Local Woman Hopes to Trim Tree in Time for Holiday

Every year Facebook shows me the memory of the day. And every year I get to see how my holiday game is slipping. So this "see your memory" is more "taunt you with memory" for me.

This time last year, Facebook showed me how my house was decorated by now.
This time last year, I was sitting, leaning back with my feet up on the coffee table, sipping hot cocoa that was more Redi-Whip than beverage.
This time last year, I was enjoying the fruit of an intense two day decorating frenzy.

Not this year, though. This photo above is what I'm looking at. There are no feet up on the coffee table enjoying a twinkling view and there is no mug of sedating hot cocoa. Instead, I've got a chilled Starbucks coffee in a bottle in one hand and as string of white lights in the other.
Everyone is counting on me to get things done, if not done, then at least started. And true to their pure hearted kindness, they have not asked once what is going on with everything that is still in the boxes instead of on the tree. A feat on their part that just catapulted them to the all star top of the nice list, if you ask me, Santa.

I am known for my love of decking the halls, with thousands of white twinkling lights. I like it more than my family does because everything looks like an instant fairy tale when you throw Made in China lights on it. I know I want to do this, and I know that when these lights are up, I'll like how my house makes me feel: like it's someone else's for awhile, neat, clean, a sparkly place to live.

If these unfestooned walls could talk, they'd tell you they miss me. They'd tell you they want me up and at 'em. I hear it, especially when I try to sleep at night. Hey, lady, the naked walls coldly whisper, don't you want us to shine FOR YOU? We want to shine FOR YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.

So, I pledge that I am going to get started on this as soon as I hit publish on this post. And have a chicken pot pie with some blue moon ice cream afterward. But I will do nothing else after that. I will open the red plastic tubs marked "lights" and falalalalalala until my fingers are so laden with the lead I'm sure the Made in China cords are dusted with that I'll be able to use my finger as a pencil to write another name on the top of the Nice List.

It will be my name entered. And making this house be what I want it to be for me is more nice than anything else I can think of in 2016.

Oh, from 5PM on today,  I will be receiving Starbuck coffee drop off donations or lead-cleansing hand wipes. Please use the back door, the front one is blocked with Holiday Cheer in a box.

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Tell Your Teen This When They Start Their First Job

I've gotten older. I get that. But hey, what's this unfair stuff about my babies growing up too? You can stomp your feet while dabbing your eyes with tissue and sneak into their bedrooms to press down their heads as they sleep (just me? ok, never mind) to keep them from gaining inches, but you can't stop the job that hormones are programmed to do: make them grow.

 

And since we're speaking of jobs, do you have anyone in your house starting their first one? You do?? Well, I can only say that I wish someone had told me when I was 15 what I have learned about jobs since then. The things your boss needs from you can be a mystery when you start working.

 

I had my first job at 15, it was in a nursing home as a dining room assistant. I liked it, it was fun, and on the nights that the red-headed woman worked, she would set aside a slice of cherry pie for me. My boss, on the other hand was awful, but I liked the pie-lady, and ever since then I've worked part time, full time, 3/4 time, only on weekends time, but I've always worked. Not only because money is a necessity but also because there have been jobs, like my first one, that I've either really liked or the people I worked with were the reason I stayed.

Thinking about the jobs I’ve had and the things I did while in those jobs sometimes stops me in my tracks. Did I really do that? Why did I think that was going to work? Maybe I should have tried harder. Maybe I should have left after that first five minutes. Like after they asked me to open up the store BY MYSELF at 5:20 a.m.

 

Did I know better, or had I known better, would anything have been different? 

 

Bottom line is there are some basic work skills that your boss or clients expect you to have. Surprise, right? Well, it might be to your teens. So, let them know what they are. You can't prevent all schooling learned from hard lessons, but you can take the sharp edge off of at least one or two experiences:

First, the obvious things:

Clean appearance, appropriate clothing, teachable attitude, decent and respectful toward others, no gossip. Right up there with these traits are: plays well with others, respect for the chain of command. Throw in not pilfering and minding your own business and you’re a good catch.*(Imp note added: see below)

Second, don’t be a pot stirrer.

Show up and do your work, ears away from the gossip telephone game. If you end up working for someone you really can’t believe is in management, still do the same. Go to work, do your job, if there is no request to violate your morals, values, safety, then do your job.

