Jennifer Wilck's Blog, page 64

Up On My Soapbox

It's been an interesting and "naval staring" kind of week. Once again, I'm writing about politics (sort of) and social issues (vaguely), not my strong suite. So, I'm a little bit all over the map today. I'll try to tie everything together. If I don't, feel free to let me know.

While my leanings on social issues are obvious to anyone who follows me on Facebook, Twitter, etc., I try to keep my political affiliation private (until now). In point of fact, I'm actually Independent. In the past, my votes have gone along issue lines, supporting whichever candidate will uphold the issues about which I care the most. Yes, I have voted for both Democrats and Republicans. I've always tried to vote for the most qualified candidate. That has gotten harder and harder to do. Most recently and it seems, for the foreseeable future, I'll be voting for the least idiotic candidate—maybe we can start a new party?

All of the above being said, I've come across a variety of interesting articles recently, which have made me think. The first is this article in The NationalJournal, which talks about liberals and social media and a Pew Research study. http://techdailydose.nationaljournal.com/2012/03/study-liberals-more-likely-to.php. I have to say that this study has made me a little uncomfortable, because I've always thought of myself as pretty tolerant of people. I have many friends on Facebook, etc. who don't share my views. Some of those people surprise me, others don't. I tend to read their opinions, ignore what I don't like, accept what I do, and move on. Occasionally, if I am confident that a discussion won't become offensive, I'll comment on something and enjoy the back and forth argument. I find it enlightening, usually. However, I am guilty of unfriending people on Facebook for differing views, but only when I find those views so offensive that I can't stand to look at them. I don't find religious intolerance acceptable, and the fact that I might be defined as liberal by some (although not by me) does not make me more likely to unfriend someone just because I disagree with them.

The next article I read was this awesome blog by someone I follow on Twitter. http://imreallygoingthere.blogspot.com/2012/03/right-to-teach-my-children-what-i-want.html?utm_medium=twitter&utm_source=twitterfeed. I can't begin to describe how amazing this entry is, so go ahead and read it. I'll wait. Seriously. Done? Okay, I agree with everything she says. Everything. Morals are my responsibility; education is my school's. Nothing beats education.

But then there was another article, also a blog from someone I follow on Twitter (actually, retweeted by someone I follow). I'm not putting the link here, but her point was that when people use social media to complain about someone, and then others pile on and add their two cents, we're in effect, bullying that original person about whom we're complaining. The writer also claims that since social media bloggers represent the political left, write about the political right and have followers who comment, we're similar to the bullies. I see her point, to an extent. But does the fact that I blog, and follow blogs, that try to make a point and obviously try to convince others to agree with me, make me a bully? I don't think so. Just because I add my two cents to the piggy bank does not mean I'm entitled to the entire savings account. Those of us with opinions are entitled to air them. Those who agree and who disagree are also entitled to say so. Jumping on the bandwagon does not make us bullies. Being intolerant of others' opinions makes us bullies. And anyone who states their opinions publically has to be able to take the disagreements from others in stride. Being disagreed with is healthy and keeps us honest. Personal attacks are not, and that is bullying.

And then there was this, the Goldman Sachs resignation letter. http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/14/opinion/why-i-am-leaving-goldman-sachs.html?_r=1&pagewanted=all. While I admire his feelings of integrity, I think he needs to show a little more dignity, a little more grace, and keep his opinions to himself. Public humiliation is never okay.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I'm a pretty tolerant person, to an extent. I don't support personal attacks, ever, by anyone. Public humiliation is never okay. Intolerance, whether racial, religious, political, is also never okay and should never be displayed in social media of any kind. But rational expressions of opinions are key to keeping social media useful and to keeping everyone honest. Unfriending, while not ideal, is sometimes necessary. Bullying isn't. And education is always the answer, every time.

Always the Bridesmaid…

I walked out of my local grocery store the other day and saw a poster on the bulletin board: "Customer of the Month!" It had a picture of a woman and her name. Neither the picture, nor the name, was mine. I find this very confusing.

