Racials Slurs and Expletives in Second Grade

Last night, after watching Serena Williams play in the US Open for a little while, I was putting the kids to bed. Son #1 asked me, "Mama, why do some people call black people the 'N word'?"

Me: Where on earth did you hear that word?

Son #1: Evan called a girl in our class a "F'ing N" last year and got sent to the Principal's office. (Names changed to protect the not-so-innocent.)

Me (shocked, horrified and somewhat speechless): That is not acceptable -- not funny, not to be taken lightly, not to ever come out of your mouth -- do you understand? We need to focus on loving everyone and embracing people's differences.

Son #1: Yeah, that's why I like the kids in my class so much: some are Asian or Indian.

Me: So why, with so many awesome friends, do you hang out with Evan so much?

Son #1: Well, he's really funny. Do you know how we met?

Me: In kindergarten?

Son #1: Yeah, we were supposed to be drawing and he asked me if I wanted him to draw a picture of his private parts. So I said, "yes" but I didn't know what private parts were. A few minutes later, Mrs. Fernandez was taking him to the Principal's office and I looked over to my left and saw his drawing. That's when I figured out what private parts were. When Mrs. Fernandez came back she told us that we're not allowed to draw private parts in school.

(Pause.)

Me: Life is all about the choices you make. You have a choice right now. You can either sink to his level if you keep hanging out with him or you can raise him up and let him know that there's a better world out there that doesn't include using bad words and drawing inappropriate pictures.

Son #1: We've already talked about that. We now have an agreement that he won't swear around me any more.

Me: Whoa. I'm impressed that you've already had that conversation!

Son #1: I had to. He got sent to the Principal's office every day last year for swearing and I thought maybe he should stop.

I felt like I had been sucker punched. I am sooooooooo glad that, for the first time in three years, these kids are finally in different classrooms. And, no, he can never sleep over at that kid's house even though he keeps asking. Never. Do his parents think this crap is funny? Are they saying these things, too, or just resigned to it after raising older boys? I have no idea.

You are known by the company you keep. And life is governed by the choices we make. How do you really teach that to a kid entering third grade?

Ugly Betty

My brother Kevin and I were speaking in Spanish with each other for about one minute this afternoon until our entire repertoire was depleted.

K: Hola!

Me: Hola! Como estas?

K: Asi asi, y tu?

Me: Muy bien, gracias.

K: Estas una cabrona.

Me: Que?

He primarily remembers the expletives from high school. I remember the following.

My brother Mark agreed to paint my unfinished bedside table/bookshelf for me. He chose a crisp shade of white. What a kind and caring gesture! It wasn't until I moved it to go to college that I noticed he hadn't painted the entire backside; instead, he painted one word (all caps): FEO.

Brotherly love at its finest. And, if you know his personality, you'll know that it was really funny to discover the hidden gem years later. Can't be all sweetness all the time with your little sister, huh?

OMG GNO!

Flew to DC for my girlfriend Kim's bachelorette party, stagette night, or more simply: girls' night out (i.e., GNO). It was great to meet her friends and even more awesome to (finally) meet, and spend some time with, the man of her dreams -- who is setting the bar a bit high for other men on this planet. Very thoughtful, intelligent, caring, handsome, normal, attitude-less and so on. What the ? Sensitive without being uh, how do you say, a sellout? Or wimpy? Definitely a hard balance that he's somehow perfected (at least more so than your average bear).

Even when we were getting ready to go out, they were covertly trying to figure out how they could somehow meet up later that night. Reinterpreting the whole GNO theme, I daresay.

Anyhoo, we had a really, really, really nice weekend. Totally chill. Sightseeing and shopping in Baltimore. Buying faboo new dresses at an edgy boutique: Form (hey mine was marked down to $129 from almost $500 -- score!). Hanging out at a couple of DC neighborhood bars. Relaxing over breakfast at an amazing restaurant that is part groovy lounge (old couches/crystal chandeliers) and part Polish diner (e.g., Kielbasa and egg breakfasts). Laughing a lot. Um, not to mention getting a little (!) emotional over their upcoming wedding. Chicks & love . . .

But my favorite line of the weekend came from Kim who toasted herself and her upcoming nuptials by happily exclaiming, "Here's to sleeping with the same guy for the rest of my life!"

