Jennifer Wilck's Blog, page 41
July 18, 2016
Camp NaNoWriMo
A bunch of writer friends and I are participating in CampNaNoWriMo this month. It’s a shorter version of NaNoWriMo, where you choose your project and your final word count.
I aimed small with only 20,000 words. I’m more than halfway there and shouldn’t have a problem meeting my deadline.
As for the camp part? Well, you form “cabins” with your friends to cheer each other on and your cabin gets a target word count based on everyone’s individual ones added together. There’s lots of support.
My cabin is very supportive of each other. It might be because everyone is nice or it might be because we’re all romance writers. As a genre, romance writers are extremely supportive of one another. It’s very rare for anyone to tear another author down. Even the big names make a point to help out other writers, remembering that they were once there too.
Support is crucial. We all go through periods of time when we think we suck, when we’re ready to give up, when we’re completely uninspired. It’s those times when we fall back on our writer friends, or in this case, our cabin. And those friends and bunkmates remind us we don’t suck, convince us not to give up and help us find our inspiration.
So while my kids are at camp, I’ll be there too. Only mine has AC. The food is good, if I do say so myself. And there are no bears.
I aimed small with only 20,000 words. I’m more than halfway there and shouldn’t have a problem meeting my deadline.
As for the camp part? Well, you form “cabins” with your friends to cheer each other on and your cabin gets a target word count based on everyone’s individual ones added together. There’s lots of support.
My cabin is very supportive of each other. It might be because everyone is nice or it might be because we’re all romance writers. As a genre, romance writers are extremely supportive of one another. It’s very rare for anyone to tear another author down. Even the big names make a point to help out other writers, remembering that they were once there too.
Support is crucial. We all go through periods of time when we think we suck, when we’re ready to give up, when we’re completely uninspired. It’s those times when we fall back on our writer friends, or in this case, our cabin. And those friends and bunkmates remind us we don’t suck, convince us not to give up and help us find our inspiration.
So while my kids are at camp, I’ll be there too. Only mine has AC. The food is good, if I do say so myself. And there are no bears.
July 11, 2016
Skunks!
I’ve been told by the Princess that I should worry more about skunks than bears at camp, since so far, she’s had two skunks “charge” at her and there are at least seven at camp.
Being a paranoid camp mom, I could easily find more things to worry about. However, I’m not sure I should add skunks to my list. Here’s why:
She’s a very intelligent person. However, I’m not completely sure she would recognize “charging” if she saw it, as her normal speed is “turtle-slow,” so technically we all “charge.” And while she only has to be faster than the slowest person if running from a bear, she usually IS the slowest person.
Even if we accept her classification of “charging,” neither of those two skunks sprayed her. I’m curious to find out what was behind her, since perhaps there was something else they were after—I know, she’s the center of the universe, interest in anything other than her is probably impossible to imagine. Maybe there was a bear?
I’m pretty sure that if the skunks were “charging” her that means their heads were closer to her than their tails. Tails being the dangerous parts of skunks. Bears, however, have bigger teeth and claws.
According to the Internet, which is at least as reliable as my teenager, skunks eat plants, bugs and small rodents. Basically, they get rid of pests. While she might be a pest, no self-respecting skunk is going to eat her. Bears, on the other hand...
The cure for being sprayed by a skunk is bathing in tomato juice. You then have to take an actual shower to get rid of the juice. Encouraging bathing while at camp is a good thing. What am I missing?
Being a paranoid camp mom, I could easily find more things to worry about. However, I’m not sure I should add skunks to my list. Here’s why:
She’s a very intelligent person. However, I’m not completely sure she would recognize “charging” if she saw it, as her normal speed is “turtle-slow,” so technically we all “charge.” And while she only has to be faster than the slowest person if running from a bear, she usually IS the slowest person.
Even if we accept her classification of “charging,” neither of those two skunks sprayed her. I’m curious to find out what was behind her, since perhaps there was something else they were after—I know, she’s the center of the universe, interest in anything other than her is probably impossible to imagine. Maybe there was a bear?
I’m pretty sure that if the skunks were “charging” her that means their heads were closer to her than their tails. Tails being the dangerous parts of skunks. Bears, however, have bigger teeth and claws.
According to the Internet, which is at least as reliable as my teenager, skunks eat plants, bugs and small rodents. Basically, they get rid of pests. While she might be a pest, no self-respecting skunk is going to eat her. Bears, on the other hand...