When we were first married, and were really into dividing all chores up equally, my husband volunteered to do the grocery shopping. Great! He created a list, brought it to the grocery store, ordered it according to the shopping aisles, put it on the computer, and printed it out every week. He even set up the paper so that one page held four lists, so we wouldn't waste paper. I'd then add specifics to the list and he'd take care of it. He called me from the store every week asking what brands and sizes I wanted, and although it took up a lot of time, he got the job done.

As life got busy and we had kids and I had more time at home, I took over the grocery shopping. I tend to wander the aisles, looking at everything and seeing what we need/want. So that pre-printed list no longer exists.

I am in that store every single day. Not because I want to be, but because, as my husband says, I'm horrible with grocery lists. Sure, I make grocery lists. On good days, I even buy everything on them. But I always seem to forget to put something on them, or don't think about a particular recipe I want to make, or one of my kids suddenly hates a dietary staple and I need to find a replacement.

My grocery store has apparently put a huge effort into being friendly—maybe they think that will make up for their high prices? Everyone who works there says hello to you the second they see you. With me, they call me by name. Seriously. I have more friends in the grocery store than I ever did in high school. I've even been complimented on by bagging abilities.

So why am I not customer of the month? Don't get me wrong, the last thing I want to see is my picture and name plastered on the grocery store bulletin board. It's bad enough that I have to put makeup on to go there because I inevitably run into people I know. The last thing I want is the added attention. But I really do want to know what their criteria are. Because by my calculations, I own that award!

Pink Elephants

[image error]My two kids are completely different from each other. One logical and organized; one is creative and emotional. As they get older, those characteristics have become more apparent. But when they were young, the difference didn't seem so apparent. I was looking at a project my oldest made in kindergarten or maybe first grade to celebrate 100 days of school. The assignment was to find 100 things to represent the 100 days. She took a wooden plaque, glued a large wooden 100 on it and then painted and decorated it with 100 things, such as pompoms, stickers, painted designs and Q-tips. If you count everything on the plaque, you'll find 100 items. But the 100 items are different.

If she were to do the same project today, I'm sure she'd put 100 of the same items on the plaque. She'd probably choose things that were the same color, or at least colors that blended together. I'm not sure at what age this change occurred. I'm not even sure that the "change" didn't already exist in some part of her, and is just now showing more clearly. If my younger child suddenly changed like this, I'd have noticed it more because the difference would have been more pronounced. But the fact that the change occurs makes me a little sad.

We all start out with the desire to do our own thing. Some of us have that desire confined within certain parameters. Others of us are freer in our choices. As we get older, we try to conform to what others want us to do, think or say. But I think our responsibility as adults is to temper that conformity with independence and to foster it in others.

That's one reason why, as a writer, I find it so frustrating to hear other writers constantly talking about "the rules." Yes, I firmly believe in grammar rules (this blog aside), but the seemingly arbitrary rules of whose point of view HAS to come first in a book, or how many pages MUST be devoted to the hero, seems to me a little ridiculous. I understand that there are trends. I also understand that when you see a book published, it automatically creates a desire to copy that format so that you, too, will be published. But some of the best books were published just because they were different!

One of the best pieces of advice that I was given by an editor (maybe an agent) was for writing a query letter. She said, "Tell me how your book compares to something I know, and then tell me how it's different." For example, it's like Beauty and the Beast, but with aliens. Okay, while I doubt that would ever work, and it's certainly not something I'd be interested in writing, the point is, different is good.

The world is boring without a variety of people. Art is boring without a variety of different styles. Books are boring without a variety of different stories. And the only way we can have different stories is if we learn the rules, understand them, and then know when to bend them.

So, color outside the lines, find the most different person from yourself and befriend them, and write a romance from the dog's perspective!