Awesome! All of the married women at the table, perhaps me more than the others, were laughing their heads off.

Spirit in the Sky

Two nights ago, a bunch of kids from the neighborhood were hanging out in our tent -- best investment ever -- that the hubby put up in the side yard by the fire pit. They had the Coleman lantern in there and were playing Battleship and Stratego. I was relaxing in the house.

At some point, seven panic-stricken kids came flying up to our front porch. "There are noises outside the tent! It sounds like someone knocking all over the tent but when we look out, nothing is there." I, being the awesome parent that I am, ignored them. "I'm sure it's nothing." I assumed that, as kids do through ghost stories and such, they were just freaking each other out.

A few minutes later, Son #1 came home crying. He had run outside, tripped over a tent stake and scraped his elbow. Through his sobs he said, "While I was lying there, it was raining nickels." Huh? "Nickels were coming down from heaven." He opened his fist and, sure enough, there was a nickel nestled in his palm.

Son #2 nodded his confirmation, "It's true."

I gave him a big hug and said, "Well that's pretty cool. Raining nickels!"

What a beautiful vision for a kid to hold onto, I thought to myself, never really thinking more of it. And never, for whatever reason, linking the two episodes together.

The next day, a long poem appeared taped to the tent. It was written by Nicholas (Nick) Nickels who was asking if he could live in the tent and offering his coins as part of the rent.

Last night (and most of the day from what I've been told) was a frenzy of the same kids, back in the tent, trying to figure it out. "I think he's a spirit or an angel." "I ran into my teacher today and she said Nick's probably a leprechaun." "I'm scared, will you come in there with us?"

The mayhem quickly escalated when another little girl came from across the street and scared everyone -- some to tears. Everyone was trying to figure out what clues may have been left in the poem itself. "What's a pun?" "Hey, it says 'set up' for the tent -- I think we're being set up. That's a pun, right?"

This led to some super sleuthing and an attempt at a trial.

"Was it Mr. R?" Answer: No we don't have a) a color printer or b) any money.

"Mr. S, it was you, wasn't it? Your computer has this font on it!" Answer: No, I'm an accountant not a writer. I couldn't have made that poem up.

"An accountant? That means you count nickels!"

And so on and so on . . .

Last night, I fell asleep while Son #1 was still excitedly putting together his court case. "We don't have enough evidence to convict Mr. S. except the laptop."

This morning, Son #1 was up early. "Can I go out to the tent and see if Nick left another note?" Sure enough, there was another poem left on the tent and today's even contained a claim that Nick is, indeed, a spirit.

I must say, it's a pretty exciting end to the summer and one they may never forget.

Days with My Father

Days with My Father captures in gorgeous photos and compelling yet heart wrenching text a son's loving journey through life with his elderly father who is suffering from short-term memory loss.

(Note: Click on the screen and use your mouse to scroll through the photos and captions.)

It's sad, captivating, touching, charming and beautiful.

Defying the Odds

I went to dinner at JoJo again last night because they have the best hummus on the planet (never mind the garlic). My girlfriends were asking how my niece, who just started her freshman year at Rice this week, was doing because they knew I was nervous for her. We started talking about the college experience including that initial fear/sadness that quickly dissipates and the wonder of co-ed dorms.

We were trying to remember if Day Hall at Syracuse University had officially sanctioned co-ed bathrooms after midnight or if that's just how it panned out (due to laziness) during the middle of the night. I commented that, on a co-ed floor of 80 kids, there were only eight girls my first year so the bathrooms were pretty much co-ed all the time -- not much you could do.

My girlfriend Christine responded, "Wait, there was a 72:8 ratio and you still never hooked up?"

Holy cow! Seriously, I've never thought about it like that before.

72 dudes and eight chicks and I never had a single date. Defying the odds, once again.

Vintageous

My new favorite site: Vintageous! Chock full of evening gowns and cocktail dresses from the 40s, 50s and 60s.

Seriously, at less than $300, what bride wouldn't look fabulous in this?



Where was this site when I was getting married? Instead, in those pre-Vera Wang days, all of the dresses had gigantic bows, puffy sleeves, huge trains, etc. After countless failed efforts at finding reasonable dresses, the saleswoman at a local bridal store actually called my roommate Bae and me "the most conservative girls she had ever met." We preferred to think of ourselves as tasteful.

