Down With Blogging

Recently, someone I know commented that he would never blog. Or could never be a blogger. He felt that even more than sex and money, people want recognition and that the act of blogging wreaked of wanting desperately to be recognized.

Some voice their opinion that the act of blogging is for the self absorbed and is all about self promotion. Or that bored housewives and busy working mothers, instead of diving head first into a wine or xanax induced haze, take to their laptops amidst piles of laundry and the latest school fundraising form, to reinforce their value. To be heard out loud.

Some of that maybe true. I like to be validated. Some of it may be false. In addition to finding solace in my laptop, I often drink wine while blogging anyway.

I will say, however, that I want money more than blogging. Offer me a substantial amount of money and I will throw my laptop out the window.

I definitely want sex more than blogging. Maybe just not right now. Later.

Anyway, to set my record straight (and only mine, as I would never generalize) blogging is a forum in which I feel we can reconnect with others around us. To the contrary, writing what moves you, motivates you, interests you, angers you, bewilders you and scares you has almost nothing to do with recognition. For me, a very controlled person and self admitted control freak, it is a way to add vulnerability to my life. I want to tell others how I could possibly be screwing things up at home, so that when others make mistakes,  they can be assured that they are not alone. There is nothing more isolating, than screwing up by yourself. There is also no greater triumph than doing right by those who love and respect you. So it is just as important to share the triumphs.

Not that blogging is for everybody. It is not.

But how is it any different than a man sitting around a fire with his friends strumming his guitar and singing? Or an artist at an art gallery showing her work? Or an actor on stage? Or a chef preparing a meal? They are all looking for recognition too, aren't they? But is that their #1 motivation for doing what they do? I don't think so. It is for the purpose of creating, expressing, and touching that chord inside each one of us that says "I get it" or "I feel it."

That is why I personally blog. What can become frustrating, is when those who are closest to you, have no interest in what you do. Those that know you sing, play the guitar, act, write, play a sport, sew, roller derby, blog, etc., and never care to even experience it with you. If you care about someone as a friend or love someone with all of your heart, not taking interest and/or having discussion about what they love is actually the more self-absorbed act, isn't it? You don't have to mention it everyday. Just once is fine. Mention it and talk about it just once, for a few minutes, if that's all you can afford.

The reason I blog is two fold. I enjoy that common thread that runs through all of us. The one that goes right through our emotions and makes us human. That thread is the ultimate worldly connector. It goes through almost everyone despite your age, sex, race, sexual orientation, religion or social status. I am addicted to that feeling of camaraderie in that we all have similar experiences and feel similar feelings. If you do not feel that way about others on even a small level, then my heart weeps for you. In a world that grows increasingly more technical and the overwhelming reports of families feeling isolated from the rest of the world, with Sunday dinners a distant memory, and  family game nights in short supply, I live for the connection. Without that connection, we lose. As a human race, we may actually be losing.

Blogging certainly doesn't save our whole great big world, but it may help make a handful of people's lives better and anything that can make just one person's life better has my stamp of approval. Just like a great song that may ease your mind or a homemade meal that warms your soul, reading the thoughts of others that touch you or make you think, offers solace and even rounds out the spirit.

For some, they look to their creative side and to the expression of it, to fill a void. Voids created by family discord or unfulfilled hopes and dreams. Voids that lost friendships or the death of loved ones, carve out.You may sit down and read a book or sing a song. I write. It helps me cope.

Since I started writing again, it has proven to be a really cool outlet for me. If you haven't found yours yet, go on that search for it. Despite what others may say or NOT say, it's totally worth the effort. If you say to yourself things like: "I have always wanted to take a cooking class, or learn a foreign language or travel or learn how to play the piano or take an art class or (fill in the blank)...then what are you waiting for? You certainly aren't getting any younger. Start now, don't put it off. Make the time, don't tell me you don't have the time. We always say we don't have the time, but we do. It's just an excuse to blame time for our small secret fears of inadequacy.

Just think of how inadvertently, your special thing may effect not just you, but the life of someone else. Life changers are not always propelled forward by big things. Little things matter.

So head on out your chosen path, whether its to take up aerial acrobatics or zoology. Blaze your own trail or flow right into the mainstream, or somewhere in between, what ever you are comfortable with. When you come across negativity or a downer or a naysayer ask them what their creative outlet is or how they fill their void. And then, if they have something, congratulate them for finding it. If they look at you funny and have no idea what you are talking about, then tell them how happy you are that you have found yours.