Words To Live By

Banana Girl got her palate expander today. Apparently, her mouth is too small for her teeth. It is not, however, too small for speech. The child has been speaking non-stop since she was 10 months old. I know I have friends out there with non-verbal children or children whose speech was delayed and therefore, they won't understand what I'm saying, but speech is a little overrated in my house.

For the first four years of her life, she honestly thought speaking and breathing were connected; if she stopped talking, she'd die. I know this, because despite her arguments to the contrary, when I asked her to stop for a minute, she'd hold her breath. Therefore, my telling her to stop talking was the greatest horror a mother could possibly do, in her opinion. She would go to sleep midsentence and pick up where she left off when she woke up. If I told her I had to do something else, or concentrate on something else, she'd say, "That's okay, Mommy" and talk to herself. My dad thinks she'll run out of words by the time she's 12. I think she'll just invent new ones.

The good thing about her constant chatter is that she's the only one who understands when or why I talk to myself. Although I do crave silence when I'm alone, I talk to myself. Some people listen to music, some people rely on phone conversations, I talk. Occasionally, I'll mutter something under my breath while the kids are around. The Princess looks at me like I've lost it (not far from the truth), the husband laughs at me, but Banana Girl nods in understanding.

This makes me a little nervous. I'm not sure I want to pass along my neuroses to her—although I find it very cool that she shares my sense of humor—and I'm not sure that I want to recognize my neuroses in her. It's all very well to tell myself I'm crazy and joke about it. It's a whole different ball of crazy to witness it as others see it.

Of course, most of what I say to myself ends up on paper somewhere—current work-in-progress, idea file, blog, Facebook post or Twitter update. Most of what Banana Girl says remains out in the atmosphere. But she is creative and she does like to write, so maybe the non-stop talking is a precursor to a quieter future.

In the meantime, I'll stock up on the Advil. Whether it's for me or for her, though, will remain a mystery.

Thank you!

I belong to a bunch of blog-writing groups online and periodically, members of these groups pass along awards to writers. These awards are cute and informal and are usually given as a way to start a dialog about the writer. Usually, the point is to talk about yourself and then tag other writers so that they will talk about themselves. As you hop among the various blogs, you get to meet other writers and find blogs of interest along the way.

Well, my friend Paula has decided to give me two such awards—the Liebster Award and the Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award (I had nothing to do with either name). I'm most appreciative of these awards, but I hope she won't be offended if I change the rules a bit. I'm starting to get a little self conscious with all this talking about myself.

Instead, I'm going to suggest a few ways to get to know me: read my previous blog posts, check out my website (http://www.jenniferwilck.com) or better yet, ask me a question in the comments section below and I'll be happy to answer. You see, one of the reasons I write a blog is to interact with people. Just like social media, such as Facebook or Twitter, these things work best when there is a sharing of ideas and information. And I'd be much more comfortable sharing things about myself with other people, rather than just "the blogosphere."

As for redistributing this award, I'm going to suggest all of the writers on The Writer's Post and all of the writers on GBE 2. If you're part of either of these groups, please accept the award. If you don't know the writers of these groups, check them out here:

The Writer's Post

GBE 2

And once again, thank you Paula, for thinking of me (twice)!

Should I Kiss Him Or Should I Shoot Him?

I've been away for a few weeks—not physically, but mentally. In that time, some lovely things have happened, and I'd planned to thank a bunch of people here. But then, Rick Santorum spoke.

I always vowed to stay away from politics in this blog. I mean, the blog is called Fried Oreos. It's meant to talk about things that are fun, yummy and totally extraneous to everyday life. You know, like a splurge. It's not the place for political talk. I tend to keep my politics fairly quiet. Those who know me, know which way I lean and which things I stand for, but I'm not one to rant and this is not my platform for political discussion (one too many Thanksgiving meals as a child kind of soured me on that).