When my dress maker fell asleep on the job, I ended up buying a somewhat more-girly-than-myself number off the rack at the last minute but it had a sweet tulle skirt like the image above with daisies on it. Not all bad except that I had to have the sequins removed -- which the girl in the dressing room next to mine asked to have sewn onto her dress. Knock yourself out, they're all yours! (Sight unseen, I bet she had the proverbial big bangs that were popular in those days.)

Yet, when I picked the dress up, a number of sequins were still on it. Why? Were they load bearing? Nope, the tailor at the store simply couldn't imagine that I really wanted them all removed. Just unfathomable.

Whatever.

Rockin the Suburbs

I just read, or rather attempted to read, Restless Virgins, a story presumably about a sex scandal that rocked Milton Academy in 2005. The book is, more accurately, a one dimensional chronicle of teen hook-ups (I'm too old to care) and tracks a number of kids through their sexual exploits and/or teen heartaches. And the "scandal" -- which is nested in the center of the book and barely makes a dent in the reading -- seems like just another day in the life of these kids except that they got caught. Rather, the whole scene is scandalous and belongs in Penthouse Forum Junior (if there was such a thing).

I put down the book midway through and thought to myself, "I'm so glad that I never had to compete with my friends sexually." Things really were so much more innocent 25-30 years ago. Yes, I had some promiscuous friends but they were more the exception than the norm. I think.

Then I went out for a quick cocktail with my neighbors last night. Women who live in all of the homes surrounding mine but who, with the exception of a couple, I really don't know. Women who, I just came to find out, dine naked with their husbands IN THEIR BACKYARDS wearing nothing but red pumps. Women who apparently howl so loud with their husbands from their hot tubs that they caused a lot of laughter at the table last night. Women who boast about breaking their headboards.

I can't compete at that level. With the exception of my classically dressed next door neighbor and a couple of slightly more casual friends, I was also the only one not (as her husband later put it), "cougared up." My green t-shirt with bright pink belt on white cotton shorts was no match for all of the black-on-black ensembles I was seated with. Which also begs the question: Was this a casual night out for the girls or were they headed later to the Academy Awards? I somehow missed that portion of the invite.

Anyhoo, I'm thinking I should climb up into the tree house over the weekend to make some crazy noises. As Bonnie Rait once said, "Let's give 'em something to talk about."

Or maybe not.

I Just Gotta Be Me

I ran across this simple quote from Annie Dillard and it made me gasp:

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.

Is this really how I want to spend my life?

I was speaking with a potential client last week and, at the end of our professional conversation which went extremely well, I shared a silly story with him. He politely stood up to leave and I was immediately stricken with self-doubt and loathing. I was asking myself on the drive home and well into the night, "Why did you have to add that last part?" or "Why can't you learn to keep your mouth shut?" WWSD? (Insert boss' name instead of Jesus.)

My boss and I talked about this scenario on our way home from another client in the Adirondacks late last night. She had a similar experience with him and felt much the same as I. A little comforting but it still begs the question: Am I living my life with integrity?

Am I being myself? Can I find a so-called career that better suits me? While I'm increasingly more comfortable in a stifling professional environment, I want more. Half the time, I feel like I'm pretending to be someone else.

I really do love my clients. I want them to succeed. I enjoy helping them.

But can't I do it with a hint of personality, too? Or is that unacceptable?

I just want to dance.

The New Food Pyramid

When I was little, we were allowed to pick out one box of sugar cereal as a big treat on our birthdays. Meanwhile, my mom (the nutritionist) stashed Hershey’s kisses in her bedroom. I didn’t find out for years.

My dad, on the other hand, would buy Ho Hos for us at the grocery store and attempt to hide them so my mom wouldn’t find out.

With her grandkids, the rules have become much more relaxed.

A few weeks ago, “Did you know that Grannie lets us drink Coke for breakfast?”

Breakfast at Grannie’s home this past Saturday morning: bacon, ice cream and Skittles.

Can’t be any worse than PopTarts at our house – just more fun. Now if they can just convince her to invest in the $400 Wii Fit, they’ll never want to come home.

