It's been a month since I replaced my dining room chandelier. Seventeen years later I still wonder how I picked that rococo brass monstrosity with carved faces. But now, it's gone; replaced by a beautiful, understated, modern crystal one. Or so I think. Hubby apparently has a different view.
He has not yet noticed. Despite four weeks of the shimmering illumination of work papers that clutter the dining table (don't get me started on that), despite the credit card bill that included the not-insubstantial purchase, hubby has said nothing. No "wow." No "where did that come from." No "why'd you waste that money." Nothing.
However, he recently lamented the placement of a storage pod on a lawn a couple of blocks away. It has been there at least a year. I guess he has 11 more months on the light.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Message to My Sons . . .
(and to a few prominent men). I realize I may be stating the obvious, but given recent news events, it apparently needs to be said:
First, you will get caught. Second, if you don't want it on the front page of the NY Times, don't do it, say it, email it, post it or tweet it.
I've been preaching some version of this to my children practically since birth. You can't expect much privacy, especially now that the world has gone digital. Even if you're just the average Joe/Jane, your nose-picking on the train may be filmed, your drunken stupor posted for your boss to see and that red light you accidentally ran, well, you'll probably still be ticketed.
Your emails and photos can be forwarded to anyone and everyone. Posts and tweets never really go away. Virtually everything is findable by google search. Even before or without technology, anyone who saw you do it or heard you say it, can talk about it to anyone and everyone. Expect your actions to be a front page headline.
And if you're a public figure, oh say, hypothetically, a Congressman from NY with a funny name thinking of running for NYC Mayor, you should know better. It's one thing to be a kid whose teenage sexts end up on his virtual resume, or whose petty crimes on tape lands him in jail. But a grown man, an elected official, a leader, etc. Where is the judgment? And common sense?
When the Governator's son with the family housekeeper became public knowledge, the most intriguing part of the story was "how did Arnold keep the secret so long?" Surely, he didn't want the world, let alone his wife, to know, and it ended up on the front pages anyway. And although he succeeded for awhile, the primary principle that you will be caught, still prevailed.
And how can I not mention my favorite goat, John Edwards, now charged with a crime related to covering up his campaign-time affair with his baby-mama and now fiancee, while his wife lay dying. I believe he thought he'd escape detection for a completely different, though more loathsome reason: he expected to be widowed sooner than he was. I suspect his plan was to marry Rielle and raise the child together and Elizabeth's long-survival crimped his style. That he proposed to Hunter shortly after the funeral seemed the nail in the coffin.
So my sons, live honorably, embrace discretion, learn from mistakes and know that the world is watching. Don't be stupid. And always remember, you will be caught.
First, you will get caught. Second, if you don't want it on the front page of the NY Times, don't do it, say it, email it, post it or tweet it.
I've been preaching some version of this to my children practically since birth. You can't expect much privacy, especially now that the world has gone digital. Even if you're just the average Joe/Jane, your nose-picking on the train may be filmed, your drunken stupor posted for your boss to see and that red light you accidentally ran, well, you'll probably still be ticketed.
Your emails and photos can be forwarded to anyone and everyone. Posts and tweets never really go away. Virtually everything is findable by google search. Even before or without technology, anyone who saw you do it or heard you say it, can talk about it to anyone and everyone. Expect your actions to be a front page headline.
And if you're a public figure, oh say, hypothetically, a Congressman from NY with a funny name thinking of running for NYC Mayor, you should know better. It's one thing to be a kid whose teenage sexts end up on his virtual resume, or whose petty crimes on tape lands him in jail. But a grown man, an elected official, a leader, etc. Where is the judgment? And common sense?
When the Governator's son with the family housekeeper became public knowledge, the most intriguing part of the story was "how did Arnold keep the secret so long?" Surely, he didn't want the world, let alone his wife, to know, and it ended up on the front pages anyway. And although he succeeded for awhile, the primary principle that you will be caught, still prevailed.
