A New Kind of Scary

What is happening? In the last few days there have been a couple of horrific stories of women murdering innocent children that were under their care. The latest, which took place in the town I live in, involved a woman who took the life of her own child as well as another for whom she was babysitting. As a mom, my heart breaks for those poor women who left their children with someone they trusted; someone they thought of as family. As a woman, I'm trying to comprehend what could possibly have happened to these women who committed these heinous acts to bring them to do anything so horrific to a child.

We're supposed to be the nurturers. We're supposed to be tender. We're supposed to be gentle. How could such brutality come from a woman's hands? How could a mother look into the eyes of her child and see terror and know that she had put it there?

My town has known this kind of horror before. Several years ago, a well-known and respected member of the community calmly fed her three children a cocktail of drugs before suffocating each one of them. The press theorized that she had done it to punish her estranged husband but there really is no explanation. When a mother turns on her own children it is an act against nature and it makes every one of us question the state of our world.

So tonight, the scariest night of the year, I am feeling a new kind of fear. I worry about our country, the condition of our families and the mental health of people who have been beaten down with stress, anxiety and hopelessness. As my minister said in church this past Sunday, it's time to stop looking at the Oval Office to solve our problems and start looking instead to the heavens. Someone is trying to tell us something.

Maybe we should start listening.

It's Just Stuff

This week I had a little problem with how my husband handled the disappearance of one of his possessions. No, a thief didn't invade the sanctity of our home in the middle of the night, our daughter "borrowed" something without his permission and he tends to frown on that sort of behavior. I thought his reaction was a little over the top, seeing that he hadn't used the said object (a keyboard that had been packed up and relegated to a storage spot in the living room) for months and hadn't noticed that it was missing until days after the fact. I saw his side of it but still felt uneasy about the importance he had placed on a "thing".

Not long after the piano incident, I shuffled down to the basement to raid the freezer for one of those big, beautiful Costco muffins that had been living there since my last trip to the warehouse. They make you buy a dozen of those suckers, so it's not unusual for several to take up prolonged residence in the freezer until I'm struck by the need for a muffin fix. So, there I was, ready to devour a streusel-topped pumpkin muffin with a hot cup of tea when, much to my dismay, there were none to be found. Once again, my daughter had been the culprit. Frustrated (and forced to substitute a stale cinnamon bagel in its place), I called my daughter's cell and left an impassioned plea to never take the last of anything without asking and, if she couldn't stop herself, at least leave me a note admitting her crime.

Lest you think I'm some kind of muffin fanatic who goes ballistic over the absence of a baked good, I should mention that my kid's been guilty of quite a bit of pilfering these days. When I last went to have a Pepsi with my pizza - gone. When I reached into my make-up bag for foundation - gone. When I went to wear that cute black shirt with the ruffles - gone. She's not around much but when she is, stuff seems to disappear.

I finally joined my husband (with my stale bagel and tea) to watch The Avengers. As I groused about the disappearance of my beloved muffin and how ticked off I was at our resident thief, he looked at me and smiled. "It's only a thing," he said.

How dare he repeat my words of wisdom at a time like this.

Chinese, Wine and Bargains

There is something so powerful about spending time with a bunch of women you care about. What you do doesn't matter. Where you hang out doesn't matter. The only thing that does matter is finding time to get together on a regular basis - something me and my gals seem to have had a little trouble with lately. One weekend wasn't about to rectify a year's worth of neglect but no one can say we didn't try.

I was late, as usual, so they start ed without me. By the time I arrived, cranky and tired from driving all day (car shopping with my kid but that's another story), they were already on their second glass of vino. We ordered Chinese and I tried to get less cranky. The wine and the lo mein did their magic and I managed to relax long before we sat down to watch old home videos - yes, home videos. There is nothing that my daughter and her cousin like doing better than watching (and laughing) at younger versions of themselves, making fun of their mothers' (my sister and I, of course) ill-advised wardrobe and hair choices along the way.

