Prince William and Tiffany?

There was much ado about our royal visitors from over the pond. Oh, look how down to earth they are!! They attended a basketball game (from halftime only) went to the 9-11 Memorial Museum (laid a wreath) went to a school reunion (at The Met) etc, etc, etc. They even flew commercial!!

I'm not buying into it and I'll tell you why. Who gets court-side seats after they've missed the first half of a game? Who voluntarily goes to a school reunion and forks over $10,000 for the privilege? And speaking of ten grand, that's how much their suite cost per night at The Carlyle. Being whisked through Midtown traffic (not even a whiff of protesters in sight) is reserved for IMPORTANT people who have to be somewhere because there are other people already at these places that have been Waiting for them to arrive.

Don't tell me that the clothes the Duchess wore were off the rack--even if they weren't designer duds, it isn't as if she went into a store and shopped (or got knocked over trying to get the last Frozen playhouse) No, no, I'm certain they were brought to her at a deep discount aka free, so her appearance in them would trigger a website search for the item. 

Yes, she is demure, our Kate, and some say its because she doesn't want to make the mistake of eclipsing her husband, as did the mother-in-law she never had the opportunity to meet. She's graceful, no doubt, she's a lady even though she's a commoner, but really Lebron, even if she is 'just like you and me' next time take a shower first before touching!!

I enjoyed the tidbits the news wrangled out of the thirty second appearances we were privy to, but I'm left with a lingering question as I noticed the New York Times referred to her as Catherine on a couple of occasions. Would she have been allowed to marry William if her name was Lola or Lacey, popular British girls names?

Can we all say it's just coincidence that Kate's full name, Catherine graced the throne six times since The Plantagenets ruled in the early 1200's? Henry VIII even married three women named Catherine!

So, say what you want, they're warm, approachable, engaging, but I have a feeling if William had brought home a Tiffany from college for Christmas break she would've been sent packing, because the truth is, he is second in line for the throne and nothing less than a properly named woman who exhibits the kind of class that Kate does, would be allowed to sit by his side.

When Did I Become Adorable?

 Apparently I've become adorable. 

I'm not quite sure when the transition occurred, but I'd been told this quite a few times this past weekend when my youngest came home from college.

I remember when I realized my grandmother was adorable. She was of the older generation when speaking loudly and colorfully, having politically incorrect opinions about everything ranging from the neighbors to the mayor to the inept postal service (pre-email days) was normative and quite entertaining, I might add. With her bouffant of done-up white hair and slash of red lipstick, we would hang on her juicy tidbits borne of conversations at the local watering hole, aka the beauty parlor.

Have I become that, I wonder? An amusing fount of harmless regurgitated gossip with little value and contribution except as the outrageous anecdote-telling Grandma that rips everyone a new one? I had more respect for my elders, and I think my child does as well, so what exactly has earned me my newly, somewhat questionable descriptor?

I think the answer lays in the fact that I still regard my offspring as a child and he is about to turn twenty-one in a couple of weeks. I do my level best not to treat him as my youngest, although his siblings roll their eyes when he dumps his laundry bag in the middle of the kitchen with the implicit understanding that everything in it will miraculously appear cleaned and folded by the time he has to leave again. I send back carefully wrapped packages of homemade food to tide him over until his next visit and laugh at the right points when he relates some of his missteps away at school and cluck sympathetically when he feels he's been undermined by a teacher or classmate.

I'm not doing anything differently than I've done over the past few years since he's begun shaving and driving. The difference is how he views me. Yes, he sees me as supportive, always having his back, but calling him out on his nonsense as I see it, but now I'm the link between him and his siblings, nieces and nephews, and grandparents, when he doesn't have the time to connect with each of them. I'm the one he relies on to tell him who is doing what when he is knee deep in law school applications and is starving for some entertaining morsel that reminds him of his goals and why he is pushing forward at breakneck speed when others might be slacking off. I am less the disciplinarian and rule maker now, because truly, he's heard it all for the past almost twenty-one years. If our family values haven't seeped in and been seared into his brain: Treat others with respect, Make a good impression, Be kind, Look for the positive...well, then there would be little point now.