The cure for being sprayed by a skunk is bathing in tomato juice. You then have to take an actual shower to get rid of the juice. Encouraging bathing while at camp is a good thing. What am I missing?
July 4, 2016
Piggy And Baby Gone Bad
I’m trying to work on my camp communication skills.
You see, each year it’s a struggle to keep in touch with the kids while they’re away at camp. I like to write them every day or almost every day, because I want them to get mail. I know they look forward to the mail arriving and I want to make sure they get something from me on a regular basis.
However, I’m not really that interesting. There are only so many questions I can ask about camp (most of which are not getting answered) and only so many things I can tell them about my day, without repeating myself. This year, it’s especially difficult because one is now allowed to text and we communicate often—okay, mostly it involves, “Mom, can you send me…” but at least I know she’s alive and hasn’t been eaten by a bear. The other one warned me she wasn’t going to write and I haven’t heard a thing from her. The only thing keeping me from going off the deep end is that I see her in photos.
So this year, I decided to do something different. I don’t want to be “that mom” who texts constantly. I want the Princess to have as much freedom as she wants, free from having to check in. Not to mention, the more I text, the more chances she has to ask for food or other items. But I did want to perhaps provide a little amusement, and maybe spark some sort of reaction.
I started taking photographs. Both kids have guys they sleep with, and both kids left them home. So, stealing from the Elf on the Shelf friends, I have been posing them and photographing them. For Princess, who’s allowed to have her phone with her, I’ve been sending her “Fun photos of the day.” For Banana Girl, I’ve been printing and mailing them, in the hopes of eliciting some sort of response and maybe getting a letter in return.
I have not yet gotten a letter. I have, however, gotten return “Fun photos of the day” from the Princess, which tells me more about what she’s doing than if I asked her directly. And my adult friends, who see my posts on Facebook or Instagram, seem to be enjoying my endeavors.
I’d like to thank all my Christian friends who have made Elf on the Shelf part of their Christmas tradition, because you have inspired me to create something while my kids are at camp. I’d also like to thank my few chosen “Elf on the Shelf Gone Bad” friends for their wacky sense of humor, which has allowed me to expand upon my own creativity and truly make my project complete.
Things might be getting a little out of hand.
Even when the kids are gone, I can't shower in peace!
Entertaining themselves.
Who do you miss more?
Mmm, bacon!
You see, each year it’s a struggle to keep in touch with the kids while they’re away at camp. I like to write them every day or almost every day, because I want them to get mail. I know they look forward to the mail arriving and I want to make sure they get something from me on a regular basis.
However, I’m not really that interesting. There are only so many questions I can ask about camp (most of which are not getting answered) and only so many things I can tell them about my day, without repeating myself. This year, it’s especially difficult because one is now allowed to text and we communicate often—okay, mostly it involves, “Mom, can you send me…” but at least I know she’s alive and hasn’t been eaten by a bear. The other one warned me she wasn’t going to write and I haven’t heard a thing from her. The only thing keeping me from going off the deep end is that I see her in photos.
So this year, I decided to do something different. I don’t want to be “that mom” who texts constantly. I want the Princess to have as much freedom as she wants, free from having to check in. Not to mention, the more I text, the more chances she has to ask for food or other items. But I did want to perhaps provide a little amusement, and maybe spark some sort of reaction.
I started taking photographs. Both kids have guys they sleep with, and both kids left them home. So, stealing from the Elf on the Shelf friends, I have been posing them and photographing them. For Princess, who’s allowed to have her phone with her, I’ve been sending her “Fun photos of the day.” For Banana Girl, I’ve been printing and mailing them, in the hopes of eliciting some sort of response and maybe getting a letter in return.
I have not yet gotten a letter. I have, however, gotten return “Fun photos of the day” from the Princess, which tells me more about what she’s doing than if I asked her directly. And my adult friends, who see my posts on Facebook or Instagram, seem to be enjoying my endeavors.
I’d like to thank all my Christian friends who have made Elf on the Shelf part of their Christmas tradition, because you have inspired me to create something while my kids are at camp. I’d also like to thank my few chosen “Elf on the Shelf Gone Bad” friends for their wacky sense of humor, which has allowed me to expand upon my own creativity and truly make my project complete.
Things might be getting a little out of hand.
Even when the kids are gone, I can't shower in peace!
Entertaining themselves.
Who do you miss more?
