Elissa Stein's Blog, page 54

acceptance

I'm sitting in the car on my way to Vermont, the once a winter obligatory visit to Jon's mom.

I'm not pissed.

I'm not resigned.

I'm not complaining, bitching, carrying on about how miserable I am, how awful the weekend will be.

Surprisingly, shockingly really, I'm ok.

And I'm trying to figure out why that is. Perhaps though, I should be grateful and not dig any deeper.

I know this mellow state won't last. As soon as we're in reach of the spider web, the intricate plans made without my knowledge, th...

communication gone wild

It's remarkably easy for people to reach me these days. That is, for everyone except my mother, who complains bitterly at how hard it is to get in touch with me. But, that's another story.

You can email me, text me, call me. Post something on my facebook wall, send a direct message, or post something on my fanpage or FLOW's. Contact me on twitter, either regular stream stream or direct message. There's google chat and then there's skype, both talking and instant messaging. People can comment ...

snow days or, it's all about your point of view

Yesterday afternoon, an email came from the parent coordinator at Jack's school that today would be a snow day. My heart, along with those of most parents I know, sank. First of all, it was a sunny, stunning afternoon and the fact they'd cancel before a flake hit the ground, or was even in the air, was pretty shocking. There's generally SO MUCH HYPE about weather in the media. I believe this is now being called Blizzard 2010 as opposed to last week's Snowmaggedon. Meanwhile, in the west villa...

parsley rage or the inanity of social media

A couple of nights ago on twitter someone I respect and admire posted that she felt unheard, ignored, not acknowledged. I know that feeling—it's as if there's some secret to being popular and I don't know it. Some people get retweeted (their messages forwarded by others) often. They're responded to. More and more people follow them. Often it's celebrities, as if Kirstie Alley or Alyssa Milano's thoughts are far more pithy than others (they're not). Then there are twitter celebrities. I'm sure...

taking sides

This morning, or should I say in the middle of last night, Jack came into my room. 4am—that's more morning to me but I could go either way. He'd had a really bad dream and was afraid to get back in bed. Every once in awhile that happens—I can see, hear how shaken up he is. So, I asked if he wanted to sleep with us for the rest of the night, knowing I won't really sleep with him there. I haven't been sleeping well lately. To be honest, I never sleep well but, when I'm fighting a cold, I wake u...

what's wrong with immediate satisfaction

I've been thinking this morning, about lay-away. About how people used to find something they loved, or more likely needed—a new couch, a fridge, a winter coat—would make a deposit at a store and then would put money towards it every week until it was paid for. It could take weeks, months, years of scraping together extra dollars and growing down the debt until whatever it was you were paying off was yours. I wonder, after all that time, if that item, that appliance, that bedroom set was stil...

is anybody out there?

Last night, well into a conversation with another mom at Jack's elementary school Valentine's Day party, she said, "I have to tell you, I read . . . " and at the juncture, before another word came out of her mouth, I was sure she was going to say she had finished FLOW and hated it. But no, she'd found my blog and had been following it, on and off.

I have to be honest here. I assume just about no one reads these meanderings I send off into cyberspace. No, that's not quite true—there are remark...

it was a day

I've been up and out since early this morning. Starting with an 8am student council meeting, there hasn't been a moment in this day for me to sit and write. I want to. I have a post in me. I can almost feel the direction my words and feelings will go, will flow, but I can't right now.

It's a day that started about someone else and is ending about someone else. Someone else's angst, anger, priorities, feelings. As often, as usual, mine aren't as important. That's not a feeling sorry for myself...

someone else's pain

One thing I never considered, when thinking about aging, was how someone else's pain could completely minimize mine. A full disclosure moment: I can be remarkably self-centered. I don't mean in a look-how-fabulous-I-am sort of way—it's more of an I'm-so-emotional-therefore-I'm-suffering-more-than-the average-person stance and because of that, at times it can be hard to feel what others are going through. Or, perhaps because of all the drama and pain I've experienced, I've shut those valves ti...

(almost) full disclosure

When Cheerleader came out in 2004, it was the first book I had done in awhile and I was thrilled (hey, I'm always thrilled), when the media started to pay attention. I got a phone call, while on vacation, that someone wanted to do an interview—was I available the next day. It was for a site that others picked up leads from and seemed like a big deal. We were down at the Jersey Shore but were planning to spend the next day in Atlantic City. I had a meeting with the folks at Miss America about ...