And how can I not mention my favorite goat, John Edwards, now charged with a crime related to covering up his campaign-time affair with his baby-mama and now fiancee, while his wife lay dying. I believe he thought he'd escape detection for a completely different, though more loathsome reason: he expected to be widowed sooner than he was. I suspect his plan was to marry Rielle and raise the child together and Elizabeth's long-survival crimped his style. That he proposed to Hunter shortly after the funeral seemed the nail in the coffin.
So my sons, live honorably, embrace discretion, learn from mistakes and know that the world is watching. Don't be stupid. And always remember, you will be caught.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The Unconscious Mother
Unconscious or subconscious? . . . or maybe it's just sleeping . . . Regardless, I'm a mother under all conditions.
Yesterday, I dropped my eldest at the airport for a flight to Europe where he and a friend will travel to several countries on their own with limited itinerary constraints and without any adult escorts. [I know, I know, technically they're adults but that's not the point; they're still young and in their teens, even if only for a few more months.] I did not park and escort him to the gate. I didn't text him at the airport. I asked only that he let us know when he's about to take off and when he lands. And then I went about my life, attending to his brothers.
At 3:30 am I bolted awake in bed. Unconsciously, subconsciously and half-asleep, I turned on the news and watched until after 4. Still talking about Bin Laden. Possible retaliations. But, no plane disasters. I breathed easy. And turned on repeats of RHoNYC. I then realized that my son's plane was scheduled to land at approximately 4 am our time. The maternal alarm had gone off without a premeditated setting.
Yesterday, I dropped my eldest at the airport for a flight to Europe where he and a friend will travel to several countries on their own with limited itinerary constraints and without any adult escorts. [I know, I know, technically they're adults but that's not the point; they're still young and in their teens, even if only for a few more months.] I did not park and escort him to the gate. I didn't text him at the airport. I asked only that he let us know when he's about to take off and when he lands. And then I went about my life, attending to his brothers.
At 3:30 am I bolted awake in bed. Unconsciously, subconsciously and half-asleep, I turned on the news and watched until after 4. Still talking about Bin Laden. Possible retaliations. But, no plane disasters. I breathed easy. And turned on repeats of RHoNYC. I then realized that my son's plane was scheduled to land at approximately 4 am our time. The maternal alarm had gone off without a premeditated setting.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
My New Man
His name is Roberto. Sometimes Mauricio. Or Erick. But mostly, it is Roberto. And I love him.
I write this pool- and sea-side from the most spectacular, luxurious resort I've ever been, using the iPad lent to me, following the foot massage with cooling eyepad from my lounge chair. My umbrella is adjusted automatically, my legs and neck propped with cushions and one employee followed me as I stepped out of the pool, in order to wrap me in a towel.
But back to Roberto. He is our butler here. Yes, butler, here to acccomodate my every wish and whim. He set up balloons and cake in our room before we arrived. He brings fruit and snacks. Tequila too. He knows what we want even before we want it. Even though we share him with about ten other rooms, he is always there for us. He is outside in the morning and still when we retire at night. He told us he missed us on his day off. We certainly missed him too.
And so, I love Roberto. I think husband loves him too.
I write this pool- and sea-side from the most spectacular, luxurious resort I've ever been, using the iPad lent to me, following the foot massage with cooling eyepad from my lounge chair. My umbrella is adjusted automatically, my legs and neck propped with cushions and one employee followed me as I stepped out of the pool, in order to wrap me in a towel.
But back to Roberto. He is our butler here. Yes, butler, here to acccomodate my every wish and whim. He set up balloons and cake in our room before we arrived. He brings fruit and snacks. Tequila too. He knows what we want even before we want it. Even though we share him with about ten other rooms, he is always there for us. He is outside in the morning and still when we retire at night. He told us he missed us on his day off. We certainly missed him too.
And so, I love Roberto. I think husband loves him too.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
War is Hell . . .