Third, do not make up answers.

When someone asks you a question, if you aren't sure about the answer, say so. You don’t have to say, “I don’t know,” but you can say, “Let me find that out for you.” You don't want to be the one responsible for paying for a family of eight's meal when they came in and wanted to know if kids eat free on Tuesday and your 'Uh, sure' is Uh. Wrong. Ask your manager, they're the one who knows about free fries with every 23rd burger, and what not.

Fourth, learn to manage your time.

Oh lordy lordy lordy, learn to manage your time. Decide how many minutes you need to get the job done that you're asked to do while there. You don't want to come in at 1:00, laugh play chat and then look up at the clock at 2:20 and go Holy Cr*p running to the point of your deodorant quitting on you, to stock the shelves your boss needed you to do over four hours, not two. Nose to the grindstone.

Fifth, your time belongs to your boss.

Remember that your employer is paying you for your time. This means that while on their clock, you will do their work. Nothing else. No turning yourself into a baby deer on Snapchat. I know it's fun, but it has to wait. *why is this one in italics? because my keyboard isn't cooperating. bad job, keyboard*

Sixth, learn something new every day.

This makes you look really good. It also makes work more interesting if you ask questions. You don't have to sound like a parrot paraphrasing everything your boss says, but ask about it. People like to talk 'shop.' That's what old folks call work. Just this little feather in your cap called 'interest' will make your boss big puffy heart you.

Seventh, let positive be your cheer!

No matter what is going on, pesky friend problems, an English class that just won't quit, save the grumbling for later. Bring a positive attitude to work. You're not a Kardashian, you have to earn a living. Try and smile, even if you don’t love your job–because it’s your job.

Eighth, look like you're revved and ready to go.

Roll up your sleeves (that's an expression from the ages) and walk in straight spined, with energy, and on each day you work even if you have to knock off a Starbucks to do it. Try to not let anyone hear you complain or whine, either, because honestly, who likes to be around that?

Ninth, keep dissatisfaction to yourself and don't tell it to a customer.
When dealing with difficult co-workers or supervisors, let your lips say “yes” but your mind whisper “pumpkin head!” At review time, let your supervisor know of any changes you'd like to see them consider. NO guarantees but that is the appropriate place for something like this to be brought up.

Tenth, be a young adult.

You will be a legal adult in a few years: don't wait until then to think on your own. Be self disciplined, self motivated, and self directed. Work without supervision, I mean, come on, how old are we now? Even if mama still calls you her baby, your boss won't see you through those same eyes.

 

I've got to leave for my own job in a few hours so let's wrap this up,

What I want to tell you is to Behave. What employers truly hope for is to get their money's worth: your time, and they're paying for it. You are known by the quality of your work, and one day, on a college application or for a job application while away at school, you're going to have to put down the name of someone who's worked with you as a reference. Your boss at your first job may just be that person whose name you fill in on that line. You want their words about you to be the ones that make the reader say, "Hey, we want this kid."

This list might just help you keep on collecting that biweekly check. It would be awesome to maybe stick to two or seven of these, right?

 

So, dear teens, make good use of time while at your job. And don't think I don't see you now, so I'm going to suggest you turn off your phone and get to work.

 

* * *

 

*ETA: A friend of mine, whose opinion I respect, has these important words to add. I feel what she contributes here is far more important than the tongue-in-cheek tone I've set this post to. *Thank you, Rebecca Weinberger:

 

"Rebecca Weinberger It would be great if this included things like how to respond to sexual harassment and exploitation and wage theft. What to do when your boss does ask you to violate your morals or safety. How to document this and support unions and know how to use HR while knowing they are always there to protect management. We rarely talk about the realities of what work really looks like in this system and this article looks like it's setting people - especially young women - up for victim blaming when these things do happen, as if being well dressed with a good attitude is enough."



Dear Child: You Might Want to Live With Them First

I was raised with a long list of conservative Dos and Don’ts of life.

I abided by most, that's who I am. The ones that made sense were easy to follow:

"Don’t let your lips touch the spigot when drinking from a public water fountain,”

The questionable ones, “Stay away from that girl/boy that always gets into trouble,” were a bit more challenging  because who doesn't love a spark of life from those around them once in awhile.