I've become adorable because he now views us as equals in our adult status and this is his gentle way of letting me know that. He's told me he really likes my company and enjoys hearing what I have to say. He respects me as his mother, I know that, and my new job is to remember that he is truly an adult, as he's been for some time. Even the DMV regards him as one, switching out his Under 21 status, and of course, he's allowed to drink, duh.

When I ask him why he wants me to weigh in on decisions about his future, or on hot news topics or on a girl he's dating, he'll say, "Because you're my mommy," sounding almost child-like in his belief in my ability to miraculously fix scraped knees with a kiss.

Yes, I am. So I'll keep doing what I'm doing because of all the hats I wear: author, designer, matchmaker, wife, the one I put on over thirty-two years ago still fits very well.

Is There Such a Thing as Too Much Free Time?

Well, it depends on who you ask. 

The two week period between when camp ends and school starts strikes fear into many a parent's heart. These weeks are a hodge-podge of frantic school preparations, last licks of swimming, and a melancholy good-bye to a season where ice-cream and a solid blast of AC cures most woes. As children, we remember that familiar gut clench accompanying those school preparations as we said so long to our summer friendships, some fleeting, others remarkably resilient, and looked ahead in reticent anticipation of the upcoming year that would bring us one step closer to real life.

There was an opinion piece in the NYTimes a couple of days ago discussing a concept called unschooling,not to be confused with home schooling. http://op-talk.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/08/24/children-need-free-play-but-are-unschoolers-giving-them-too-much/?_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=0 

In this concept of unschooling, children are free to establish much of the ground rules, relying on nature walks and other organic settings in which to learn math, social sciences, even astronomy, allowing for their natural curiosity to propel them forward. The article goes on to say that these children when integrated into disciplined, traditional settings such as college, do very well. As a mother who very clearly remembers her own children finding friends of varying ages at bungalow colonies, and allowing them the freedom to explore endlessly throughout the summer, I think there is a major distinction between summertime and all year round. Yes, the idea has merit--but up to a point.

That point being the parents' sanity. Following on the heels of all that free play comes the boredom monster. This monster has been known to rear its head when siblings are getting on each others nerves, during rainy days, and on long road trips or cramped airplane cabins.

For the child who is free-spirited, lack of structure is a gift from heaven; but even the most stalwart anti-establishment types can agree that structure is simply the way the world turns and the sooner children learn deadlines and accountability the better. Children crave a schedule. Sure, they will whine about bedtimes and rules, but it shows them deep down that someone else is in charge and doing the worrying and that in turn allows them the opportunity to concentrate on schoolwork and extra-curricular activities.

As any frazzled parent who is braving back-to-school sales in the summer heat that finally decided to show up, this period of time gives pause for reflecting on how fleeting these days are as we mentally check off a year closer to graduation and our children's future. 

So long summer...now that you finally showed up, we will surely miss you!!
 

Trigger Warnings

Recently much has been made about select universities' attempts at establishing trigger warnings, or alerts about course material that may contain sexual content, violence, racism, or anything that might affect someone who has been a victim of a crime, assault or has post-traumatic stress disorder. 

Reaction has been swift and primarily negative. Robert and Araz Shibley claim that 18 year olds are legally adults and should suck-it-up. Enough with coddling they say in their article, Campus Trigger Warnings Threaten Free Speech And Treat Students Like Children, http://reason.com/archives/2014/05/27/trigger-warnings-on-campus-arent-just-fu

This pair of writers is really, really upset about the continued coddling going on. They assert anything can be a trigger: a sound, a song, a smell, how exactly can professors become mind-readers? If someone has a mental health issue, they should be under a doctor's care, a university can't take responsibility for students' reactions to everything. That's about the only point I agree with, and judging by the strident tone they take, I venture to say these two have probably not suffered any life-altering trauma.

The Holocaust Museum in Washington is a trigger place, and on a recent visit there, swarms of school-age children were present. Interestingly enough, two teenagers were laughing near one of the exhibits. I doubt their laughter had anything to do with the actual material being shown, but a museum docent approached them and offered them the opportuniy to speak with a Holocaust survivor they had on staff. They stopped laughing.

