Ditch The Snitch During Christmas

Tags

bad parenting trends, boxing day, christmas survival, elf on the shelf, toblerone

December 26, 2014

Happy Boxing Day; the official holiday of surviving the Christmas Day maelstrom. The recycling bin is full to the brim with boxes, wrapping paper and one or two premier empty wine bottles, we have laundered the pajamas we spent all day in and the Toblerone bar has been opened and demolished.   (Okay, the Swiss chocolate eating was all me – but it is a tradition that Santa puts a Toblerone bar in my Usually Lovely Husband’s stocking each year and I find it and eat it.   I am a stickler for traditions after all.) New clothes are being jauntily modeled and the one size fits all gift my offspring most wanted this year has been tucked away into their wallets. It was a successful Christmas day with only one family dispute and one animal vomit.  What Christmas is complete without the kids insisting that the dog must try each one of the new treats that Santa brings and the cat gets all hopped up on catnip and one or other leaves us a warm oozy Christmas gift on the floor?   And I defy you to find one household that does not have an emotional outburst from extended family togetherness or a breakdown over some new gadget installation. Joyous Noel indeed.

Speaking of holiday traditions – I feel I simply must go on official record as being completely against the newest small child commercial gimmick that is buying shelf space (literally) these days.   Have you heard of this “Elf On the Shelf” Phenomenon? It’s this creepy little elf doll with heroin addict eyes that sits around your house staring like a child predator at your offspring and then supposedly reporting back to Santa their evil activities throughout the day.  The public gets all up in arms about the NSA spying on citizens and creating paranoia yet no one has mentioned these disturbing little elves which may be causing psychiatric harm to our youngsters with their prying eyes and tattle tale scare tactics in a much more sinister fashion.

In case you haven’t been privy to the “Elf On The Shelf” fright campaigns for children during the month of December, here is the down low. This is the label on the back of t
he box this little psychosomatic trauma comes in.

So this freakish mother named Carol had this elf doll that she told her kids was a “Scout Elf” from the North Pole sent to keep tabs on their nefarious behaviors in order to make sure Santa knew whether or not to put them on the good or bad lists at Christmas.  The kids are not allowed to touch the “Scout Elf” but they can tell him all their secrets so that she can sit in the next room and eavesdrop while they talk to this doll like a priest in a confessional.   The elf moves secretly around the house each day so that the children are never sure where it’s prying beady little eyes may be watching them from and quickly learn that no room provides sanctuary.   Carol “unwittingly learned that an added benefit” to this elf doll spying was that it “helped the children to better control themselves.”

To top that off.  This is the letter that comes with Captain Creepy Doll to your beloved children.

Oh. My. God.   This woman must have been pretty desperate to get her kids to behave. Obey your Mom and Dad?  Sounds like the words I would not allow at my wedding twenty five years ago. I think we all know which Mom at the preschool Carol was and we steered our kids clear at birthday parties and field trips from her little monsters. Carol is now filthy stinking rich from mass producing this infiltrator because parents everywhere are buying this ugly little goblin in a red and white suit and telling their kids that their moves are being monitored “AT ALL TIMES BECAUSE THERE IS A CREEPY LITTLE GNOME OGLING YOU RIGHT NOW”. Wow, Edward Snowden and Michael Rogers (Director of the National Security Agency) got nothing compared to Carol.

I know that many of us grew up knowing that Santa was magically aware of naughty and nice behavior, but you never felt his eyes physically following you across the room when you pinched your brother and ran away. Talk about developing paranoia from a young age.  We had better hope that the benefits for Mental Health improve dramatically by the time the wave of young children involved in this current elf trend reach adulthood.

When our progenies were young, Santa was the guy who made your stomach super nervous when you saw him in person and whose booming voice apologized over the phone when the Lego set you wanted more than anything in life was not available that year. (Thanks Uncle Ralph) He was kind, a little scary and magical all at once. He never would have sent spies to our house to specifically seek out bad behaviors to report back each night. It almost seems that this “Scout Elf” is just daring you to smack your sibling in the head with a Tonka truck.

So kids, come on round to my house. My cat may stare at you unblinkingly after she gets some good hits off her new catnip, but she won’t be reporting your nose picking and extra cookie snitching back to the North Pole. Santa in my world will be benevolent and continue to turn a blind eye to the avarices of small children because he knows in his soul that there is good in all of us.

PS – if anyone has truly had luck with The Elf On the Shelf curtailing disreputable activities could you let me know?   I hate the whole disturbing shelf elf trend, but I may just stick one in the fraternity house where my oldest son lives if there is a glimmer of hope that the college guys may stop and think once in a while. (Love them!  I mean it!)