Don't Shoot Me

My 12 year old daughter loves basketball. She asked for a standing outdoor basketball hoop for Christmas this past year, which my husband and I assembled in the frigid night hours of Christmas Eve, in our sub zero garage. She loves the Boston Celtics. She has memorized the roster, the players’ jersey numbers, their stats, their favorite flavor of ice cream, etc. She has come a long way in three short years with her own technique. She is a fast runner, athletically built and enjoys playing as a team member. She is always high-fiving and patting other team members on the back to compliment their achievements. She is happy and upbeat, yet competitive.

Last week, my daughter was told during the half time of her basketball game NOT to shoot for a basket any longer by her coach. She was also benched for a quarter. She is the top scorer on the team. I don’t say this boastfully, it’s a fact. She was told to only pass the ball to her team mates when she returned in the last quarter of the game. Her team was ahead by 18 points, leaving the less experienced basketball team that they were playing, with only a few points on the board. She did exactly what her coach asked of her, and did so happily, as I believe she should. Maybe a bit deflated, but in the spirit of the team, she complied. However, tomorrow night, her team is playing an undefeated opponent, who boasts 43 straight wins over 3 seasons. Her coach also mentioned to her during this same half-time revelation, that for Thursday night’s game, he wanted her to “shoot like crazy”.

Last season, I sat in the bleachers amongst a few parents, who would get upset with the top scoring players on the team, calling them ‘ball hogs’. Mind you, these are players on the same team as their child. This was supposed to be an ‘instructional league’, they complained. How are their kids going to learn the sport when they don’t ever get the ball? I found these concerns to be overly exaggerated, at the time. Their kids did get the ball. Only nothing happened when they did. They would try, but not succeed often. My daughter was one of the players last year, short on successes. I cheered on the players that did very well last season, as well as the ones who didn’t, because I want to support the whole team, not just my kid. It’s the team my daughter belongs to and loves. I could never understand the point of view of the complaining parents. I felt that not one player was being slighted on that team, and chalked it up to those parent’s being secretly miffed that their kids weren’t the ones adding up all the points.

What have we done? Can we no longer see past our own DNA to realize that someone else excelling and earning most of the points during a game (or spelling bee, or chess game, etc.) actually motivates and teaches? Are we beyond reason enough to really feel that because one player is doing well, our children are missing out on some critical game winning moment.

Please. (And I say ‘please’ with all the sarcasm in the world.)

Watching someone who is better than you at something, is a fantastic instructor. A necessity in life. If you wallow in your own inability and refuse to watch and learn, then why don’t you just stick with something that you already know how to do perfectly.

Are we as parents so politically correct and soft, that we think by handing our kids a thing like a basketball on a silver platter, that that will improve their skills or knowledge of the game?

Sorry, it’s not that easy. Practice, both scheduled by coaches and on the player’s OWN TIME, are the key. Eating right, getting enough rest, strength training, repetition, and practice. And practice. And practice.

My Dad, a baseball coach with 37 seasons under his belt always said “A good coach practices until you get it right, a great coach practices until you can’t get it wrong.”

The coaches of my daughter’s team are doing great. They care very much for all of the players. They are patient and give careful instruction. They are giving a priceless gift to my daughter and her team mates. They are reinforcing what it means to belong to a team, while nurturing individual skills.

 Being a parent is not about just sitting in the stands and watching your child excel or not. It’s about rolling up your sleeves and learning something you may not be familiar with. At 5’2” the last thing I know about is basketball, but I will learn for my daughter’s sake, so that she can be the best basketball player she could ever want to be. And more importantly, I will encourage my daughter only as far as she will let me, to practice, learn, refine technique and run fast. I don’t want someone going easy on her.

I don’t want someone going easy on her. I will say it again… I REALLY don’t want someone going easy on her.

Will she be disappointed at times? Of course, but I think it will light a fire within her. I am counting on that as her Mom. Is being disappointed so bad? I say being disappointed and staying that way is bad.

If I were the parent of one of the players on opposing team from the other night’s game, I would be pissed.  More pissed then seeing my daughter benched for being good at something. That game was not a case of earning points, it was a case of being given points so that everyone could feel better about themselves. It is reverse cheating.