Maybe those critical of the need for trigger warnings at universities have an issue with the set-up of the new 9-11 Memorial museum? It is most certainly a trigger place, and warnings abound. Maybe they think the whole museum shouldn't even exist? Or perhaps the small areas set near key points to allow visitors overcome by emotion to gracefully step away from the crowds and have a few private moments of grief should be eliminated?

I have not suffered a life-altering trauma, but I have people close to me that have. A friend told me her grandson was playing with a teddy bear her late husband had purchased for him. Her husband had died suddenly, barely fifty, and the sight of the stuffed toy, five years after his death brought her to her knees. Her reaction frightened her young grandchild, but no one is suggesting that teddy bears come with warning labels.  

We are warned about the after effects of riding on roller coasters, spilling hot beverages, and airbags. These warnings alert us (adults, Robert and Araz) to possible danger. They are meant as precautions so we can be prepared. A trigger warning is simply a device for preparation, no one is playing around with our free speech, so relax everyone, please.

Angela Lee Duckworth gives an interesting TED talk about raising kids with grit. In it she states that the secret to success is determined as much by intellect as grit--the ability to persevere in one's goals, long term. Anyone who is a survivor of a traumatic event and still wakes up every day to start anew and has the wherewithal to attend college and make something of themselves has grit. Allowing these people the chance to prepare themselves in the best way that they can so as not to be overcome by emotion in front of their peers is  only fair and decent.
 

 

Sailboats and Toddlers...Did Anyone Think This Through?

Here are my thoughts in response to the ridiculous sea journey undertaken unsuccessfully (duh) by Eric and Charlotte Kaufman:

It isn't about you anymore.

When you decide to have kids, their needs trump your needs.  Period.

If you have a hard time internalizing that message then don't have kids.  I know it sounds harsh, but it's how I feel. However, if you do decide to have kids, put their needs first. It's the most basic rule of parenting. It is an inverse principle that ebbs and flows depending on the circumstances at any given time and the age of the child, but it is the underlying theme a good parent understands...it's called sacrifice. You may need a good night's sleep, but if your two year is up with a stomach bug, I dare you to sleep through it. This push and pull, this dynamic of your child's needs versus your own will inform many decisions you will make regarding your child and the kind of relationship you would like to have with him/her...and that is truly a personal decision. But I think we can all agree that the very basic instinct of a parent is to keep their child safe.

If you feel the burning need to sail from Mexico to New Zealand, get it out of your system before your kids are born, because frankly, no one buys that crap that this was intended to be an adventure for a one and a three year old. Adventure to them means wandering away from their parents in a busy mall or being released from the confines of their stroller to be allowed to toddle unhampered down a street stopping to peruse...well, just about anything and everything within their line of vision. So this sailboat nonsense was a wholly selfish, self-indulgent conceit and let's not sugar coat it.

Very young children love to explore, yes that's true, but there isn't much to explore looking out over miles of ocean day after day, and I doubt the workings of the jib and pulleys and whatever goes into sailing could have held any interest to them whatsoever. This stunt more likely stunted their interaction with their environment far more than it enriched it. A young child needs to run and touch, I would venture to say running and touching would have been minimized in the confines of a sailboat. Yes, if they were teenagers and they had this experience of sailing the sea for a week and learned valuable life skills and plucky tidbits about themselves previously undiscovered then score one for intrepid parenting. But with two toddlers it is just plain foolish, dangerous and bordering on abuse.

It isn't about you anymore.

If you're a frustrated adventurer who never scaled Mt. Everest that doesn't give you license to drag your kids out to the Himalayas, and if you are an unfulfilled pianist that doesn't give you the right to force your child to take piano lessons when they'd rather read. Yes, please allow for lots of different experiences and expose your children to various lifestyles and new ideas, but first, keep them safe.

An adventure can be rewarding and stimulating in ways that a classroom can't be and I'm all for getting kids out there. There isn't only one way to raise children, and those that are raised in other cultures in other lands might be subject to things at a young age that would raise a few eyebrows here, but the underlying point to keep in mind that the safety of children beats all. What seems like a great idea might best be left for when children are older and can willingly participate in them.

Children aren't props or pawns...they have rights too.

