It's going to be a long week-end...

My kids are really going to start wondering what is wrong with their mother. My eyes have welled up with tears and I've stifled more sobs in the last 36 hours than I have in a long time.
I've got to stop reading, listening, watching... 9/11, 9/11, 9/11.
But the tears come not just from sadness over the terrible loss of human life on that day. They also come from a frustration that the power of decency and respect and caring that in the end took the day away from those terrorists has disappeared. It has receded to such an extent that those who run our country call each other names and refuse to compromise and cooperate. They spout off vitriol for the benefit of the 24-hour news cycle and leave the rest of us wondering whether we'll ever be able to pay our mortgage or send our kids to college or hold down a job.
I hope that this week-end will remind those elected to serve that their job is not about them... it's about us. It's about the people of this country-- not about getting re-elected or making the CEO of X Corporation richer. It's about the people who helped each other get through that awful day and the many thereafter and who refused to let the terrorists keep them down...
I always cry when I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated.

A parent of 4....

 Accepts that a certain level of chaos is inevitable, that dirt builds character (or characters, as the case may be), and having a child with high self-esteem is overrated.
 Is an over-committed volunteer—there are just not enough hours in the day to be PTA president, room mom, scout leader, religious education teacher or coach for each child—and tends to get bitter when the parents of 1 or 2 don’t pitch in.
 Understands that each child will get the attention he or she needs, not necessarily the attention he or she wants.
 Does NOT make meals to please individual palates; rather the parent makes meals to feed the children. And, yes, sometimes spaghetti sauce is a vegetable.
 Enjoys having other people’s children over to play, but is not interested in having them stay… particularly when those children have just one additional sibling and somehow their parent(s) is(are) too busy to pick them up on time.
 Would welcome parents of one or two asking, just once, if all his/her kids can come to their house to play; rather than asking if both siblings can come to our house since the second sibling should have something to do, too.
 Insists that the family’s schedule is what counts, more than the schedule of any individual member of the family.
 Knows that when he or she is gone, the children will thank them for their siblings.

Sometimes you just don't want to remember....

Sunday marks the 10th Anniversary of the September 11 attacks.
There are memorials, tributes, forecasts, analyses-- so many things people are doing to remember the day. I can't watch or listen to them.
I don't really want to remember it at all.
I don't think I had experienced real fear in my life before that day. By the time I and my colleagues had a grip on what was happening, that fear had become anxiety over what would happen next... an anxiety which lingered for a long time.
A college classmate died that day. Many acquaintances walked and ran as they escaped the dust cloud rushing through the cavernous downtown streets after the towers collapsed. The smell in the City was awful. The pictures of victims lined the exterior walls of the hospital around the corner from the office, victims whose families searched for them in vain.
But thankfully no one I knew intimately was physically harmed.
However I was harmed... in a less physical way. I felt-- and continue to feel-- fear. When the pictures of the smoking towers appear on TV or the audio from radio or TV broadcasts from that day are replayed, the anxiety comes back. It's the heart-racing, body-shaking, sick-from-the-bottom-of-my-stomach kind of anxiety which I would rather not have to experience again.
I never went down to ground zero in the weeks following the attacks. I don't have much interest in visiting the memorial-- or the new Freedom Tower.
I don't know if I ever will.

You win some; you lose some...

Today was a good day-- for the most part, a very good day. I got a new gig! In a week or so, I'll start working as a trainer for a company that provides systems and technology training for pharmaceutical companies. It's a flexible, project-oriented job in a work environment that values what you can DO, not just what you've done or how recently you've done it-- ideal for a mom re-entering the workforce.
And yesterday we got coupons for 4 free tickets to see GEVA's "Music Man." I entered a drawing through Genesee Valley Parent magazine and actually won. We're going to see the show on Sunday night-- we wouldn't have been able to go otherwise. It's supposed to be a great production, and it's certainly in the pantheon of shows I want my kids to see.
When you have a good day, you want the not-so-good stuff to stay away. But, of course, it's not like all the problems in your life are solved because of one good day... The weather is still gloomy and will remain damp and grey for another 3 days, at least. The bills keep coming. The weeds in the yard we can barely afford to maintain keep growing. The kids still talk back.
I choose to focus, at least for today, on the good stuff. So there.