For those out there who disagree with me, I understand. ‘Fairness’, ‘equality’, ‘everyone gets a trophy’. I get it. I understand wanting every child to get a fair shot. But I don’t want my child to get a trophy unless she has earned it.

I will never approach the coach about my daughter being benched or her instructions to not shoot the ball.  It is his decision as a coach and I respect his choice.

What I have done is explain to my daughter how important it is in life that she choose to focus on things that she loves and that make her feel good and then to put her heart and soul into it. It can happen to be on the court or from the sidelines, but to never make apologies for being her best.

365 Days in a Year

What makes up 365 days in a year
If you're a wife and mother with busy career?

8,760 hours. 525,600 seconds...
Fueled with maternal instinct that beckons.

Ice and snow clumped to mittens
Wet socks and jeans
Are hung where the heat is
While hot chocolate steams

A working parents worst nightmare
The dreaded school break
The first few days are joyous
Then ibuprofen I take

Sleepovers, movies, board games
Uproarious laughter
Bonfires, manhunt, great memories
Are what I am after

The best at housework or
Culinary delights, I am not
But I'll be late to work to bring
The homework you forgot

Football, Basketball, Field hockey
Joints that need ice
Open houses, teacher conferences
Concerts and....LICE!!

Fevers, vomiting and coughing
To the vets with the dog
The laundry backs up
And the toilet is clogged

Rashes and whimpers
Teen attitude divine
The late night quiet
And a few glasses of wine

Dances, graduations
Ironing shirts, tieing a tie
Please wear a dress
Please zipper your fly

Volunteering, baking, glueing
Fixing, mending,
Lecturing, chauffering,
Observing and...Spending $

Summer vacations with sand
Shore and sun
Now, pose with your sister
This is supposed to be fun

Date night with my husband
To try and regroup
Cut short with a phone call
And a bout of the croup

Make each day worth it
in your beautiful mess
Take a moment to breathe
'Wag more, bark less'

At the end of the day
Or the week, or the year
For the love of my family
It's the reason I'm here


Happy 2012 to you all! May you and your family have a wonderfully joyous, healthy, prosperous and chaotic new year!

The Christmas Pudding

I may be unusual. Or potentially suffer from an early onset of Alzheimer’s disease. It could also just be the minor stresses of daily life taking their toll, but I can not recollect an impressive amount of detail or memories in general, from my childhood. If you or someone else brings it up, I will probably remember it, but I can not extrapolate these memories on my own. It's sad. I used to be the go to person of my friends who would remember 'who dated who' in high school. I could come up with that person across the room's name even though we hadn't seen them in over 10 years. Now I am lucky if I remember to pick up a gallon of milk on day three of being out.

Memories of Christmas are the exception, fortunately.

Some of my fondest Christmas moments circulate around my grandparents’ house. I am the oldest of their fourteen grandchildren. When I was born, the youngest of their five children was eleven years old. So, in essence, I became their ‘sixth’ child. My grandparents were the age that I am now, when I was born. Their Victorian house was the epitome of Christmas, decorated in Wedgewood blue and gold. The dinner table was always adorned with an heirloom tablecloth and set with fine china. The sterling silver freshly polished with the reflection of the twinkling lights on their prongs and handles, always grabbed and held my young attention.

My great-grandmother lived in an attached in law apartment of the house and she would bake hermits, spice cake, and dozens of varieties of cookies. My grandparents’ home was enveloped in scents of cinnamon and onions and balsam. I loved it. Upon our arrival, my grandfather would almost always be wearing his white apron, folded down to his waist, carving knife in hand, delicately sculpting the meat off of the turkey. My grandparents were caterers. They had owned their own catering company so food was important. It was the pivotal point between a good Christmas and a great, extraordinary Christmas. Family, food and faith were the cornerstones of their holiday.