Mmm, bacon!June 27, 2016
Stairway to Heaven
My husband and I went hiking on Saturday. I thought it would be a fun activity for us to do together while the girls are away. I have a warped idea of fun. We drove to Vernon and went on a seven-mile hike in the Wawayanda State Park, with the goal of climbing the Stairway to Heaven.I should have known from the name this was not going to go well.The hike started out easy—according to my husband, it wasn’t a hike, it was a "nature trail." And it was lovely. The trails were flat, some of them included walking on boardwalks over the marsh and there were even a few bridges to walk on—including a suspension bridge that was WAY less scary than the ropes course we did a few weeks ago (and from which my body has FINALLY stopped being sore, and most of the bruises have faded). I loved wandering through farmland and marshes and reminiscing about nature walks my great-uncle used to take my cousins and me on when we were little.
The worst part about it was the heat.They had benches strategically place so you could sit and rest. I’m not sure why you’d want to, as the benches were within the first mile of the hike, made of really splintery wood and in the blazing sunlight. There was not a spot of shade to be found, so sitting and sweating didn’t sound appealing. We kept walking. I sweated and thought about turning around, but that wouldn’t get me out of the sun. After an hour, we found a rock in the woods that was in the shade. Yay! My husband looked at the time and said we’d been walking an hour and asked if I wanted to stop. In the woods, with the temperature several degrees cooler, suddenly I didn’t mind continuing. Besides, he didn’t think it was a hike yet. Then we got to the train tracks.
From there, we looked across the meadow—where there were cows—and saw a mountain. My husband wondered if we were climbing that. I laughed. No way were we climbing that and getting back to the beginning while only hiking seven miles. Apparently, my knowledge of distance is about as reliable as my knowledge of geography and directions.
The good news: it was shady.The bad news: It was rocky. I kept getting lost because I couldn’t find the stupid white marks that told you where to go. It was steep. Really, really steep. And every person we met on the trail told us it was 30 minutes to the top.
No matter how long we kept walking, it was 30 minutes. And we’d know we were close when we saw the “really big rocks.” Um, we were climbing up, around and over really big rocks. Lots of them. And we didn’t seem to get any closer.I thought I was going to die. Seriously. So I started planning my funeral, only to realize that if I died, my rabbi wouldn’t be able to officiate because he’s away at camp, and I’d have some stranger talking about me, who probably wouldn't get me or my humor. Except I probably wouldn’t care since I’d be dead. After the longest 30 minutes of my life, we finally made it to a fork in the trail that had a huge man-made pyramid of rocks (even I could tell we’d made it). There were people standing there talking about bears.Apparently, a mama bear and her anywhere from two to five cubs—depending on who was relaying the information—was at the top where the view was. The view that was the only reason we were on this damn mountain in the first place. There was no way I was turning around this close to the end. Not happening.So we waited until those people turned in another direction, because I didn’t want to have to deal with them and we headed toward the ridge. We didn’t see the bear. My husband said he didn’t want to end up one of those stupid people on the Internet (as of now, it’s probably too late). So we walked carefully. And I tried to remember all the tips from the "What To Do If You See A Bear" brochure hanging at the beginning of the hike. All I remembered was something about being loud--was I supposed to be loud or were bears loud? Because I didn't hear any bears, and I'm not really good at being loud. When we got to the ridge, the view was beautiful and we started taking pictures.
A man and his teenaged daughters arrived and asked if we’d seen the bear. We said no.And then we saw the bear.
The man said not to worry, he was a cop and he had his gun with him.Great. Except I was not letting him shoot a mama bear and orphan the babies. Nope. He was going to have to shoot me too. And then there would be the funeral planning that I mentioned earlier. We peeked over the ridge and watched the mama bear and her cub (I only saw one) walk below us. The cub looked like a cat. I’ll assume it was a bear, since I wasn’t getting closer. More people showed up and eventually the mama started looking annoyed.Actually, she looked like she was smiling, but even I don’t believe that.We turned around and headed back down the mountain, which was significantly easier than heading up it, especially with “I saw bears” adrenaline running through me.Until I wandered off the trail—because, again, the stupid white marks were impossible to find. Why anyone let me go first and navigate is beyond me. So we hiked down and I distracted myself by wondering how the heck I was going to contact anyone if something happened and we got stuck.“Hi, we’re next to the big rock.”When the “I saw bears” adrenaline wore off, we were still on the mountain. Climbing down over the rocks wasn’t as scary as climbing up, but it certainly wasn’t any easier. But at least it was shady.Because when we finally got off the mountain, there wasn’t anymore shade.So we stopped at a farm (http://www.heavenhillfarm.com) advertising ice cream (and lunch), because my husband needed a break from my complaining and feeding me usually accomplishes that.Eventually, we got back to our car, after passing the cows who kept walking toward us rather than away from us, scaring a baby deer and passing some guy walking through the marsh trying to photograph a butterfly.And lots of people who asked us if we’d seen any bears.