I watched "Freedom Riders" on PBS last night. The documentary chronicled the summer of 1961 and the incredible determination of a small group of people to push the boundaries of segregation by riding Greyhound and Trailways buses from Atlanta to New Orleans, through Alabama and Mississippi, along the way sitting in white-only waiting rooms and eating in white only restaurants.
The violent welcome they received-- one bus burned with the passengers trapped inside, beatings by crowds in Birmingham, menaced by KKK members while quietly waiting for a bus in a bus station-- was disheartening, if not a terrifying display of mob behavior.
The perseverance of the riders was inspiring. They knowingly pushed the envelope, aware that they faced a possibility of violence and even death in pursuit of their goal. It begged the question: what would I be willing to die for?
Certainly, I would risk my life if my family, particularly my children, was at risk. I'm not sure what that risk would be... On September 11, I feared something i didn't understand. I spent time packing a tub with tuna and water and a can opener and blankets... It was a threat, but not one I could take actual action against.
But would I be-- am I-- willing to stand up for something I believe in or someone who is persecuted, even if it meant I could die? I wish I could say an unequivical yes...
I want my kids to watch the documentary and challenge them to think about what means that much to them... and hope that they will be braver than I am.

Rain, rain, go away!

It's cold. It's dark. It's wet. It's gloomy. And it's May 16!
Enough already!
On days like today-- and the way too many days previous-- anxiety creeps in at the edges... If it's nice out, I'm able to take a deep breath and know that the feeling will pass. If it's gloomy, then the anxiety begins to take over. It's a bit of seasonal affective disorder, I guess...
Will the rain ever end? Will the sun ever come out again?
I scan the Weather Channel's forecast for the week... OK, it rained Saturday and Sunday. It's raining today through Wednesday. Will we be able to get out from under the clouds on Thursday? And will I be able to get out from under the psychological cloud that's making me anxious, sleepless and nervous by then?
I wish I could afford to go to yoga class every rainy day. That always makes me feel better.
Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, please shine down on me!

Not a cause for celebration...

‎"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." -Martin Luther King, Jr

I read this on a friend's Facebook page this morning. I was having a hard time understanding why the killing of Osama bin Laden was inspiring the kind of raucous and chest-thumping celebration in Times Square and outside the White House that the slaying of American soldiers does in other parts of the world. We're not supposed to be like "them," right?

I'm not about jumping up and down in glee when anyone dies at the hand of another, whether friend or foe. In a perfect world, we'd all get along, accept each other's differences and deal with evil in a peaceful way... I know it's not a perfect world, but I still cannot accept that violent death of any kind is something in which to rejoice.

I am grateful to live in the United States, a country that values individual freedom (though sometimes struggles with what the concept means.) We can voice our opinions, however hateful or offensive, and for the most part, whoever disagrees with us can shout back equally loudly or obnoxiously. But the glorification of extremism in any fashion begets more extremism and, at some point, violence.

I also believe there are things worth fighting for-- the safety of my family and the right to speak my mind and worship the way I choose without fearing retribution, to name but two. But I will never throw a party afterwards-- regardless of how it turns out.