When we'd finally had enough tripping down memory lane, we moved on to more conversation. The continued consumption of alcohol made this discussion time a lot more interesting than our earlier version and lasted until our sentences were no longer making sense. We retreated to various beds and started up where we left off six hours later. Congregating on my niece's king-sized bed, we plotted the rest of the day. Now that we'd spent time eating, drinking and talking, there was only one thing left to do - shopping.

We headed for my niece's favorite bargain spot - The Sears Outlet Store. Before you laugh, I can tell you I left that store with five pajama tops and two bottoms and spent less than ten dollars and my daughter came out with a huge bag of work clothes for $26. Not laughing now, are you?

Later there was nothing to do but hug and kiss and promise each other that we would do this again soon. There we were, two generations of women who love hanging out with each other making a spectacle of themselves in the middle of the clearance aisle.

I wonder how soon Sears can restock those racks.

Shopping in the Rain

You never know when great moments are coming. You can try to plan them. You can try to engineer them. But that doesn't usually work. And very often they just present themselves in disguises that are so hard to recognize that you almost pass them up.

Yesterday, I got a phone call from my son. That in itself is a pretty memorable event. Like many young men, he's not particularly communicative. When I see his number pop up on my caller id, it's time for celebration. I'm not naive. I know he's not calling to chat; there's always a purpose to his call. But I don't care. If he's going to hit me up for something, I'm going to make him work for it. So, we did the dance for awhile. I knew he wanted something and he knew that I knew. It didn't take long for him to get to the point. He wanted to go look for a car and he wanted to know if I could go along.

I had just gotten home from work. It was raining. It was cold. I wanted nothing more than to hunker down with a cup of tea and my down comforter. So, what did I do? I put on my coat, grabbed an umbrella and got in the car.

We were the only crazy people on the lots so, of course, we had the undivided attention of every dealership we entered. Sitting with the salesmen, I couldn't help remembering shopping for my first car with my father. Back in the dark ages, when you could actually afford a brand new car on a part-time job salary, it was fun. Yes, my dad had to co-sign but the numbers were so much less daunting than they are now. I could see it on my son's face; reality was setting in. What he could afford and what he wanted were not living in the same neighborhood.

We left the last lot with a collection of business cards and no car. But the evening wasn't over. Twenty minutes later we were sitting in Olive Garden sharing a carafe of wine, a pasta dinner and a whole lot of conversation. By this time, his girlfriend had joined us. And I didn't mind a bit.

So, bring on the rain. Bring on the snow. Bring on the obnoxious car salesmen. It's all worth it if I get to spend a whole evening with my kid.

Fair's Fair

I've come to the conclusion that you can make yourself crazy trying to be fair. When you have two kids you want to make sure that you dole out your time, money and support on an equal basis (I have no idea how those Duggars do it with 19). But there's just no getting around the fact that, as hard as you try, things are going to get uneven once in awhile.

It's like that old adage about marriage. There's nothing 50/50 about it - sometimes you're giving 90% and sometimes you're giving 10%. You can only hope that it's not a one-way street and, like Vegas, will even out in the end. But your kids don't realize that yet. They also don't realize that when one of your kids is in trouble, you've got to be on the hook for more than when things are coasting. The hard part is, trying to explain it to the one whose life is not currently going up in flames.

You can remind them that their time is probably coming. You can reassure them that you'll do your best to be there for them when they really need you. But that doesn't stop them from feeling cheated right now. And it doesn't stop you from feeling guilty.

Why wasn't this a chapter in all those baby books?

I Know It's Fall But . . .

The leaves are falling, the temperatures are dropping - that can only mean one thing. It's time for all things pumpkin. Now, I like our rotund, orange vegetable friend as much as the next guy but don't you think we've stepped into dangerous overload territory? I'm crazy about pumpkin bread (with the appropriate drizzle of cream cheese icing, of course), I have a tray of the streusel-covered muffins from Costco in my freezer and I think pumpkin cheesecake is a decadent fall treat. But, c'mon, pumpkin flavored dog treats?! Yes, you read that correctly, Fido is now getting in on the pumpkin insanity, whether he wanted to or not.