The worst part about it was the heat.They had benches strategically place so you could sit and rest. I’m not sure why you’d want to, as the benches were within the first mile of the hike, made of really splintery wood and in the blazing sunlight. There was not a spot of shade to be found, so sitting and sweating didn’t sound appealing. We kept walking. I sweated and thought about turning around, but that wouldn’t get me out of the sun. After an hour, we found a rock in the woods that was in the shade. Yay! My husband looked at the time and said we’d been walking an hour and asked if I wanted to stop. In the woods, with the temperature several degrees cooler, suddenly I didn’t mind continuing. Besides, he didn’t think it was a hike yet. Then we got to the train tracks.
From there, we looked across the meadow—where there were cows—and saw a mountain. My husband wondered if we were climbing that. I laughed. No way were we climbing that and getting back to the beginning while only hiking seven miles. Apparently, my knowledge of distance is about as reliable as my knowledge of geography and directions.
The good news: it was shady.The bad news: It was rocky. I kept getting lost because I couldn’t find the stupid white marks that told you where to go. It was steep. Really, really steep. And every person we met on the trail told us it was 30 minutes to the top.
No matter how long we kept walking, it was 30 minutes. And we’d know we were close when we saw the “really big rocks.” Um, we were climbing up, around and over really big rocks. Lots of them. And we didn’t seem to get any closer.I thought I was going to die. Seriously. So I started planning my funeral, only to realize that if I died, my rabbi wouldn’t be able to officiate because he’s away at camp, and I’d have some stranger talking about me, who probably wouldn't get me or my humor. Except I probably wouldn’t care since I’d be dead. After the longest 30 minutes of my life, we finally made it to a fork in the trail that had a huge man-made pyramid of rocks (even I could tell we’d made it). There were people standing there talking about bears.Apparently, a mama bear and her anywhere from two to five cubs—depending on who was relaying the information—was at the top where the view was. The view that was the only reason we were on this damn mountain in the first place. There was no way I was turning around this close to the end. Not happening.So we waited until those people turned in another direction, because I didn’t want to have to deal with them and we headed toward the ridge. We didn’t see the bear. My husband said he didn’t want to end up one of those stupid people on the Internet (as of now, it’s probably too late). So we walked carefully. And I tried to remember all the tips from the "What To Do If You See A Bear" brochure hanging at the beginning of the hike. All I remembered was something about being loud--was I supposed to be loud or were bears loud? Because I didn't hear any bears, and I'm not really good at being loud. When we got to the ridge, the view was beautiful and we started taking pictures. 
A man and his teenaged daughters arrived and asked if we’d seen the bear. We said no.And then we saw the bear.
The man said not to worry, he was a cop and he had his gun with him.Great. Except I was not letting him shoot a mama bear and orphan the babies. Nope. He was going to have to shoot me too. And then there would be the funeral planning that I mentioned earlier. We peeked over the ridge and watched the mama bear and her cub (I only saw one) walk below us. The cub looked like a cat. I’ll assume it was a bear, since I wasn’t getting closer. More people showed up and eventually the mama started looking annoyed.Actually, she looked like she was smiling, but even I don’t believe that.We turned around and headed back down the mountain, which was significantly easier than heading up it, especially with “I saw bears” adrenaline running through me.Until I wandered off the trail—because, again, the stupid white marks were impossible to find. Why anyone let me go first and navigate is beyond me. So we hiked down and I distracted myself by wondering how the heck I was going to contact anyone if something happened and we got stuck.“Hi, we’re next to the big rock.”When the “I saw bears” adrenaline wore off, we were still on the mountain. Climbing down over the rocks wasn’t as scary as climbing up, but it certainly wasn’t any easier. But at least it was shady.Because when we finally got off the mountain, there wasn’t anymore shade.So we stopped at a farm (http://www.heavenhillfarm.com) advertising ice cream (and lunch), because my husband needed a break from my complaining and feeding me usually accomplishes that.Eventually, we got back to our car, after passing the cows who kept walking toward us rather than away from us, scaring a baby deer and passing some guy walking through the marsh trying to photograph a butterfly.And lots of people who asked us if we’d seen any bears.June 20, 2016
Limbo
This week is weird.