I always looked forward to one tradition in particular at my grandparents’ home on Christmas. My modus operandi was: get in, give kisses and hugs all around and then off to the kitchen to help with the plum pudding. For those of you, not of English descent, plum pudding is a bread like dessert, with spices and fruit and nuts. Please do NOT call it ‘fruit cake’. It is lovingly mixed and steamed for hours. My grandmother had a plum pudding ‘can’. It was a long tube made of a silvery metal, which she would steam the plum pudding in. She knew exactly how long that can filled with delicious goodness needed to be exposed to the oversized pot of boiling water, by using her internal clock and her sense of smell. The best part for me, was mixing and preparing the sauces that dressed the plum pudding. ‘Hard Sauce’ and ‘Soft Sauce’. The hard sauce wasn’t really a sauce at all. It was spreadable, not saucy. It was the consistency of a sweet creamed cheese, made with whipped combination of sugar, butter and other decadent ingredients that were always taste tested by me, and whoever else was my partner in sauce engineering. The soft sauce was a buttery; warm, sweet concoction that I believe was finished off with a touch of rum. Once dessert was on the table, the soft sauce could be drizzled over the warm pudding.  I always had two pieces of plum pudding for dessert, because I could not decide which sauce I liked more.

 For our traditional Christmas dinner, my grandmother would always make her traditional bread stuffing. In addition she would also make an oyster stuffing, especially for my father, in the same bright blue baking dish every year. There were not many takers on the oyster stuffing, except for my Dad. But it was tradition, and there was always family banter as he tried to entice each one of us into trying an ooey, gooey oyster.

Each year, my grandparents would always buy my brothers and me our winter jackets. As a young child, I always looked forward to opening whatever they had picked out. I remember opening a very patriotic red, white and blue jacket one year.  Regretfully, as a grew older, I looked forward to someone else selecting my jacket less and less, because as a pre-teen and a teenager, I am sure the thought of it registered lower and lower on the ‘coolness’ meter as the years went by.

More than anything else, I remember a bustling home filled with laughter and shouting. Visual snapshots of remnants of red and white Santa themed wrapping paper and green pine needles, dishes of ribbon candy, tinsel strewn across a blue carpet and the propensity for story telling and ridiculous laughter that we all shared, scatter throughout the memory of each and every year.

Today, some of the traditions are the same and some are quite different. My family has dispersed as we are all raising our own children now and we live just far apart enough from each other to make it difficult to be in the same place for the holiday. In February of this year, my grandmother passed away at the age of eighty-six years old. Even though she had not been able to host a holiday for quite sometime, she and my grandfather will always be the heart and soul of my Christmas memories.

May each and every one of you have a blessed Christmas filled with peace, joy, laughter and a slice or two of your own plum pudding.

Thank You Notes

Sitting at my laptop, with a cup of coffee, on Thanksgiving morning is unusual for me. Normally, I would be prepping the turkey for its entry into the oven and starting my holiday dinner run around. Equally unusual is the fact that I am not cooking dinner today. Something that over the last 15 years I think has happened only once. And today, I am thankful for it. Thank you to my sister in law, who is hosting today, for allowing me this moment to sit with my coffee at my laptop.

As I sit in writers silence (only the sound of the keyboard), I can’t help thinking about the complexity of the world we live in and the life we are supposed to lead by design, if there is such a thing. My life, despite the ups and downs, is more than worth living. It may not be filled with travel (due to a serious fear of flying) and excitement, or thrilling expeditions, or zany antics or one laugh after the other, but it is my life and I am thankful for it. I will take the zaniness and laughter as it occurs, which is already not in short supply. The travel however? Maybe 2012 will be my year. The year of the valium.

The status of my relationships with friends, family or co-workers may change and ebb and flow. That is the nature of relationships. I hate to hurt people’s feelings. Hate it. And if I inadvertently do it, I feel terrible. This past year has been a learning experience for me in areas such as: How not to act. What not to say. Who to trust. At 42 years old, I still feel like a student.

But that is life and if I love life, I have to endure every part of it and be willing to embrace it. It builds people.

My husband and children. Now, that is where the greatest of the love and toughest of the tough happen. Raising kids and being a partner are the most fun, the best of the best but sometimes, the most difficult and challenging. With them, all of the things that make up the meaning of life get rolled out into the carpet. Year to year, we face new forms of utter happiness and frustrations. It seems to change as months roll by, what we focus on.  I am well aware, as I inch closer and closer, into the teenage years, that hormones change everything and I am awaiting for some big almighty switch to be flipped. So far, so good. But I am ready with my emotional suit of armor and my tough love badge, for the worst.

What am I thankful for?

My husband. He is the string to my balloon. There he is, on the ground, tugging at my hot air as I float back and forth. He reminds me to stay grounded when I am up above, in the distant clouds. If it weren’t for him, we’d be homeless living on the streets of Vegas.