Bin Laden Dead

I was half asleep last night when my husband woke me to tell me that the president was making some kind of unprecedented announcement. And as the minutes passed, I wasn't sure I understood him correctly... Frank was saying that Bin Laden was dead. That we finally found him and took care of him.
As President Obama addressed the nation, I was still processing the news. I tried to parse what he was saying... they found him in some kind of mansion in a city outside of Islamabad. Obama referred to it as a "compound." US forces went in. They engaged in a 40-minute fire-fight. No Americans were hurt. The president called the president of Pakistan. It's over.
This morning, the only feeling I have is one of confused relief.
I was in New York on September 11. I will never forget listening to News Radio 88 as I drove into work. It was a beautiful early fall day; sunny with clear blue sky. Tom Kaminsky in the CBS helicopter over Manhattan was saying something about smoke coming out of the upper floors of one of the World Trade Center buildings. By the time I reached the West Side Highway, the second tower had been hit and the news was breaking of a hit on the Pentagon. It wasn't a mistake; it was some kind of coordinated attack. The highway was closed in front of me. I rolled down my window and exchanged a few words with a guy in the car next to me. Something along the lines of "Did you just hear what I heard?" And I knew right then that this would be the most important day in my professional career... I had to get to work.
I managed to make it to the exit at W. 158th street and wind my way down Riverside Drive to my parking lot around the corner from the CBS building on W. 57th Street.
By the time I got to my office, there was a wierd stillness in spite of the sirens wailing from police cars and firetrucks headed downtown. Or maybe it just seemed that way as people who would normally be rushing to work or school or wherever were shocked into disbelief...
My daughters were home with our sitter. I couldn't reach them. My husband was in Scotland of all places, on a trip with his mother. No way to reach him. I felt isolated in a city with 8 million people.
It was one of those days that you just do what you do, and hope that it will all turn out OK in the end. An hour or so later, we found out that it wouldn't be OK... Thousands died in a plume of smoke and debris so thick that we'd never be able to find them all. And we found out we were not invulnerable. And the unease would last...
For more than a week I was sleepless as invisible but loud fighter jets flew through the night skies. Eventually the jets left. And I was able at some point to get back to sleep. But the underlying anxiety has always been there.
Bin Laden and his minions won-- that day and for way too many years later. We invaded Afghanistan, then Iraq. We've spent trillions of dollars and lost thousands more lives in a battle against foes who had no official army or headquarters-- just a figurehead who for some reason we couldn't catch. Ten years later-- we finally got him.
I never went back to the World Trade Center site. Ever. It's become a tourist destination and I'm now a tourist in a city I once called home. But I still don't want to go back.
I wish I thought that Bin Laden's demise meant we could stop feeling vulnerable... but that beautiful and horrible September morning took that away forever.

Really-- this is all we have to talk about?

I'm listening to a story on the "Today Show" about a J. Crew ad in which a photo shows a woman playing with her 5 year-old son -- by painting her son's toe nails hot pink. So far they've spent more than 5 minutes on a supposed controversy over the appropriateness of the image. They have "experts" talking about whether this represents some kind of blurring of gender roles which will impact this child and other children who see this image, requiring psychotherapy later in life. They've spent more time talking about this "controversy" than discussing the burget and federal deficit. Really? What I see is a photo of a woman playing with her delighted child. Playing. Not lecturing, beating, berating or abandoning, but playing. And all those people who find the image offensive must have way too much time on their hands. Talk about over-thinking! It's an ad. It's one image. Don't buy from J. Crew if it bugs you that much. And don't assume that what offends you will in some way undermine the morals of the rest of the world. Play with your kids, hug them, tell them you love them-- and paint their toenails every color of the rainbow!

My biggest fear...