Then there was the no negotiating from my mother ones, that was, if you wanted to remain recognized by the family: "DO NOT LIVE WITH SOMEONE IF YOU’RE NOT MARRIED."

Most often spoken aloud at weddings, and just as often as a ferocious aside when she would relay her friends' domestic situations.

I never did live with anyone I wasn't married to. Not that I wasn’t asked.

The fear and the thought of the headache of deception kept me as a common law wife to many a roommate post college. Imagining being dead to my family kept me from co-signing any co-lease for cohabitating.

But, as is the case with most insights arrived at on our own in our lives, I am now of a different mindset due to the emotional and psychological duress that could have been avoided, nice girls do or don't, had I lived with my husband before marriage.

Today, I make the case for cohabitation before marriage certificate, based on our first married night at home together. The night when I dumped out the laundry basket full of our first shared comingled his and hers clothing, and I caught a flying shock of a view, fleeting, of something that had me hoping that what I was seeing, was a mistake.

“Mark, did you forget to empty out tissues from your pants pocket before throwing them in the laundry?” I asked while seeing before me what appeared to be shreds of tissue that had gone through the dryer.

“Nope,” he said without any thought.

And just like that, what could have been an arms entwined google eyed experience of what a metaphor of our coupling this laundry was; turned out, instead, to be a whispered shameful conversation at lunch with my best friend at work the next day.

“Oh my god, I just don't know," I tried to take a bite of my sandwich. I checked over both shoulders to make sure no one else was listening, “It's his underwear…” I stuttered. “It looked like a lace doily. Like the first ones ever made. I swear, the Smithsonian called asking for it.”

“Get.Out.,” my friend mouthed back, “like, how old do you think it was? ‘Cuz that’s just gross.”

“I know, I know,” I kept whispering. "I just couldn’t get the holey Swiss cheese memory of the backside of his boxers out of my mind, not even, you know, later…”

“You gotta tell him it’s just not right, and that you can afford new underwear. Like, make it fun, go shopping for new stuff together. He'll like that.”

“But what can I do in the meantime? What is seen, cannot be unseen. I brought it up… and he, he was almost proud of how old his boxers were. He bragged, ‘yup, had those babies since my fraternity days. Do you think it's memories?"

My single friend looked down before answering. "Maybe. Maybe you should have lived together first."

Ach. Straight to my Catholic upbringing soul. Why is life so difficult?

With her reaction in mind, I decided to keep what happened next, to myself.

When I saw my new husband lovingly double fold his tissue thin underwear, and as though delivering the golden tablets to Joseph Smith himself, place them on his side of our shared dresser drawer, right next to my honeymoon trousseau of days old satin underthings.

The man was neat, orderly, and folding his own laundry.

Sometimes you hit the jackpot, but if I had lived with him before, I would have come to value this, sooner.

Cohabitation, ask me 20 years later and I'll tell you: It's worth every risk of family disownment. And 15 Hail Marys said at bedtime.

 

* * *

Help! I Don't Know What To Do With My Kids on Winter Break!

Buy them each a dog bed from PetSmart. Call it Cozy Craft Center. They'll never know.

I understand. I remember the same feeling when I brought home Baby #2 when Baby #1 was still a baby. How will I know what to do all day long with these children?

Your kids have been gone since September, haven't they? The day has been yours, pretty much. Even if you don't spend it with a calendar filled with major spa time, you have been able to run errands without towing your mini daycare center along.

But, come next week, the Children Will Be Home.

How many? All of them.

Your kids, the ones that again belong to you during the day hours, will be home for Christmas. They will be joyful, singing Alleluia as they descend the stairs at 5:15 a.m. because for some reason now waking up with the 5:15 a.m. sunrise doesn't make them inert mass as it does on a school day. It is winter break, and they have been brought back to life.

Joy to the world! they sing while pajama-clad they greet you, ready to squeeze every second of this being home that stretches out before them.

I know some of us will be going away on vacation. And the rest like me, are homebound. On blustery days, with the sun setting at 4:30 p.m. every day. But let's not think about that. And let's also not think about all the bodies that are not ours now being warmed by the hot Aztec sun as they lay on sizzling sandy beaches. Mai Tai in hand. Served by bronze strangers. (pick your fantasy) No, don't think about this, because you have to think of tricks to having fun at home!