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Holidays. Ho. Ho. Ho.

Tags

christmas, holiday traditions, overflowing toilet, whistler bc

It has been FAR too long since I’ve shared the thoughts in my head.   I am sure that the reason I have been wide awake from 2 – 5 a.m. is the small novelettes that are swirling through my cerebrum. Life has been hectic and so I do apologize to my own self and my regular readers for not unloading my brain onto the pages of WordPress.

I have been relaxing in Whistler BC the past few days and am enjoying watching my three ski bums wear themselves out, appreciating the breathtaking views, taking cleansing breaths of crisp frozen air, eating and drinking far too much and removing myself from the chaos of pre-holiday madness.

A quick synopsis from the past two weeks: One part time working mother trying to organize and finalize all the traditions that SHE feels obligated to continue. Since this ski trip involves five days of off-site eating and we return on Christmas Eve this also includes list making, food shopping at several different grocery stores and complete organizational packing and pantry stocking. I blame only myself for this stress – the prodigal sons would survive off granola and top ramen and my Usually Lovely Husband is kind enough to eat whatever is around as long as we are well stocked on wine. I try to beat back my Martha Stewart gene, but I truly can’t stand eating prepackaged food or crappy instant things and I personally enjoy sitting around the table with my family so we tend to eat well on vacations where I have a kitchen to knock around in. Green curry chicken, Pad Thai, risotto, and on Seahawks Sunday BBQ Chicken Fingers and Sweet Potato fries were on this weeks menu. Easy to throw together but preplanning and shopping required.

I am going to skip the elongated discourse of how my elderly four legged best friend fell down the stairs the day before we left and the ensuing anxiety of hours at the vet and the 150+ daily text messages with my dog sitter to keep abreast of his condition while we have family time without him. I attempted to write a blog about this a couple days ago and the one ply tissues in this condo were too ineffective to continue.

Leaving for five days right before Christmas Eve also means that all presents must be purchased, wrapped and labeled for hasty Christmas tree distribution on Christmas Eve when we return.   As the default parent for shopping and eating – this duty pretty much falls on my small sized shoulders and I would not have it any other way.   This does not mean I don’t blow a gasket somewhere along the way since I feel everything must be perfect and all traditions and things that lit up my small sons’ eyes on Christmas Day in the past must be preserved. Thankfully all three of my men humor me in this and pretend to still be excited about unwrapping underpants from Rudolph and finding footprints in the ashes of the fireplace Christmas morning. Apparently I am not the only one who has specific standard traditions that make Christmas complete however; last year I actually had the audacity to suggest that I cook something different than salmon with spicy wine sauce and lemon bowtie noodles for Christmas Eve dinner and both of the offspring nearly had heart failure. Since my men children have been wee – we have dressed up on Christmas Eve, had a formal dinner and given our gifts to each other. Santa comes in the night (of course) and Christmas morning is for stockings and Santa Claus magic.

I still laugh about being somewhat looped from a fabulous bottle of wine (or two) enjoyed with Christmas Eve dinner when our oldest prodigy was two and had been safely tucked into bed in his new footie pajamas. (Complete tangent: another Christmas tradition learned from my sister. Always give new pajamas as gifts on Christmas Eve so that the Christmas morning photos don’t feature faded and torn jammies. However, be sure to prewash them as the one year I forgot to launder them my youngest son woke up Christmas morning with a rash from head to toe and spent the day miserably itching.)

Anyway, two year old tucked in footie pajamas. Two tipsy parents attempting to put together apartment sized plastic slide and playhouse until 3:00 a.m.   Two year old wakes up at 7:00 a.m. and squeals and clambers all over new magical play set’s packing box for several hours while parents sip coffee and take Advil. The Magic of Christmas indeed.

Fast forward 20 years – now my two adorable babies are shaving and wearing size 11 shoes. Their smell no longer elicits memories of Johnson’s Baby Powder. We take ski trips where they check out girls in bars and my oldest saunters to the market and purchases his own beer. I miss the delighted laughter of little boys finding their Christmas cookies missing and racing to the window to look for signs of reindeer hooves, but I treasure the incredible young men who pick me up and swing me around when they hug me, discuss current events with heated opinions, and make me laugh out loud with their bawdy humor.