I think I just figured out what my biggest fear is... or at least one of my biggest fears. My husband has said often that becoming a parent makes him vulnerable in ways he could never have imagined before having children. As a parent, the thought of your child getting hurt-- physically or emotionally-- is more wrenching than any perceived pain of your own. So we try to protect our kids: we buckle them into car seats, keep small chokeable toys out of their mouths, put helmets on their heads and nets around their trampolines... anything we can do to add one more layer of protection. Yet, many of us same parents give our kids, some as young as 8 or 9, instant access to a big and potentially harmful world. We give them a cell phone. No seatbelt, no helmet, no net. It used to be that people who prey on kids had to actually physically be near kids to cause real harm. A pedophile had to go to a playground or school yard for his fix. These days he can simpy log on and reach out from the comfort of his own home via Facebook or chatrooms or IMs... all of which have geo-location software that can identify where their prey lives, goes to school, hangs out with his or her friends. And in an awful lot of cases, the predator doesn't have to go to find his prey-- rather, it comes to him. I just watched the trailer for David Schwimmer's new film, "Trust." Since I was unable to watch the entire trailer without crying, I don't think I'll be able to go see the actual film. The premise is familiar: a cute, smart, athletic girl entering high school and feeling socially awkward strikes up an on-line relationship with someone who claims to be a high school junior in a faraway state. When they inevitably meet in person, he of course turns out to be something much different-- and the resulting fallout is terrifying. The girl's life and that of her family and friends is changed forever-- and not in a good way. My middle-school daughter took a phone to school today. It's a simple, not-so-smart phone. She and her friends would like to go to the season-opening high school softball game after school. The weather's not great, and it may not happen, and she may need to get a hold of me so I can pick them up early. Cell phones are useful that way. My daughter has been nagging us for a phone of her own since 4th grade. We got this particular phone earlier this year when that same daughter went away with her friend for a week. We realized that we wouldn't be able to reach her while she was away-- she went with a friend whose parents are deaf and there were no phones in the house where they were staying. We took the phone back when she returned. Most of her friends have phones; most of those phones are Internet-enabled "smart phones." Most of her friends are on Facebook (and they had to lie to set up their pages since all of her friends are under 13.) Most of her friends are texting each other and posting Facebook updates for anyone who will respond from the minute they get on the bus to the second they enter school -- where, in theory, they're not supposed to have their phones out. My daughter has acknowledged the rudeness of it all: as she tries to actually talk to a friend, that friend stops in mid-sentence to respond to a third friend's text. It annoys my daughter, and it should. But that hasn't stopped her from wanting to be able to do the same thing. My husband and I are trying to delay this foray into the unfettered on-line world for as long as we can. She has an e-mail address which comes into our e-mail in-box. She uses Skype and ooVoo with her friends, and we periodically check the conversations. But it's impossible for us to keep track of even those interactions every day. We hope we're giving her the tools to make good decisions on-line, but how will we really know? My biggest fear is that the technology will win. That my child will figure out just how easy it is to set up an e-mail account or Facebook account on her own; how easy it is to attract "friends" on-line whether they are acquaintaces or strangers; and how easy it would be to meet those new-found friends and put herself in harm's way without her parents having a clue. We won't be giving her a phone any time soon. She thinks we're too strict, too over-bearing, too technologically unsophisticated. We won't let her ski without a helmet, and, for now, we won't let her out of the house technologically by herself. We're too afraid.

Unemployable

Unemployable, that’s what I am. I made the dreaded mistake of choosing to stay at home with my children for a while. I gave up a career that many would envy as a producer for a network television news program. I got out of New York and the insanity that passes for “quality of life” in its environs. I moved to a place that not only doesn’t have jobs like I did before, employers here don’t even understand what I did in my previous life. I’m a square peg in a round hole kind of town. It’s also the kind of town that is risk averse, not exactly embracing or comfortable with change… which is why what were once the city’s major employers are struggling. I know what my strengths are: I’m a good writer; I have those “desirable” interpersonal skills; I am a collegial problem-solver who manages not to piss off everyone around me in the process of coming up with solutions. I work hard and am able to balance and prioritize several projects at once. I am a fast learner. I have an Ivy league education and a background in a demanding, competitive and high-profile business. I know what my weaknesses are: actual technical expertise in anything. I can’t build anything. I’ve never had sole responsibility for producing anything except short and long-form television pieces… I’ve spent money, not raised money. I’ve only worked for non-profits or in the department of a private company which loses money. I’m old (since 46 is clearly over the hill), a mother of 4 kids, and I haven’t had a full time job in almost 7 years. So what do I have to offer a prospective employer? Apparently nothing. Either that or I am incredibly inept at selling myself… I never planned to be on the mommy track for 7 years. I worked until my third was 18 months old. I quit because child care was outrageously expensive, someone had to go to the pediatrician’s office, and because my parents—whom I hoped my kids would know well-- moved away. I thought I’d be out for a couple years, until my third was in kindergarten. But then a 4th came along… and he only just started kindergarten this year, in a district which only offers a half-day program. How naïve I was. I thought that my work experience would be enough to get me up the on-ramp and back to work. And it’s not like I’ve been sitting at home changing diapers the entire time. I’ve compulsively volunteered, doing publicity for the Girl Scouts, writing the school newsletter, sitting on non-profit boards, teaching religion—trying to keep my head in the game. I didn’t think getting back to work would be easy; but I never imagined it would be this hard… or frustrating… or damaging to my self-esteem. Everyone keeps telling me that it’s only because the jobs I’ve applied for aren’t the “right job” or “right timing” for me. They say the “right gig” will come along. I’m not so optimistic. I only hope the “right gig” finds me—or I find it—before I turn 50, and enter a whole new demographic of the unemployed.