But is it real? My eight year-old thinks World War III is a video game. Or something else Barney (the purple dinosaur) started as in "I hate you, you hate me, Barney started World War three." Either way, he didn't understand that we don't want WW III.
Silly me, I tried to explain about WWs I & II. Real wars, real fighters, real people died. I talked about the present wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The bombing in Libya.
He wasn't getting it: No, not like the fighters in Star Wars. Not like the mega multiplayer Lego Universe. Finally, he says - like George Washington and the Revolutionary War - with real people in uniforms. Okay, we're getting closer.
Silly me, I tried to explain about WWs I & II. Real wars, real fighters, real people died. I talked about the present wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The bombing in Libya.
He wasn't getting it: No, not like the fighters in Star Wars. Not like the mega multiplayer Lego Universe. Finally, he says - like George Washington and the Revolutionary War - with real people in uniforms. Okay, we're getting closer.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Cursed
@#$%&*! It finally happened: I cursed at one of my boys. Pushed to the brink by a surly demanding teenager, I blurted that he was a . . . well, use your imagination.
I'm not proud of this. But I think he was pleased. He has long-inquired why his dad and I don't curse, and particularly don't curse at the kids. Teenager thinks we should. Teenager says "all" (to be taken with a grain of salt) the other parents, and his coaches, do. Even my mother has been heard using salty language. But we don't, or, I didn't until today.
I suppose it's amazing that I've made it nearly 20 years without kids hearing my potty mouth. It wasn't a conscious parenting decision. Hubby and I never really discussed it. It just didn't feel right. That's not to say, I didn't mutter things under my breath or in my head, especially at bad drivers. I did; it was just silent cursing. If mom curses silently and no one hears it, is it cursing at all? To my kid, apparently not.
The question is, now that I've transgressed, will I continue? I hope not but I fear that the floodgate may have opened. What the eff do you think?
PS In an email, I told hubby that our son was behaving like an a@#hole. Hubby wrote: "I don't like that language." I guess I have to keep a clean mouth.
I'm not proud of this. But I think he was pleased. He has long-inquired why his dad and I don't curse, and particularly don't curse at the kids. Teenager thinks we should. Teenager says "all" (to be taken with a grain of salt) the other parents, and his coaches, do. Even my mother has been heard using salty language. But we don't, or, I didn't until today.
I suppose it's amazing that I've made it nearly 20 years without kids hearing my potty mouth. It wasn't a conscious parenting decision. Hubby and I never really discussed it. It just didn't feel right. That's not to say, I didn't mutter things under my breath or in my head, especially at bad drivers. I did; it was just silent cursing. If mom curses silently and no one hears it, is it cursing at all? To my kid, apparently not.
The question is, now that I've transgressed, will I continue? I hope not but I fear that the floodgate may have opened. What the eff do you think?
PS In an email, I told hubby that our son was behaving like an a@#hole. Hubby wrote: "I don't like that language." I guess I have to keep a clean mouth.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Pocket Change
Coins fell out of my jeans. A quarter, a dime, a nickel. Flashback: the exact change needed to buy a hot lunch in my elementary school back in the day. Those three pieces, together, always take me back to that lunchroom, with the ladies in hairnets, the mashed potatoes and whole milk. My boys will not have any similar recollections.
Our elementary school does not have a kitchen with lunch ladies preparing meals. Hot meals may only be ordered in advance through a service that delivers the requested meals, individually wrapped. Payment is online by parents; the students never handle the money. Of course it costs more as well - a still reasonable $2.50 for a full hot lunch. It might even cost more to bring food from home.
I make lunches anyway. The coins stay home.
Our elementary school does not have a kitchen with lunch ladies preparing meals. Hot meals may only be ordered in advance through a service that delivers the requested meals, individually wrapped. Payment is online by parents; the students never handle the money. Of course it costs more as well - a still reasonable $2.50 for a full hot lunch. It might even cost more to bring food from home.
I make lunches anyway. The coins stay home.
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