Bridgewater Soccer Mom's view of the world

Ever hear about stories that you think "that can't be true!"? This time, can't means "Please don't let this be true!" Today I heard a story that I found to be so sad. Bad parenting has taken on a new meaning. Competitive mothering is a word I often use about 08807-moms who try to show how they protect their children in the name of good mothering, when really they have a sick ulterior motive: to feel that they are the better mothers. Today I heard a story about over-parenting gone awry. A friend of mine has a 5 year old.  He travels abroad for many months at a time for his job. And apparently his wife who stays home has some unconventional ideas about appropriate parenting. She's wants to hold her kid back from beginning kindergarten. That's normal enough around here - it seems every parent with a child born in August or September keeps their kid home an extra year. (Except those of us who don't... but that's for a different blog).

It's a very humid morning. I can't tell whether it will rain or not. But I can tell that there is no reason to fight it: I can't do anything about my hair. Put some gel in it and let it do it's thing. The frizzy curl is a force unto itself! My office is an amazing place - I'm amazed by the temperature variation. Offices vary from the 80s to the low 60s. My office (well, my "closet") is usually around 62 F, even if the office across the hallway is probably 25 degrees warmer. We spend a lot of time talking about the office's weather. Yesterday I literally wore 2 sweaters to keep warm! It is beyond our control. Today IT is upgrading some system, so we will be without e-mail, the server and our main software all day long. Also, beyond my control. Maybe it's a good time to focus on what I can control. A few weeks ago I suggested to my boss that he send me on a small mission. Today I intend to remind him that I'm up to the challenge and hope

I started to blog (at least in my head) about what a crappy day this has been. About how I didn't have the right paperwork when I went to get N's passport renewed how the day otherwise was so mediocre. How all I really want to do is turn on the TV, pour myself a glass of wine and knit my Montour shawl ... but I should exercise, clear the table and fold laundry. And then while I was sourly blogging in my head, I clicked my mouse over to Facebook and read something that was like a slap across the face. I was suddenly ashamed for yelling at my daughter only a few minutes before. El's daughter L's facebook status asked how she was supposed to survive the rest of her life without her mom, when it's only been 3 months. I thought of El today . I think of her often. I was at Gray's - my favorite Bridgewater florist. I was thinking about all the flowers I bought for El in her last months. Sunflowers were her favorite. I thanked the proprietor. She put signs up for me

A few weeks ago I spent the weekend with my friends from high school. BS (yes, his initials...) reminded us of an incident that I had forgotten on a ski trip . The chaperone came to check the boys' room and we (girls) had to hide quickly... I didn't believe him. But yesterday when I accidentally found my high school diaries, I decided to do some "research" into his story. It was worse than B's claim!  I was so embarrassed, that after reading a few sentences I couldn't bring myself to finish the entire entry and put the diary back where I found it! (Sorry, folks, no more info than that, it's not that kind of blog!). A skeleton jumped out the my closet and cried "BOO!" None of my Bridgewater friends have told me stories like these from their teen years. Most appear to have had a couple of nice boyfriends before entering relationships that turned into longer marriages. None of my friends in Bridgewater were sound like they were bad girls in hig

I play volleyball every Thursday with my faithful friend, S. How many times do I have to miss before I'm not allowed to say that anymore??? I don't want to say "I played volleyball" because that sounds like I've quit the team or I had to stop because on an injury. But that's not it at all. Life just gets in the way. Today it's not life, so much as it's me. I'm tired and I would need to shave my legs, but I haven't got a razor. Is that a "legit" excuse? We don't even play on a team. The rec department has a Thursday night open "pick-up" game volleyball that it organizes (well other than reserve the room, provide nets and cash our checks, you can't say they are organizing it - the "men" do that - dividing up teams and arguing over the rules). My very, very faithful friend. Someone whom I can always count on to listen to me rant and rave or cry no matter how trivial... we are so different (she is quiet a

Everyone has secrets... one of mine is that when I go grocery shopping, I am usually in a hurry (either I'm needed at home or I have put the perishables) but I still manage to spend (or waste?) five minutes looking at knitting magazines. Starting at $7 a pop, I almost never buy any. Today, however, I did!  I couldn't resist. It was an Interweave Press magazine and most of the stuff looked very basic. But I had to have this issue. I think the magazine was a sign: go back to your roots. Go back to yourself. About 18 months ago I bought myself yarn. Not just any yarn - a blend of merino wool, cashmere and silk, aptly called Sublime. I bought it in a gorgeous red color - on sale, of course - and it has been sitting in my closet ever since. I promised myself that I wouldn't start anything with it until I had finished the sweater for T and I've kept that promise so far. I've got about 99.9% of it done. But that last .1% is left - and I'm stuck. Isn't it a bit

Do you know what it's like when you know someone close to you is angry at you?  Maybe my readers are perfect... and everyone adores them unconditionally, and you read this blog to see examples of imperfection. This blog is about lots of things: my perfection has never been a topic. Again, I'm in a Dog House. Often when I've hurt someone's feeling or done something wrong I like the direct approach: apologize, fix it and go on. This time I wonder: Speak openly and hope to come to an understanding, or ignore it, brushing it under the rug and hoping the disappointment in me blows away? This time I tried to approach the subject... with no luck. Mostly it made clear how angry she is. Since that didn't work, do I ignore it, and wait for the unexpected, but inevitable, attack? No one I know has memory issues (unless working TOO well is a medical defect). She will remember "how I wronged her" far longer than all the good I've done for her over the years. 

Rarely do I delete a post. I can think of only three posts I've deleted out of the hundreds I've written, but Ambivalent Celebrant is now the 4th lost to cyberspace's netherworld. In it I sounded like a sour-puss and a spoiled child. Lamenting that because they are all sleeping, my kids and husband probably think I'm a terrible mom. After it's short-lived publication, I took the dog for a run and cleared my head. Maybe it's the fresh air, the sun, or even the endorphins, I realize that mine was misplaced anger and I am a fortunate woman. My children love me, they care about me - and they even look like me! As I ran, I thought about El and her daughter, L who is spending her first Mother's Day without her mother. Not what you want for a 12 year old. I also thought of El's Mom, who is spending her first mother's day without her special daughter.  Who gives a damn what I do today! Sleep til 6pm, I don't care. I have a wonderful family and we are

Today I spent the day with a very special family (and lots of other people). When our daughters were still very small I hoped we might get invited to their daughter's bat mitzvah, since I'd never been to one before. Today we celebrated E's big day.  These friends moved to Florida last summer, but they flew up to have the party here (the religious portion was a few weeks ago). E's Mom and I have a special relationship. We have a lot in common: we look somewhat alike, with dark curly hair. We have strong opinions (which are often similar) and we both love a good laugh. Our husbands are somewhat alike in looks and demeanor. We both have a daughter and son. And we have the same first name and last initial. Spending the day with her was absolutely wonderful.  We started our girl scout troop as co-leaders and have been having fun "winging it" ever since. But what struck me the most was the girls. Five of them were in the same kindergarten class. Over time their