I swear I'm not making this up. My latest copy of the Fearless Flyer from Trader Joe's has this new addition to dog food listed on page twenty. They also have twenty-two other pumpkin-flavored items ranging from coffee to ravioli. Twenty-two! They did manage to squeeze in a mention or two for non-pumpkin related items but the emphasis was clear - it's pumpkin season and we're going to shove it into any damn thing we can think of!

I suppose there's nothing wrong with showing our chubby buddy some love. I just wish we could spread it out a little. They do can this stuff. So why can't we have pumpkin-flavored coffee in April? Why can't we have pumpkin pancakes in July? I've heard there's actually a glut of the little devils this year, so why not? I know I'm doing my part. I found a deal for ten cans for $10 at my local Meijer store and intend to have cream cheese covered pumpkin bars whenever the spirit moves me.

But those canine treats still worry me. What's next pomegranate-flavored chew toys and butternut squash dog food?

The New Me

Reinventing yourself is confusing. Just as I got comfortable with the person I had turned into, I found myself turning into someone completely different. Oh, both of us like pizza and Ryan Reynolds and still hate doing housework (why can't that change?) but there are some fundamental differences that I never saw coming.

I knew giving up my full-time mothering gig would require adjustment. I knew that I would have to find ways to fill my day that didn't involve driving a forgotten lunch to school or remembering how to do algebraic word problems. I hoped that I would discover new talents and rediscover some old ones. But I never imagined I would embrace solitude as much as I have. I never imagined I could go for hours without speaking.

Once afraid of having a meal alone, I now relish eating whatever I want with no one around to pilfer my goodies or critique my choices. Once uncomfortable with silence, I now think it's one of the more beautiful sounds on earth. It's as if I don't want anyone or anything to deter me from the pursuits I've been putting off for far too long. It's as if I have a new baby that needs constant attention and that new baby is me.


It's not that I don't love my family. It's not that I don't want to rekindle romance with my husband. I just don't want to do anything I don't really want to do. I need to find out what I've got left in me. I want to take a shot at making some kind of mark that says I was here; that I mattered; that I had something to say that was worth hearing. It's selfish and I know it. I always thought I would be one of those amazing old ladies that left everything behind and joined the Peace Corps. I've always thought Ayn Rand and her philosophy of self-fulfillment was positively evil. So why do I now think she might have been on to something?

Like I said, confusing.

Just Saying

So, it's Wednesday and I said I was going to write a blog every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Only thing is, I have nothing much I want to say. But since I don't want to disappoint my seven loyal readers, I must press on. That's why I've decided to pull out the old writer's trick of making a list of some obscure observations. My subject for today is: Things I'll Never Understand. Here we go.

• My husband's (or anyone's) obsession with punctuality. Five minutes either side of the appointed time is on-time in my book.
• How Arby's is still in business
• Why anyone thinks Johnny Depp is sexy
• Anyone who says they like coconut water. Have you tasted it? It tastes like something between water you soak your feet in and sauerkraut juice (I've never tasted either but I have a good imagination).
• Why The Middle isn't as popular as Modern Family
• Why everyone in America doesn't have a DVR. It's clearly the best invention of the last 100 years (with apologies to the internet and dishwashers)
• How anyone can sit through a horror/slasher movie
• Why I have to have dessert at nine o'clock at night
• How I've gained ten pounds in the last year (oh, see above)
• People who love winter
• Why I wasn't born in Italy
• How people can spend $4000 on a purse
• Why I get so excited when my People magazine is delivered
• People who can't give compliments
• Why anyone gets a sleeve tattoo
• The complete dumbing-down of America. Can we please stop exporting reality shows that make our entire nation look like a bunch of dunder-headed dolts? 

That should do it. For now. That was so much fun I might make that a regular feature. After all, it worked for David Letterman.

A Walk in the Sun

It always struck me as funny that people all over the world hustle off to see famous sights in faraway places while neglecting to visit hot spots right in their own backyards. How many New Yorkers have been to the top of the Empire State Building? How many Londoners have stood in line at Buckingham Palace? We human beings tend to think that the other guys' stuff is infinitely superior to ours and think nothing of racing off to stand in line with thousands of other delusional tourists instead of appreciating our own local treasures.