We dropped Princess off at camp on Sunday, but Banana Girl still has school. Camp drop-off didn’t feel like camp drop-off—it wasn’t crazy, there were no first-timers trying to figure out what to do and I didn’t insist on keeping my 10-minute unpacking and leaving record. We didn’t come home to an empty house and dinner was chosen by our remaining child. That hasn’t happened in years.
Today is the first day of summer, even though in my head that occurs on the 21st.
This should be the first day of my “summer vacation,” but in fact, Banana Girl will be home at 11:45 for the next two days. So my freedom is restrained. We don’t have the bustle of school, but we do have the craziness of studying for finals and last-minute camp packing.
She said goodbye to most of her friends this weekend at a BBQ, yet she’s still seeing them this week (and I'm still carpooling and transporting and schlepping). I still have to get up early to get her off to school, but I don’t have to pack anyone’s lunch.
She’s not filled with insane anxiety about packing, although she’s packing enough clothes for four people—maybe there’s nothing to be anxious about when you pack every piece of clothing you own? This year she’s finally adopting the T-shirt and crappy clothing for camp philosophy, although she insisted on purchasing new makeup (she doesn’t wear it during the year).
Princess is allowed to use her phone, so she texts me. I’m trying not to contact her, since I want her to have this time away, but it’s weird seeing her location active in a place it usually isn’t. Of course, she’s using her phone to send me lists of everything she needs, so the novelty is going to get old really quick.
And in the meantime, I’m hovering in that limbo area of waiting for everything to start, even though it all sort of has.
Like I said, this week is weird.
We dropped Princess off at camp on Sunday, but Banana Girl still has school. Camp drop-off didn’t feel like camp drop-off—it wasn’t crazy, there were no first-timers trying to figure out what to do and I didn’t insist on keeping my 10-minute unpacking and leaving record. We didn’t come home to an empty house and dinner was chosen by our remaining child. That hasn’t happened in years.
Today is the first day of summer, even though in my head that occurs on the 21st.
This should be the first day of my “summer vacation,” but in fact, Banana Girl will be home at 11:45 for the next two days. So my freedom is restrained. We don’t have the bustle of school, but we do have the craziness of studying for finals and last-minute camp packing.
She said goodbye to most of her friends this weekend at a BBQ, yet she’s still seeing them this week (and I'm still carpooling and transporting and schlepping). I still have to get up early to get her off to school, but I don’t have to pack anyone’s lunch.
She’s not filled with insane anxiety about packing, although she’s packing enough clothes for four people—maybe there’s nothing to be anxious about when you pack every piece of clothing you own? This year she’s finally adopting the T-shirt and crappy clothing for camp philosophy, although she insisted on purchasing new makeup (she doesn’t wear it during the year).
Princess is allowed to use her phone, so she texts me. I’m trying not to contact her, since I want her to have this time away, but it’s weird seeing her location active in a place it usually isn’t. Of course, she’s using her phone to send me lists of everything she needs, so the novelty is going to get old really quick.
And in the meantime, I’m hovering in that limbo area of waiting for everything to start, even though it all sort of has.
Like I said, this week is weird.
June 13, 2016
The Ropes Course
This is what happens when I let my husband plan family outings.One day while driving somewhere (we’re the parents of two teens with lots of local family—we’re always driving somewhere), we passed some people flying through the trees. Since this isn’t an ordinary sight, we paused, and realized they were swinging through a ropes course.“That looks fun,” my husband said.I agreed, which means I’d either not had enough sleep, was agreeing with him at the time so I could soften him up to argue with him later, or just wasn’t paying attention.He decided it would be a great Father’s Day activity. Well, our Father’s Days are spent with both sets of grandparents, so clearly, this was not something we were going to do on any actual Father’s Day. We’d make plans to do it on a weekend close to the holiday, but due to school schedules, camp preparation and other life craziness, we never found time to get to it.This year, he put it on the calendar. As soon as I heard my daughter’s exam schedules and departure days for sleep away camp, and realized we’ve done no preparation at all for packing, labeling or anything else, I gave him the look—the look that says, “I don’t want to tell you we’re not going to do something, but we’re not doing something.”And he gave me his disappointed look. So I caved and suggested we go yesterday. Hey, I was being spontaneous, something that hasn’t happened since approximately 1998.Oldest child flat out refused to go with us. She’d already been with youth group and claimed to have barely survived. She’s a little dramatic, so we ignored her warnings and told her to start packing.I should have listened to oldest.I thought I was being prepared by bringing bug spray. I mean, we’re in trees, there’s bugs, what else could I possibly need?People tell you to conquer your fear. They tell you to not show that fear to your children. They tell you not to give up. My husband says, “You’ll be proud of yourself when you finish.”In the future, I’m not listening to “people.” As for my husband, well, the jury’s still out on that one.Because it was most definitely the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I thought my biggest problem would be a fear of heights. No, my biggest problem was fear of landing. Because even though I was attached to a harness, it didn’t matter whether I was close to the ground or really, really high off the ground. As I tipped and shook and got blown by the wind and cursed my way across the different challenges, my biggest fear was that if this stupid harness breaks and I land on the ground, it is really, really going to hurt.