My son. The person that made me a Mother. His sweet face and love of creativity, acting, music and football have brought me to places I never thought I would be and have regretted not going to until now. He is thoughtful, caring, intelligent, funny and stubborn. I love all of the things he is. I admire him.

My daughter. Her inner peace and kindness help me to be more giving. She accepts all people, no matter who they are. She is loving, kind, diplomatic, goofy and a crazy sports fanatic (Ugh). I overdosed on sports fanatics a long time ago, but for her, I’d sit thru 40 tee ball games in one day.

I am lucky to have extended family and friends who would walk through fire for me, and me for them. What else could you possibly want? I don’t care what kind of car I drive, how big my house is or what kind of ring is on my finger. The labels on my clothes don’t matter, the number of big screen TVs in my house is insignificant and the latest “thing” is just that. A thing.

All of this is normal, right? Of course I love my family and friends. Sure. The tragedy happens when I don’t let them know how I feel. That is regrettable. I can feel this all I want, but if I don’t say it out loud to the people that matter, then it’s all crap.

So, on this Thanksgiving, I will tell the people who matter the most, just why they matter. It doesn’t get old. And though the kids might roll their eyes because they have heard it a million times before, I will keep telling them.

I truly wish you a wonderfully joyous and meaningful Thanksgiving.

"What Have You Done For Us Lately"

The other day, I was fortunate enough to have one of the leading ladies of our local library come and sit down in my office. Mary and I began to chat about the usual pleasantries, when she informed me that she, and her co-worker, (two women that our community has the utmost respect for), would be retiring after 20 plus years of running our local treasure of a library. These two women are so close, that neither one of them could imagine working without the other by her side, so they decided to take the leap together, and retire.

This is a not just your every day run-of-the-mill town library. The children’s section was always a hub of excitement. The colors, learning, dress up, reading, educating, artwork, sculpture, themes, theater, cozy nooks, etc, just ooze from the room as soon as you walk in. As an adult, I would get excited to go there! It was fun! And the two amazing ladies that ran it, with the help of many other giving souls, became parental figures to us all. They were always coming up with some brilliant, creative way to pass on the love of reading and learning to our little ones. Now that my children are older, I, of course do not frequent the children’s section anymore and I have since moved to a neighboring town. But I have missed it. Just as part of me misses having children of the age who want to go there.

While talking to Mary, we chatted about some of the old times, and when I asked her what prompted her to retire at a younger age then most, she answered with a changed expression of sadness: “The parents are not the same. Instead of parents getting involved the way they used to, they only want to know what you can do for them and their children, not the other way around. It’s just not the same (shaking her head). The community feel has changed. It’s more about the individual and less about the community as a whole.”

This troubles me. How disturbing. How sad.

As we continue to isolate ourselves more and more and become increasingly electronic and downloadable, I ask us all: What have you done for your community lately?

How difficult is it to say: “I have a bunch of books that my kids don’t read anymore, let me donate them” or “I will bake muffins for our story time on Friday” or “Here is a $2 donation. Today I will forego my store bought coffee in a styrofoam cup.”

It doesn’t take a huge commitment. Just do small. Small things matter.

I know many volunteers that are involved with our kids, seniors, those that are homeless, unhealthy, those in need. But from what I am hearing and witnessing, fewer and fewer of us want to take the time and trouble to extend ourselves anymore. We have, on the whole, become a very ME driven society.

While my family and friends will always be on the top of my priority list, in fact, they are the only entries on my priority list, it is essential that I show my children how to give. And give without the prospect of ever receiving anything back. What I receive back is not always visible. It comes in waves of pride and heartfelt caring for those around me and for wanting my community to be just a little bit better, nicer, more welcoming. Without that feeling, where you live, work and play is less desirable to everyone.

On a different level, one of my good friends is a giver/volunteer/if I see a wrong, I must right it, type of person. She is proactive. She makes things happen. She builds playgrounds and football fields and running tracks and (tries wholeheartedly) to push for public kindergarten (which eventually came to be). Those that are uncomfortable with her passion label her as a “bitch”. Yup. She is. And our community is better because of that bitch. She has literally changed the face of our community.

Maybe that is why people are afraid to extend themselves. It brings them into the forefront of an issue. It shines a spotlight sometimes. It can be a burden if others criticize how you focus your passion or attention. So, ultimately, it could be that we shy away for fear of being judged. That is very unfortunate. Maybe it is a lesson to us all to be less judgemental of others.