Pleased To Make Your Acquaintance

I have some very good friends and I cherish them, but only recently did I come to appreciate the value of a good acquaintance. Yes, with friendship comes comfort, a shorthand developed over years of shared dramas and good times, but it also brings with it some measure of expectation. You can't hide, create another persona, or act irresponsibly. Your friends are counting on you to be...well, you. They know all your secrets, and can predict with a level of certainty how you're going to react to most anything. You can let it all out with a good friend, you won't be judged and your actions will not be held up to microscopic analysis, but you might just fear disappointing them. You might not want them to think less of you because what they think of you matters.

I have made a fair number of acquaintances recently, mostly through my writing workshops. I'm fond of them in the same way as if I had chanced upon a fellow New Yorker while exploring a foreign city who turned out to be refreshingly wise and fun. I am Facebook friends with many of them and we cheer each other on from afar. It is a relaxing and enervating way to keep in touch and up-to-date. And best of all, it's pressure free.

There's a scene that I love in "Pretty Woman" where Julia Roberts finds Richard Gere playing classical piano in the breakfast room at 5:00 AM. She asks him if he performs because he's so good, and he replies: "I only play for strangers."

 I so get that.

I am often asked what my husband and children think of my writing and am met with surprised looks  when I say I don't let them read my books. As writers, we pour our souls into our work. We may be writing about characters but make no mistake, there are shades of ourselves hidden in there, and sometimes not so hidden. The freedom to expose part of ourselves and our innermost thoughts is best achieved in anonymity. It is easier to send our words out into the atmosphere and have them fall on strangers...strangers who can't nod knowingly or smirk in recognition of an idea they've heard before.

Many well-known authors write under different pen names because once they've established themselves in a genre it might be hard for readers to shift gears with them. They want to be taken seriously in the new role they're playing, i.e. J.K. Rowling writing as Robert Galbraith when she elected to try her hand at a hard-boiled detective novel.

But the illusion of anonymity coats both ways. Interestingly enough, not that many readers were interested in Ms. Rowling's attempted anonymity, she only sold 1500 books until news leaked that she was the author. After that revelation the book hit the bestseller's list.

A past or a present with someone, friends or family colors our relationship and this shared history carries with it a lot of baggage. Very often it is positive and sometimes, not so much. At that point a chance encounter with an acquaintance is just the ticket for a fresh perspective and renewed spirits.  

Start a conversation with a fellow commuter you see everyday on the  7:52 train...she just might have something very interesting to say.

      

Is A Soul Mate A Real Thing?

...And How Many Years Should Someone Sacrifice in Search of Theirs?

Yes, it is a long heading, and before you have EROS or CUPID sling their poison tipped arrows my way let me say: I'm only trying to help.

I'll address the first part of the question...it depends on the person.

If you've been playing dress-up bride since you turned nine, saw meaning in every meaningless gesture sent your way by whoever you happened to be dating, and you've elevated Valentine's Day to a national holiday, then you deserve to get whatever it is you're hoping for. Or think you're hoping for...just make sure it actually exists in nature and isn't a figment of your imagination. Because if it is, unfortunately there will be many lonely Valentine's Days in your future. 

Waiting breathlessly for proof positive that the guy you're with is 'the one' can be soul-sucking and a needless waste of energy. Rather, spend your time looking for someone who has qualities you admire and respect. There is no absolute when it comes to love. There are no guarantees that you will find your soul mate and no guarantees that if you do find him/her, you'll be pleased with the selection the universe has sent your way. Take it from me, I'm a matchmaker that attends many singles events as a facilitator hoping to match up couples for a lifetime of long-lasting happiness and respect, except they often put obstacles in my way. And those obstacles are mostly themselves...armed with unrealistic expectations.

I know I'm sounding tough and I intend to because I'm frustrated with singles looking for love decade after decade while fruitlessly searching for something out of their grasp, all while a fantastic mate stands somewhere within shouting distance. And while these singles have been rejecting possible mates by the handfuls, their friends are getting married and creating beautiful families and lives.