I made it through Course #1, barely. When I saw the guide, I asked him if Course #2 was the same skill level and I should have taken more seriously the way he avoided my question. Course #2 almost killed me. There was even less to hold onto, the wind was blowing harder, and I got stuck 1/3 of the way through. A random mom on the kiddie course below me tried to shout encouragement to me. Sweet really, but I’d have preferred her to give me a ladder. Eventually, I made it to the zip line—I could have just done that and been perfectly happy. In the past, I’ve complained that I’m always the one who has to plan things. It’s annoying and stressful and not always fun. But it’s not life threatening. In the future, I’m going to happily accept the annoyance, the stress and the lack of fun. And if my older one refuses to do something, I may just decide to listen to her.
I made it through Course #1, barely. When I saw the guide, I asked him if Course #2 was the same skill level and I should have taken more seriously the way he avoided my question. Course #2 almost killed me. There was even less to hold onto, the wind was blowing harder, and I got stuck 1/3 of the way through. A random mom on the kiddie course below me tried to shout encouragement to me. Sweet really, but I’d have preferred her to give me a ladder. Eventually, I made it to the zip line—I could have just done that and been perfectly happy. In the past, I’ve complained that I’m always the one who has to plan things. It’s annoying and stressful and not always fun. But it’s not life threatening. In the future, I’m going to happily accept the annoyance, the stress and the lack of fun. And if my older one refuses to do something, I may just decide to listen to her.
June 6, 2016
I Work
Banana Girl defended me to her friends this weekend. They seem to have a negative opinion about whether working from home is really “work,” and Banana Girl tried to set them straight.
While I’m not a big fan of her feeling the need to defend me, I’m glad I’ve instilled in her the understanding that what I do is work. Sure, it’s not going to an office every day, reporting to a boss and requesting time off, but it’s work. I have deadlines, I have to-do lists and I get paid.
But more than that, I work even when I don’t get paid and my time is just as valuable as anyone else’s. In fact sometimes, I work harder for no money than I do for money.
My job as a mom is as important as anything else I do. I’m raising a responsible human, for goodness’ sake! And if you don’t believe that’s important, look around at all the irresponsible, horrible people out there. I want better for the world and I expect better of myself and my children.
My responsibilities extend to more than just my family, and I take those responsibilities seriously. You may not see that; many people don’t. But responsibility also comes from within, and your inability to see it doesn’t mean it’s not worthy or that it doesn’t exist.
So the next time you’re tempted to belittle someone else’s time, take a moment to think. Banana Girl does, and that to me is worth more than the salary you earn.
While I’m not a big fan of her feeling the need to defend me, I’m glad I’ve instilled in her the understanding that what I do is work. Sure, it’s not going to an office every day, reporting to a boss and requesting time off, but it’s work. I have deadlines, I have to-do lists and I get paid.
But more than that, I work even when I don’t get paid and my time is just as valuable as anyone else’s. In fact sometimes, I work harder for no money than I do for money.
My job as a mom is as important as anything else I do. I’m raising a responsible human, for goodness’ sake! And if you don’t believe that’s important, look around at all the irresponsible, horrible people out there. I want better for the world and I expect better of myself and my children.
My responsibilities extend to more than just my family, and I take those responsibilities seriously. You may not see that; many people don’t. But responsibility also comes from within, and your inability to see it doesn’t mean it’s not worthy or that it doesn’t exist.
So the next time you’re tempted to belittle someone else’s time, take a moment to think. Banana Girl does, and that to me is worth more than the salary you earn.
May 30, 2016
Memorial Day
There seems to be a lot of confusion over Memorial Day.
Some people go around thanking veterans for their service. That’s a lovely thing to do, and should be done more often, but they’re confusing Memorial Day with Veteran’s Day.