So I ask, and if you don’t care to hear it, then hit the delete button: “What have you done to make your community, the life of someone around you, just a little bit better?”

Only you know where to go from here…

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said: “We are prone to judge success by the index of our salaries or the size of our automobiles, rather than by the quality of our service relationship to humanity.”

How is your relationship with humanity?

(* this blog is dedicated to my friend Lori, two amazing librarians, and all of the caring volunteers out there. Some names in this blog have been changed)

Ain't "No" Sunshine When Its Gone

I like to think of myself as an open minded person and someone who does not take pleasure in passing judgment on other people. I really do think this about myself, so I will be disappointed if it is ultimately untrue. It will take me a long time to recover if I learn through this blog, that I am a very disillusioned soul.

That being said let me talk about something I find utterly crazy.  I was recently made aware of a set of parents who decided that the word “No” would not be used in their household because they believe that saying the word and meaning it, would stifle the natural born creativity of their children, ages 4 and almost 2.

That will work, most certainly, as long as you plan on your two children living with you until the end of time.

I apologize for the candor, but I can not express just how much I vehemently disagree.

I believe that setting boundaries and being cruel (yes, cruel) by denying your children the right to behave a certain way and have certain things, sets them on a successful path. You can love them all you want. Kiss and hug them, too. Put paint brushes in their hands and sing every hour on the hour, for goodness sake, but please, please, please, don’t eliminate the word “No”. For crying out loud it is a STAPLE for me.

To elaborate further before I completely throw these two lovely, smart and caring people under the bus, let me explain.  They both believe that, essentially the process of redirecting, can take the place of the word “No”.

How…freaking…tiring.  Exhausting. I am breathing heavier just thinking about it.

I assure you “No, because I said so” is still alive and well in my household and I hope it is across this great big universe of ours. I hope it translates in every language. I will always sing its praises.

When my children were both toddlers, I was fortunate enough to be able to regularly attend parenting classes with a noted author, speaker and parenting guru, Bonnie Harris, M.S. Ed.  She was remarkable in giving the appropriate advice to me as a young mother with a very SPIRITED child.  I love the term ‘spirited’, because that is exactly what my eldest child was, and still is. I knew no different. He was mine. I absolutely loved his uniqueness and still do to this day.

I remember Bonnie, a lovely woman, explaining how to not allow your children to push your buttons, to get down on their level, look them eye to eye and explain the reasons behind your discipline. Explain, validate, and tell them why you are doing what you are doing.

I am sorry. That is the only thing I disagreed with in all the classes that I attended. Saying “No” without any explanation works for me. I believe that it is essential for my kids to know that my husband and I are both the boss.  If we say “No”, it is because we are the parents. Whether I know best or not, I could honestly care less. I said it, I mean it and you will listen to it.  Too much knowledge can be redundant if you do not respect the person behind the “No”. Sometimes, blind faith is good. Do so, because you have been told to do so by your parent.

And, besides, I have proven myself by pushing you out of my vagina. And that’s the end of it.

In all seriousness, there are plenty of appropriate times to explain, talk, listen, teach, advise, consult…but there are just as many times that a “No” without explanation needs to hold some serious water. Does this stifle the ability to question authority? Or paint on a canvas. Or play an instrument? Write a poem?

I am frightened that a person who is used to having an explanation for everything and/or has been spared the word “No” all their life, will not be able to function well in the work place, in school, on a date, at a party, and ultimately as a parent, themselves.

Loving your child enough to make them earn the right to do certain things, making them aware that it’s not a free for all, stopping them dead in their tracks and maybe disappointing them at times, gives them much needed psychological stamina. It plants the seed that grows in to emotional fortitude. It sets up the catch word ‘boundaries’.

Too much “No” can have the adverse effect. But in a “Yes, I have to have it now" society, a little “No” goes a long way.

I am not a doctor or a psychologist or even a mom with all of the answers. At times I can be a bit of a basket case.  I am just pretty damn certain that if I had never said the word “No” to my kids, that today we might not all be living in the same house.

I will continue to promote the climate where my children get the message that I love them and wish to enhance their physical, spiritual, cognitive and creative growth, all while subliminally yelling “Back off!” at the same time.