Wanting it all both ways...

Whether it's discussions about the state or federal budgets, the use of American troops in Libya, or a job search, it seems like we all want things both ways.
In the case of the budget, everyone wants a budget to be balanced. No one wants our government (whether local or national) to spend more of our money than it takes in, but no one is willing to give up what he or she already has to make it happen. Rather, the preference is to have someone else give up what THEY have... because, as we all know, you can't have everything!
In Libya-- critics of the US intervention say it's both too little too late, and too soon (without Congress' undoubtedly lengthy arguments over should we or shouldn't we) and too much. No one wants Ghaddafi to slaughter thousands of his own people-- particularly if we can stop it from happening. Yet, with two on-going wars, no one wants to get involved in a third. So we go in to Libya, probably too late to avoid a stalemate, and try to have it both ways.
As I've searched for jobs on and off over the last year, I've begun to think employers want it both ways, too. They have a need to fill-- and describe the person they'd like to fill that need with required levels of education, experience and personal skills. They want someone with experience, but not enough experience to be a threat to those already employed there. They want someone who is creative and can "think out of the box," but end up hiring the person who did exactly the same job somewhere else-- not exactly thinking outside the box themselves. They can't ask about a person's marital status or family, but clearly would rather hire an unencumbered younger person than a middle-aged worker with a family.
I want it both ways, too. I want to have a fulfilling career AND time for my family. I want to "be there" for my kids, and be everything to my employer. People talk about "balance," as though it were something that--like the tree pose in yoga-- you can achieve with patience and practice... But my fear is that in wanting it both ways, you get none of it.

Hoping the groundhog got it right...

Another day; another 6 (or 12 or 18) inches of snow. It's getting a little old. I haven't seen the grass in my yard since Thanksgiving.
I love snow. I SO prefer snow to rain. But I think we've had enough. We've skied, skated, sledded and shoveled for months now. Thankfully, the groundhog didn't see his shadow (he popped out of his burrow in the middle of a snowstorm). That's supposed to mean winter will last just 6 more weeks, right? By my calculation we've got less than 3 weeks left. I hope he got it right!

Overqualified, yes-- but worth giving a try...

In Rochester Business Journal today, Kathleen Driscoll's column discusses the factors an employer should weigh when considering the hiring of someone who, on paper, appears overqualified for the job. On the one hand, the employer gets an employee who requires little if any training and who can contribute from the moment he or she walks in the door. On the other hand, what really motivates someone to take a job that is clearly beneath a previous pay-grade? Would your job be simply a temporary gig, a stepping stone between two bigger jobs? Will the potential employee be willing to stay for the long-haul?