However, last week, Rick Santorum said that women should not serve in combat roles in the military. His comments were in response to the announcement by the Pentagon stating it wants to open up thousands of jobs, allowing more women on the front lines in combat zones. Most people in the military see this as clarifying and formalizing what's already happening.

According to Santorum, who spoke on The Today Show, "When you have men and women together in combat, I think men have emotions when you see a woman in harm's way. I think it's something that's natural that's very much in our culture to be protective. That was my concern, and I think that's a concern with all the military."

As if that wasn't bad enough, he goes on to say, "The issue…is how men would react to seeing women in harm's way or potentially being injured or in a vulnerable position and not being concerned about accomplishing the mission," Santorum said.

Later, he tried to clarify by saying he was more concerned about men's emotions than women's, and that his concerns also had to do with physical strength and capability.

Really? I have my own way of looking at politics and women's rights. Personally, I have no problem with people referring to "man" rather than "humans;" in my mind, it's an abbreviation and I look to the meaning of what's being said, rather than the exact words being used. I don't mind men holding doors for me; I think it's polite—frankly, I think it's polite for the first person through the door to hold it for the people behind you, whether you're male or female. And if my unfriendly male neighbor across the street ever decided to come over and help me while I'm struggling with the snow blower, I'd never say no or think he was being sexist (I'd probably think he was insane since he's never done it in the 11 years we've lived here, not even after I saved his house from burning down, but that's another story).

I do think that everyone, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, skin color, food preference, etc., should have equal rights and should be able to make their own decisions. I am not a second-class citizen.

Maybe I just have faith in the common decency of people around me; maybe I'm naïve; maybe I just don't see why things have to be broken down into "male" and "female" roles. Whatever my reasons may be, I also have faith that the U.S. military is not going to let poorly trained people, regardless of their gender, on the front lines.

For Rick Santorum to say what he did shows how insensitive he is to women AND men. Does he really think women are so weak and ineffectual that even after being trained for a combat role in the military, we're not going to be able to perform our job? Does he really think men, under fire, are going to try to protect their fellow female officers by throwing themselves on top of them, rather than firing back at the enemy? I could be wrong, but with bullets flying all around, I don't think anyone's first thought is, "Gee, can I have sex with my fellow officer right now?" And more importantly, does he really think the military is going to let poorly trained soldiers on the front lines? If that's what he thinks of the military, perhaps he should rethink his candidacy.

If you want to read a really funny article in response to Santorum's comments, check out the link below.

http://jezebel.com/5883948/rick-santorum-says-women-arent-fit-for-combat-because-of-emotions

Six Sentence Sunday

Once again, an excerpt from Skin Deep:

When he returned home later, he took the picture and taped it in the upper right hand corner of his refrigerator. He squinted and examined every detail. Valerie stared straight into the camera, a half-smile on her face. The photo provided the only speck of warmth on the stainless steel appliance, and for a moment, John wondered if he should have accepted the other pictures as well. No, he thought, with a shake of his head, I'd have to look at them every day. He touched Valerie's cheek in the photograph, turned, and left the room.

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No, No, Don't Tell Me!

[image error]I've run into a lot of people lately saying things I wish they wouldn't say. Now, before I point any fingers at others, I'll admit I'm guilty of it too. I'll walk into the kitchen, see my husband has washed some of the dishes, and instead of saying, "Thank you," I'll say, "Why didn't you do the rest of them?" Sorry honey! Luckily for me, he's kind enough to let most of those words slide and attribute it to Bat Mitzvah stress—I am really going to have to come up with another excuse pretty soon. [image error]

But I do think there is a difference between what one says by mistake due to stress and what one says when offering advice, especially unasked-for advice. For example, I remember when I was pregnant. Apparently, having a baby belly creates some sort of magical magnet that draws women with horrible pregnancy or delivery stories to you. As a non-pregnant woman, I can go to a hundred different places without a single person coming up to me and offering me advice; when pregnant, however, everyone had a story to share.