Hence the threatening note to Grannie from Son #2, “By a Wii or elese” (sic).

Today's tactics seem much more menacing than they were when I was younger, no? We employed more guilt during negotiations than fear. We utilized the explicit, "If you loved me, you would buy me a pony" comment or its implied lack-of-love equivalent, "All of my friends are allowed to have phones in their rooms."

So far, none of these approaches appears to work. I'm just grateful that my mom continues to love and take care of them even though their parents apparently haven't taught them any manners . . .

Yes Sway

If you're looking for a beach read that's business-related (really, and who isn't?), I just finished Sway: The Irresistable Pull of Irrational Behavior by Ori and Rom Brafman. Loved it.

It's an interesting, smart, thought-provoking, page turner filled with research-backed stories that explain how and why, among other things, well educated doctors can send a child home to die, seasoned pilots can cause deadly air disasters, otherwise intelligent students at Harvard would pay over $200 for a twenty dollar bill, the University of Florida Gators rose to the top, etc.

In the midst of the compelling behavioral anecdotes are a number of "lessons learned" that can easily be applied to our day-to-day lives when making pricing decisions, communicating with clients, developing incentive programs, and so on.

And I now know how to effectively get men to call me. Where was this book twenty years ago?!

Crystal Light

Today marks our 15th year of marriage which, the hubby claims, is the "Styrofoam anniversary."

Not trusting his sage advice, I just looked it up and apparently we should be celebrating with crystal gifts for one another. With our house in constant disarray, Legos painfully found in my shoes last night and a bulimic cat leaving treasures underfoot, somehow crystal doesn't seem right for us -- regardless of the year.

I personally think this should be the "Molly Maid anniversary."

'Tis a Magic Place

Son #2: "Look at this picture of Stonehenge. Wouldn't it be great to go there?"

Me: "I've actually been to Stonehenge."

Son #2: "REALLY?? What band did you see?"

Should I be thanking Guitar Hero or Nigel Tufnel for my child's tunnel vision of this world famous, prehistoric monument?

The Weekend's Too Short

Our long weekend at the beach was much too short. More on that later.

The drive, on the other hand, was waaaay too long. Due to construction in the Poconos (in two separate places), traffic was reduced to one lane and merging was a long, drawn out, slow motion hell. And, unbeknownst to us, traffic was also congested due to the fact that it was Nascar race weekend. Yippee.

Lucky for us, we had two kids in the car -- one of whom was hungry. "I want a cheeseburger." "When are we stopping for a cheeseburger?" "Are we there yet?"

So we had the pleasure of stopping for the night at a lovely Howard Johnson's in Bartonsville PA. I wrote a one word review on TripAdvisor that hasn't yet been posted: "Ew." However, in the process of contributing, I happened to notice that many others who stayed at that hotel had experienced car break-ins and stolen items. (Except for one reviewer who writes, "Truly a wonderful place to stay. Clean, upscale, great service. The restaurant is very romantic . . . " Huh? And by romantic, do you mean dimly lit?) Just feeling grateful that all of our stuff is still with us.

But my favorite part of traveling to the beach was our brief visit to Dunkin' Donuts (a.k.a. Stinkin' Donuts) the following morning when the woman standing beside us in line had either fallen asleep the night before in a vat of raw sewage or she possibly had a festering wound on her (insert unnamed body part here) that needed some critical attention. America certainly does Run on Dunkin' cause I cannot imagine what else is keeping that woman alive.

Am I grateful to have spent some time with my girlfriends and their families? Yes. Was it nice to spend a weekend with the hubby and kids? You betcha. Am I happy to have had a lone walk along the beach where a perfectly formed sand dollar washed up right on my toes? Very much so. Do I want to do it again any time soon? Not so much.

The Beach!

Finally, the weekend is upon us! Driving to Long Island to meet up with my girlfriends and families -- yes, the trip I had to cancel at the last minute last year has resurfaced. Yea!

I just looked at pictures from two years ago to get even more excited.

Eating watermelon:


Playing soccer on the croquet lawn after an aborted tournament:


Cannot wait another second.

Given that today is my "day off," I just said to my coworker, Scott, who is conducting some research for me, "I'm going to grab everything you've done on my way out the door at 1:00 p.m."

He responded, "Sounds great. Way to get away from it all."