Driscoll interviews a consultant who offers a common-sense suggestion: hire the supposedly overqualified person on contract for a certain period of time and see how it goes. These days so many people are freelancers, hired guns who bring expertise to particular projects on an ad hoc basis. Companies often put new employees on some kind of 3 to 6 month trial period. The only difference is that this time you won't have to pay for their health insurance. Employers shouldn't let the long-term picture obscure the near-term need. It may be safer to go with the younger, less-qualified candidate in hopes of "grooming" them for the future, but you may also lose the expertise the more-experienced candidate brings to the table from the get-go.
Often established employees feel threatened by a new hire whose resume seems way too impressive for the job he or she is hired. A contract situation allows everyone to get used to the idea.
As a stay-at-home-mom for 6-years, I've been applying for jobs I would not have considered prior to leaving my last job. But I'm looking for a way back into the workforce, with different priorities than I would have had a decade ago. I want to work in a creative, flexible environment with fun people in a place where accomplishment is rewarded. I want a livable salary and benefits. What I offer a potential employer is professional experience in a high-pressure environment and a willingness to work as hard and as long as it takes to make the endeavor a success.
I'm one of those over-qualified people. Give me a try!

Why isn't anyone talking about the gun?

I've watched the continuing coverage of the horrible shooting rampage in that grocery store parking lot in Tucson. Certainly the shooter is a nut; a crazed psycho who is now getting satisfaction out of knowing the entire world is reading his idiocy on the web. We all mourn the loss of a beautiful, curious 9-year-old... ironically born on another violent day. We've learned a lot about the 5 other victims, too, whose lives were ended by this moron-- all normal people doing normal things on a sunny, warm Saturday morning.
But why aren't we talking about the gun? The Glock? The handgun that shoots dozens of bullets in a matter of seconds? The shooter bought his weopon from a "sportsmen's store" just after Thanksgiving. Did anyone ask him what he wanted it for? Clearly this is not a gun you buy to hunt deer or bear or any other kind of animal. This is a gun that is meant only to hurt people-- whether for "protection" or for attack.
Here's a young guy who has already had run-ins with law enforcement of some type. He was dissed by the military because he failed his drug test. Campus police at his community college (I didn't know community colleges needed campus police!) knew who he was. Why was he able to purchase a Glock and not have to jump through even a single hoop to do so?
It used to be that if you really disagreed with someone or they really pissed you off, you might actually be angry enough to punch them in the nose. It actually takes more courage to do that-- be close enough to punch someone. It's a lot easier to show up with a gun and pull the trigger. You never even have to touch the human you're about to harm.
Just yesterday, someone with a gun walked into a Life is Good store here in my quaint little village of Pittsford and demanded cash. We pass that store in our car several times a day... we shop there. It's one of my kids' favorite stores. My daughter and her friends could easily have been in that store on a Sunday afternoon shopping for a birthday present. And the masked guy with the gun, in a split second, could have ended their lives just because.
Why don't we ever talk about the gun?

A New Year

I greeted 2K11 (as I've so trendily taken to calling this new year) with a sense of optimism. Apparently so has much of the rest of the country.
We spent our little hearts out on Christmas presents for our loved ones, pent-up demand egging us and our debit cards (we have learned SOME lessons) on in a spirit of giving... And, to think we were helping the economy at the same time? Oh, joy!
(Oops, my New Year's resolution to be less sarcastic and judgmental just bit the big one.)
I was in the New York area for a few days last week. There it really did seem as though the recession was over. Bonuses were back and people were party-ing-- and spending-- like it was 2007. Wall Street ended its year with the strongest December in recent memory, and housing prices nudged upward again.
Yet, here in Rochester (as in much of "fly-over land"), a job with decent pay is still very hard to come by. The jobs that are around tend pay less than the ones that were lost, or are temporary. They are jobs without benefits at the same time that health insurance rates jump by double-digit percentage points.
Will our nation's spirit of optimism be enough to reach beyond Wall Street or the leafy avenues of the New York suburbs?
Maybe optimism is a personal choice, rather than an economic indicator. It's just too depressing to stay pessimistic all the time. And, frankly, it's downright un-American. If we focus too much on the fact that Wall Street is doing more than fine while the perverbial Main Street continues to suffer, it will all be too much to bear. So I am choosing to be optimistc. So, there.