They were not cute stories. They were not funny stories. They were scary and gross stories. There was not a single piece of advice given that I wanted to hear. Believe me, I could make a list of advice I wish people had offered me when I was pregnant; none of the things I was told however, makes that list. I didn't need to hear how you were in labor for 178 hours or how you've never experienced anything as painful as when your child was born sideways or how you had a 50 pound baby and looked just as pregnant as I did. Really.

The only benefit to those stories was that it taught me that sometimes it's better to avoid certain conversations entirely. For example, I go to great lengths to avoid any conversations about Bat Mitzvahs. I'm afraid at this point, half my congregation thinks I'm rude as they see me running the other way, and my friends probably think I'm nuts. But really, it's the only way I can keep even marginally sane at this point. Some of my best friends have already experienced their children's Bar and Bat Mitzvahs and I know that they have excellent advice to share (none of which include 50-pound newborns or any other form of horror story). The problem is that when they were going through their own mitzvahs, I listened as they talked about it.

I was hoping to learn pointers for my own, and I definitely did. I'm grateful for what I did learn and I've used their advice, even if I haven't actually told them about it. But I also found that my heart started pounding and my palms got sweaty just listening to them. And that doesn't include the horror stories the people around them were retelling. Biggest snowstorm of the century. Food poisoning. Red wine spilling on The Dress. I. Don't. Want. To. Hear. About. It.

So, for all those well-meaning (?) people who feel the need to share their own horror stories with me—don't. And to all my amazing friends who are ready and willing to offer me any advice that I might need, and who are trying to show interest in my process—thank you, I appreciate it. But I can't talk about it.

Pet Peeve

I've tried to write this blog every week and for the most part, I've done it. But this week, my mind is occupied with remembering a gazillion different things I need to get done before the Princess' Bat Mitzvah, my body is busy taking care of two children with colds—better now than during the Bat Mitzvah, and my heart is filled with memories of the Princess as she's been growing up. Needless to say, I've got nothing left with which to create a blog post today.

But luckily, I belong to some awesome groups on Facebook, GBE 2: Blog On and The Writer's Post, both of which create weekly prompts for blog writing! So, this week, I'm taking advantage of that and writing about "Pet Peeves."

I have lots of pet peeves, but I hate listing them because it makes me sound like a cranky old man (and for the record, I'm a snarky youngish woman, and there's a BIG difference!). I relate to those funny lists that people post about grammar pet peeves, pet peeves about men, pet peeves about women, pet peeves about children, etc. They make me laugh and usually there are at least two or three with which I agree. However, given that I've been occupied with the above-mentioned Bat Mitzvah, I'm going to choose one pet peeve that I've noticed a lot recently: other people's inability to be on time.

I'm sorry, but that really bothers me. Now, I don't necessarily have a problem with a friend who is running late meeting me for a meal—life happens and it's not a big deal. Since having kids, I also run late. But I have a huge problem with professional people who make appointments with me and then either cancel them or can't manage to appear on time. It's unprofessional and gives the impression that they think their time is more valuable than mine. You know that saying, "the customer is always right"? Well, for once, I'd really like to be that customer. Make an appointment with me and have the decency to keep it. Don't make excuses or act like it's no big deal. I'm the customer. Your job should be to please me. And cancelling on me or showing up late is not pleasing to me. Not at all. And if you haven't figured it out yet, you will when it comes time to tip you. That is all.

There. I've ranted about my pet peeve. Hope I don't sound too much like a cranky old man. Thank you, Beth!

Six Sentence Sunday

More from Skin Deep:

At precisely eleven o'clock the next day, Valerie's door-bell rang. Wow, on the dot. She grabbed her Coach purse, curled her hand around the doorknob, and froze. A frisson of anxiety traveled down her spine as she thought about a whole day alone with a man. Her stomach clenched as her mind traveled back to Billy, and with effort, she pulled herself back into the present. Instead, she thought of John and her face heated as a knot of desire formed low in her belly.

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