I am a matchmaker, at least I try to be when a single will listen to me. My hero is Patti Stanger, The Millionaire Matchmaker, because I wish I could be as politically incorrect as she is and pull off the tough love she delivers in her signature no-nonsense manner.

I also wish I had a roster of millionaires as clients and her plastic surgeon...she's lookin' mighty fine... but I digress.

So here is what I really want to say to my singles: PLEASE GET REAL.

Is it about the hunt, or is it truly about finding a spouse who will be loving and supportive and make you happy? Are you truly looking to make things work with someone or are you spinning a fantasy in your mind that no human could possibly fulfill?

You need to become honest about your expectations. You're shaking your heads...what does she know, she's making it sound so easy. 

But it can be. Please forgive me if I'm overstepping, by no means do I intend to minimize your pain, but it is precisely because I see the pain in your eyes and hear it in your voice that I can't be an enabler any more.

I feel your fear, I feel your frustration, but I am urging you to leap. 

Trust yourself and your instincts and grab your life. Don't look for excuses, look for possibilities. Choose to embrace a future that will bring you joy, and a love that will be real and sustaining. Seeing stars and hearing bells ring are also signs of a concussion, so please don't rely on those to make a major life decision. 

I think this is sound advice unless you truly enjoy the hunt...unless you've convinced yourself there is always someone more enticing around the bend. To those of you have used the 'looking for my soul mate' excuse well past its expiration date, I guess the only thing you can do is to keep on looking and prove me wrong. But please take a moment to think of all the wonderful years you've given up and all the lonely nights you've endured during your hunt. Please take a moment to envision what a spectacular life you could still have if only you relaxed that death grip you have on your list of ideals for the perfect spouse. 

What works for you? Be honest. What can you change about yourself...yes I'm talking to you, oh perfect candidate who has evaded the marital net all these years, what can YOU change to move forward and find love?

It begins and ends with you. You've waited long enough for love, why don't you give it a chance?

What Surface?

"My husband and the boys got me the Surface for Hanukkah," I tell a good friend.
"What's that?" she asks.

Exactly....
At least I know what it is. 

And now I know why it's called the Surface. It spends much of its time being moved from one to another, its sleek visage dark with unopened promise. My stress and frustration of how to wrangle it into submission informs my morning as I give up and open my iPad to check my emails and read the NY Times.

"Why aren't you using our gift?" My older son asks one morning. 

I'm a Jewish mother--I'm the one whose supposed to be doing the guilting. Apparently I've taught him well.

"I'm working on it," I say, looking at my morning image reflected back at me in the black glossy surface--reason enough to turn the darn thing on. 
With a flick of the on button, the screen transmorphs into a graceful sky dotted with moving cubed images that pop up in a motion-sickness inducing dance.

All I want is to read the paper with my coffee, but I can't seem to click fast enough on the NY Times icon before it graphically disappears like a teasing game of floating carnival ducks.

If I only had a pop-gun.  

The inherent stress of new technology is the pressing need to master the latest device before it is made obsolete by the newest iteration on the market. This is a thrill that resonates with a lot of geeks and some everyday people. But for those of us who have been clinging desperately to our BlackBerry and only recently agreed that an iPhone is a MUST, this race to technology has me breaking out in hives.

As a child of parents who have used the same brand of toothpaste and coffee for well over fifty years, let's just say change comes slowly.

To my devoted husband and wonderful sons who so thoughtfully want to make my writing more mobile with a surface that has a keyboard that's three inches big instead of the twelve inches I've grown accustomed to on my laptop, I respectfully say I just need some time. And by any chance did you momentarily confuse me with the mother/wife you want me to be? Because I'm pretty sure I bake the best chocolate-chip cookies and marble loaf you've ever had, and fairly certain that Geek Mom does not.


My next son, home from college on winter break walks into the kitchen, rolls up his sleeves and grabs the Surface. "C'mon, Ma, let's do this thing."

I burst out laughing.

Have I mentioned that this son knows even less about technology than I do and has managed to crash  two computers, one of them an Apple, which is something I've been told is pretty much impossible to do?

I look at my Kafka-reading, technologically-impaired son who loves Beethoven and Sinatra and tell him to move aside.  

I look the Surface square in the eye and say, "Come to Mama. It's time."