Case in point - I've lived in Chicago most of my life. During that time I've seen plenty of what brings tourists to our city. I've been to the top of the Sears Tower (I'll never be able to call it the Willis Tower), I've spent money on Michigan Avenue, I've spent the day at Navy Pier and taken the Architectural Tour along the river. I've listened to music at Ravinia, I've taken in Cubs, Sox, Bears, Bulls and Blackhawks games (are we a lucky city or what?) and I've eaten more deep-dish pizza than I care to admit. But, until yesterday, I had never been to The Botanic Gardens. What a mistake.

The day was brisk but sunny. The grounds were immaculate and still bursting with colorful flowers, shrubs and trees. There was an English garden which looked like something out of Jane Eyre and a fruit and vegetable garden with a chef hosting a seasonal cooking demonstration. There were signs offering tips for organic gardening and composting and an area with toy trains running through tiny tunnels. Everywhere you turned there were reminders of the infinite and varied beauty that God has created for us to enjoy. The fact that I got to share it with my husband and six fantastic people I'm lucky enough to call friends made it just about perfect.

And that wasn't all. When I got home, my DVR delivered a commercial-free Bears victory. That does it - my Ryder Cup blues are officially banished.

Feelin' Good

I’m going to get a little delicate with this one. Is there anything that makes you feel better than wearing comfortable underwear? I didn’t think so. For years I’ve tried to squeeze myself into flimsy undergarments that barely covered what undergarments are meant to cover. I’ve bought slinky bikinis with elastic that inevitably rose up into areas it was never meant to occupy and lacy hipsters with no elastic that refused to stay where it was supposed to. But no more. My Victoria’s Secret catalog has been consigned to the nearest recycling bin. For I have found the Holy Grail – a comfortable pair of halfway-decent looking underwear that comes in at half the price of the fancy stuff.

I’m not talking about granny pants. I may get there someday but not today. They are cotton but they’re cute cotton and they're hipsters (a suitable concession to gravity from bikinis). And the best part - they come in packages of six at your favorite discount store. Once I slipped them on, I knew. I knew my days of wedgies were over. I knew my trips to the bathroom to retrieve my sliding undies had come to an end. I knew elastic would no longer be digging into my netherlands. This was it. Nirvana.

Hanes – you had me at hello.

Giving Up the Game?

I’ve written often about my love of sports; how watching talented athletes pushing themselves to achieve life-long goals inspires me. Today, I’m writing about the flip side – when talented athletes falter and rip your heart out in the process.

The other day I wrote about my perfect day walking around the grounds of Medinah Country Club with my family, enjoying the scenery as well as the atmosphere of the first Ryder Cup to be held in the area. By the time Saturday night rolled around, the American team had taken a huge lead in the event and it looked as if we had finally beaten the Europeans at their own game. If you’ve been away from your TV or can’t be bothered with this stuff, you might not know that we left that beautiful venue empty-handed. And now my club, (okay, I don’t belong but thanks to my dad I do get to play there on a regular basis), will always be known as the site of one of the biggest disasters in American golf – and that stinks.

I can’t tell you how much I hate myself for taking this stuff so seriously. I can’t believe I woke up twice during the night and the first thing I thought of (no, it wasn’t that I had to use the bathroom) was that stupid golf tournament. My poor dad, who’s been working at Medinah for twenty-three years, said he did the same thing; certain that he was just waking up from a bad dream. But that’s the thing about sports. You invest your time, your energy and your spirit rooting for your team and, if you let it, a crushing defeat will devastate you almost as much as it devastates your team.

You don’t have to remind me that it’s just a game. I’ve been telling myself that all day. I know no one died; everyone will live to fight another day. But we were so close; so close and now we have to wait two years to have another chance.

So now it’s up to the Bears. C’mon guys, I’m counting on you. Don’t ruin my Tuesday.