Some people are busy wishing everyone “Happy Summer!” Thanks to the unofficial agreement of pool and beach operators everywhere, Memorial Day weekend is the first official opening of community pools and beaches. I’m a little surprised someone at Hallmark hasn’t created a “Happy Summer” card. In New Jersey, the highways leading down to the shore are crammed with the first of the beachgoers renting houses for weekends or simply taking a day or two to swim and lay in the sand. After a cold winter (or really, after any winter), everyone is dying to start absorbing vitamin D. It’s a fun thing to do (unless you’re married to someone who hates sand—sigh), but they’re confusing Memorial Day with warm weather and summer.
Some of us are hosting or going to barbeques. It’s a chance to get together with friends, kick back and relax and make way too much food (oh wait, I do that all the time). It’s a social thing to do, but they’re/we’re confusing Memorial Day with any warm day at dinnertime.
Some of us are taking advantage of sales and going shopping. Okay, this is not fun, especially if you’re the mother of two teen girls who somehow need everything even though I’d swear we just bought everything they needed last month.
No matter what you’re doing this Memorial Day weekend, or with whom you’re doing it, remember that Memorial Day honors our soldiers who died in battle. And at some point, in between the beach and the barbeque and the shopping, take a moment to stop and remember them.
Some people go around thanking veterans for their service. That’s a lovely thing to do, and should be done more often, but they’re confusing Memorial Day with Veteran’s Day.
Some people are busy wishing everyone “Happy Summer!” Thanks to the unofficial agreement of pool and beach operators everywhere, Memorial Day weekend is the first official opening of community pools and beaches. I’m a little surprised someone at Hallmark hasn’t created a “Happy Summer” card. In New Jersey, the highways leading down to the shore are crammed with the first of the beachgoers renting houses for weekends or simply taking a day or two to swim and lay in the sand. After a cold winter (or really, after any winter), everyone is dying to start absorbing vitamin D. It’s a fun thing to do (unless you’re married to someone who hates sand—sigh), but they’re confusing Memorial Day with warm weather and summer.
Some of us are hosting or going to barbeques. It’s a chance to get together with friends, kick back and relax and make way too much food (oh wait, I do that all the time). It’s a social thing to do, but they’re/we’re confusing Memorial Day with any warm day at dinnertime.
Some of us are taking advantage of sales and going shopping. Okay, this is not fun, especially if you’re the mother of two teen girls who somehow need everything even though I’d swear we just bought everything they needed last month.
No matter what you’re doing this Memorial Day weekend, or with whom you’re doing it, remember that Memorial Day honors our soldiers who died in battle. And at some point, in between the beach and the barbeque and the shopping, take a moment to stop and remember them.
May 9, 2016
Mondays
Mondays are usually my favorite day of the week. To me, they’re like New Year’s Day or the beginning of each season—they’re the start of a brand new week.I get to start at the top of my to-do list. I get a do-over. I get to chart a new course. Was I a slug last week? I can change that and add oomph to my productivity. Was I cranky this past weekend? I can be extra nice, cook a special dinner, bake “please forgive me” cookies. Was last week particularly rough? I can take a deep breath and appreciate the fact that I made it through, knowing that this week has to be easier.Anything can happen.
Sure, they’re also nice because everyone leaves for work and school, giving me a nice peaceful house, but that’s an added bonus. It’s nice to take in the quiet, reset my brain, feed the introvert in me before I have to smile and jump into the much-loved chaos of family.Except this week, Monday is not my most favorite day. There are things I must do that I’ve been dreading, and Monday is not making me happy. This Monday is the end of the anticipation. After today, I’ll be done, I’ll have my answers, and I’ll be able to make a new plan.
So I’m going to look ahead to Tuesday. Tuesday is going to be my do-over day. Because after today, everything really will be brand new and different. And twenty-four hours can only last so long.
Sure, they’re also nice because everyone leaves for work and school, giving me a nice peaceful house, but that’s an added bonus. It’s nice to take in the quiet, reset my brain, feed the introvert in me before I have to smile and jump into the much-loved chaos of family.Except this week, Monday is not my most favorite day. There are things I must do that I’ve been dreading, and Monday is not making me happy. This Monday is the end of the anticipation. After today, I’ll be done, I’ll have my answers, and I’ll be able to make a new plan. So I’m going to look ahead to Tuesday. Tuesday is going to be my do-over day. Because after today, everything really will be brand new and different. And twenty-four hours can only last so long.
April 25, 2016
It's Passover
The Passover seders are over!