We'll, the trick to tricking your children into a good time is much like serving red sauce on a bone white plate so it doesn't look like an episode of Grey's Anatomy: it's all about presentation.

Fun is what you tell your kids it is. To make things survivable for you and yours the next few weeks, I've got a Monday through Friday calendar for you. Borrow heavily.

Let's begin with Monday:


Monday will be Treasure Hunting Day.
You can quibble, maybe call it basement cleaning. But in my mind, it's treasure hunting. You never know what you will find down in the subterranean levels.

Tuesday is Rule The World For A Day-Day.
Yes, absolutely right that's what it is. The kids get to do whatever they want to within the square feet of this house. What could be better? Not much, my friend, I know I'd kill for a day like that.

Wednesday is Get To Know Your Family Really Well Day.
This exhilarating day will be spent in close face to face and highly interactive conversational one on one with each other, as we spend our time indoors today: the day severe storms have been forecast.

Thursday is Get Your Wish Day.
As all the kids get to play on their screens till the cows come home. Or till their eyes cross. Or they look like Einstein. Whichever comes first.

Friday is Are You Smarter Than Your Mom Day.
As each of your kids take Mama on in any games of their choice. They're truly looking forward to this one since they know I only have a few more good years left in this sleep deprived brain and the sooner they beat me, the sooner they can move on. Bite the bullet and survive the rounds of Candyland, Chutes and Ladders, the eternal Monopoly, because after today, you will be one day down!

Saturday is Let's See Who Can Sleep In The Longest Day.
What a way to bring our exciting best stay at home vacation ever to a close! The winner gets to sit in front of mama's S.A.D. box for 20 minutes. 

Happy Winter Break, everyone! Enjoy these days, really. It's all in how you present it to yourself.

 

* * *

Am I in Fashion?

Before this picture has you shouting OMG YES ARE YOU EVEN KIDDING?? SOOOO in fashion! let me slow you down.

While I may be your friend and therefore you want to uplift me with kindness, let's not kid. If you're reading this, you find something about me that is like you, someone who still pages through May 2012 magazines in their gynecologist's office to check if bump toe boots are still in. So let's reframe the question:

Am I in fashion for this season in America.

By this season, I mean Trumpocalypse*.

I don't just want to survive the next four years of a Trump presidency, I want to thrive. And that means hunkering down with what I'll need: purpose, community, solidarity. Needing to see who's with me and me calling back to you in a nod from my water resistant warm yet multi purpose scarf. My fashion choices will now say to you, you are beautiful and yeah I see you over there with your straight back, reminding yourself to breathe breathe breathe. 

I'll say it without the Tshirt:

It's not over yet.
Keep trying
#Resist (although I'm not scratching off the #Resist Tshirt idea. I like it)

I will look like the ever prepared Girl Scout, only older and more awesome. I will be the one dressing in the words until I begin to believe them: It's not meaningless, it's not too late, you won't stay in bed forever.

The call out of my efficient use of corduroy. The sturdy nod of my canvas black jeans. The boots with a heel, square and durable, that mean business. A belt that is not military grade weave is no belt at all. This Trump age is going to be polarized politics. There is no way we can deny what we hear and see. Ya can't gaslight me is what I'm saying. Some are dressing in flower-splashed celebration. I'm going ready-for-action wear.

I used to know that patterns could be repeated when you hinted at them in another accessory.

I followed hem line lengths and could spot a two season out of date toe style from across the street. I could discern a $15 dry bar blowout from a $300 keratin treatment. Now, it's what are you up for that will have my eyes following you as you pass me on the street. I will recognize you without knowing you.

-Can you do with a sensible heel you found at a thrift store?

-Are you able to smooth dry your hair on your own and be fine on the days that the frizz is your only option?

-Can another household members socks pinch hit when you have to evacuate within seconds?

If so, you're my people.

So, continue on with your fashion choices, whether in style or in preparedness. But make it easy for me and others: identify yourself so I can find you.

Your corduroy pants and unisex V-necks will be the SOS I'll pick up.

See, I have no worries, because in this new age of Trump, we're finding that good-to-go is the only Vogue we need.

Who would have guessed, it turns out I've been using fashion wrong my entire life.

*Entire wardrobe above from local Goodwill: truth.

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*trumpocalypse: lifted from a PM with my friend, Vikki Reich.