burden for our families on top of it all. Or because we have so many outlets outside the home, we cannot be happy across all facets of our lives. Maybe our expectations grew and our lives are not measuring up.

Sound familiar? All I know is that I'm on a personal mission to end the misery and I don't think the antidote is found anywhere but within myself. And if I find in myself a desire that this world cannot satiate, I can only conclude that I was made for another world.

The Yin and Yang of the Weekend

Somehow missed posting on mini-weekend day 7 (last Friday) which turned into a long weekend, instead. Nice! Gotta stay flexible for my boss and clients.

The long weekend ranged from calling hours to church, from biking to watching movies (Taking Chance with Kevin Bacon -- very moving), from hosting sleepovers to jumping on the neighbors' trampoline, from cleaning to getting my colors analyzed, from relaxing over delicious sushi with the kids at the Plum Garden to coercing them to finally take a friggin' shower. Engulfed in sadness at times. Bouncing as high as possible, and laughing my head off, mere hours later.

On the color front: I'm a dark autumn. Rich, deep colors. I can wear silver and gold. Together. And, unlike my "true summer" mom and sis, I can wear black. (Sorry Mommy Cash!) But, I cannot wear white or off-white. So I went through my closet, compared all of my clothes against my new color palette and put aside the clothes that reportedly are not best for me. This includes two lilac sweaters that I always get compliments on. So, do people simply like the color (and would make flattering remarks regardless of who is wearing it)? Or am I in black so much that they're just reacting to the fact that I'm wearing any color? Or is that a good color but a different shade would be even better? Or is the color consultant simply wrong? Only time, governed by a million and one new "Darling you look divine," comments will tell.

On the church front: I didn't realize the impact of taking my kids to a non-Catholic church all these years would have. As Grannie's car was being fixed due to a parking lot hit-and-run (which, by the by, happens to her gorgeous Lexus and not my rusty, 10-year-old Jetta: unfair), the kids and I decided to take her to her church instead of ours.

First question, asked loudly by Son #1 upon walking in, "What's that?" to which I responded, "Holy water." That was followed by a slew of related questions. I'm sure the devout Catholics around us were assuming we're the great unwashed. Next, while seated in the pew, "When are those bells going to stop? They're annoying me." That just happens to be one of my favorite sounds ever!

One kid was chewing gum. Neither would arise for the Catholic aerobics throughout the ceremony. I was continually peppered with "Is this almost over?" questions. I got two, rapid head jerks in my direction when the priest said, "ass" and I had to remind them that it also meant "donkey." One refused to take his arms out of his sleeves during the hand-holding, singing rendition of the Lord's Prayer. Both looked extremely perplexed during the Kiss of Peace. And, finally, one was dying for the bathroom but didn't know where it was -- so we ended up spawning against the tide during communion.

At the end, I asked, "So what did you think of Grannie's church?" and received the following reply, "Well, I wasn't listening but the stained glass windows are cool." Yes, they are.

Amen.