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t enjoy them, because I do. But they are exhausting and knowing they’re over lets me sit back and take a breath before I have to dive in and figure out what the heck my family is going to eat for the next week—especially lunches, which are the worst!
For an organized person, I was very disorganized in my approach to cleaning this year. It all got done in time, but it felt off. Add in meetings taking place when I needed to be cleaning my refrigerator, a dishwasher breaking and flooding my kitchen and all the last minute needs of family due to life taking place while prepping for Passover, and I was scattered.
Next year, I’m using an organization list my friend Lisa provided me. She’s Orthodox, so it’s more involved than I need, but it will help me immeasurably so that I don’t have the disorganized feeling anymore. It also has a breakdown, so if I want to combine my spring-cleaning with my Passover cleaning, I can. I used to do that a long time ago and decided it was too much work. But I was young and stupid then. I’m older and a super-clean house appeals to me, so I think it’s time to try it again. Besides, a mistake is never a mistake until I repeat it at least twice!
As usual, just as I finished the mega-cleaning, I had to jump right into cooking. And as usual, I made enough food for twice as many as I expected. Literally. We had 12 people and I cooked enough for 24, which meant I could bring the excess to the second seder. My own family didn’t particularly appreciate it, but the growing boys at the table (who I’m considering adopting since they like my cooking more than my own kids do) scoffed it up.
With all the rules surrounding Passover, I really wish there was one that stated, “She who cleans must not cook.” I think it totally fits with the “Don’t mix meat and milk” rule. “Someone” needs to get on that, stat.
Looking back on what worked and what didn’t, I’m not thrilled with the food I made (although I’m very thankful for the help with getting the chicken out on time—and COOKED), the Haggadot (books we use during the seder) were still not my favorite, and washing every single item by hand (thanks to my dishwasher) was, um, not fun. However, the company was good, the second night was pretty funny and it was lovely celebrating all together—the computerized baby doll my oldest had for the weekend, to simulate a newborn for her child development class, added to the fun.
For the rest of the holiday week I’ll be cleaning up matzah crumbs that never EVER seem to go away, serving cake for breakfast (my kids’ favorite part of the holiday), figuring out how to make Passover food for lunches and trying to plan ahead for next year.
Happy Passover!
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t enjoy them, because I do. But they are exhausting and knowing they’re over lets me sit back and take a breath before I have to dive in and figure out what the heck my family is going to eat for the next week—especially lunches, which are the worst!
For an organized person, I was very disorganized in my approach to cleaning this year. It all got done in time, but it felt off. Add in meetings taking place when I needed to be cleaning my refrigerator, a dishwasher breaking and flooding my kitchen and all the last minute needs of family due to life taking place while prepping for Passover, and I was scattered.
Next year, I’m using an organization list my friend Lisa provided me. She’s Orthodox, so it’s more involved than I need, but it will help me immeasurably so that I don’t have the disorganized feeling anymore. It also has a breakdown, so if I want to combine my spring-cleaning with my Passover cleaning, I can. I used to do that a long time ago and decided it was too much work. But I was young and stupid then. I’m older and a super-clean house appeals to me, so I think it’s time to try it again. Besides, a mistake is never a mistake until I repeat it at least twice!
As usual, just as I finished the mega-cleaning, I had to jump right into cooking. And as usual, I made enough food for twice as many as I expected. Literally. We had 12 people and I cooked enough for 24, which meant I could bring the excess to the second seder. My own family didn’t particularly appreciate it, but the growing boys at the table (who I’m considering adopting since they like my cooking more than my own kids do) scoffed it up.
With all the rules surrounding Passover, I really wish there was one that stated, “She who cleans must not cook.” I think it totally fits with the “Don’t mix meat and milk” rule. “Someone” needs to get on that, stat.
Looking back on what worked and what didn’t, I’m not thrilled with the food I made (although I’m very thankful for the help with getting the chicken out on time—and COOKED), the Haggadot (books we use during the seder) were still not my favorite, and washing every single item by hand (thanks to my dishwasher) was, um, not fun. However, the company was good, the second night was pretty funny and it was lovely celebrating all together—the computerized baby doll my oldest had for the weekend, to simulate a newborn for her child development class, added to the fun.
For the rest of the holiday week I’ll be cleaning up matzah crumbs that never EVER seem to go away, serving cake for breakfast (my kids’ favorite part of the holiday), figuring out how to make Passover food for lunches and trying to plan ahead for next year.
Happy Passover!