I was reveling in mommy emotions of time spent with my family last night. The boys had spent the day skiing like banshees and re-discovering their sibling connection. My U.L.H. and I had walked the village in the snow and searched through bars for the perfect Irish coffee. My family was around me and my Mom was smiling from the stars. We watched the Polar Express movie together, did a little dancing to mutually agreed upon current music, had dinner together with no electronic diversions, and laughed hysterically playing dominos and Crimes Against Humanity.  The evening was magical and I was feeling peaceful and grateful.

The prodigal sons were still up tweeting and farting and doing what boys do as Ma in her kerchief and Pa in his cap settled down for a long winter’s nap.   My U.L.H. was exhausted from skiing and I was still catching up on zero sleep prior to our mini vacation and feeling all warm and cozy about another family bonding evening, so we were out like a light within seconds. Suddenly the door to our bedroom burst open and the blond bombshell sixteen year old screamed, “Dad! Help! Our toilet is overflowing and it’s bad in there!”

My U.L.H. leapt from bed like an agile reindeer and all hell proceeded to break loose. I wriggled down a little under the covers in the hopes that I could pretend nothing was happening, but the profanity stream emanating from the other side of the condo was hardly in keeping with the “spirit of the season” so I cautiously tip toed out of our bedroom.  Splashing sounds could be heard and the yell of “For Christ’s sake, I don’t need a coffee mug, I need a bucket!”  I glimpsed offspring #2 racing from the kitchen with a loaf pan in his hands and beat a hasty retreat back into my own bedroom, found every available towel and piled them neatly into a tower outside my bedroom door before closing the door. I may be the default parent for eating and domesticity, but my U.L.H. is clearly the default parent for plumbing emergencies.

“No need to get involved”, I thought wisely to myself. This decision was definitively confirmed when my youngest popped his head in the door asking if I had any more towels and his response to my question of whether or not I needed to call Housekeeping was “No. We just both took really huge poops.”

This was definitely a male situation.

Trying to hold on to my warm and fuzzy family evening, I snuggled down in the King size bed and watched the snow falling outside.   Sometime later my U.L.H. stomped in with his pants rolled up to his knees muttering and cursing and ranting about why we had children instead of just buying a boat. I tried valiantly to be supportive and not laugh out loud at his damp ankles and inquired again if I needed to call Housekeeping.(my response to everything, even when in my own domicile.) He stopped in his march into our shower only long enough to retort, “No – apparently the thought of picking up the plunger next to the toilet did not occur to anyone until there was two inches of water on the ground.”

I only let loose my raucous laughter after I was assured the sound of the shower would drown out my guffaws and thankfully managed to compose myself back into serene tranquility by the time he returned. I was completely sincere when I asked if everything was copasetic now.

Thus, another magical Christmas moment that will remain in the annals of our family memories.   The funniest part is – I’ll treasure this one too. Perhaps over time my Usually Lovely Husband will even find a tidbit of humor when we reminisce about family togetherness during Christmas of 2014.

I hope you are finding your own magical moments this holiday season.

The Middle Aged Hit the Hipster Scene

Tags

Crocodile Cafe, Middle Aged Humor, My Brightest Diamond, The Green Leaf

December 7, 2014

Last night my Usually Lovely Husband and I tossed aside our normal agenda of collapsing on the couch and going to sleep in front of poor television programming in lieu of pretending to be “hip” and plunging into the live music scene in downtown Seattle.   A friend had called Thursday telling us he had two extra tickets to see a band at the Crocodile Café on Saturday and kindly invited us to join up with them and another couple. Glancing at the permanent indentations on the family room couch, I gave this about .04 milliseconds of consideration and promptly texted my U.L.H. and told him I was accepting the invite unless he had to accept the next Nobel Peace Prize or something equally important. Suffice it to say, it has been a long time since we went to a live music venue together that did not feature the words “High School” in the band name, so I was pretty stoked!

Side note – This is in no way meant to disparage the prodigal sons’ high school band concerts. I have heard some amazing music played in the High School Performing Arts Center over the years and both offspring possess considerable talent in the musical department – especially in their highly accomplished Jazz Bands. (Obviously this musical prowess comes from my side of the family by the way – my Mom practically owned her own bench seat in the high school gym for band, choir and theatre performances; and no one could blow the Baritone Tuba like my brother Paul. There will be an argument at my house after my U.L.H. reads this; after all, he always tells me, he did work in a Record Library while in college. Mmm hmmm.  But I digress…)

The band we were going to see is called My Brightest Diamond, featuring singer songwriter Shara Worden. Not being familiar with her work I googled a couple of YouTube videos and found her voice masterfully intriguing.   Good sign. They were going to be performing at The Crocodile Café, one of the oldest armpit clubs in Seattle where big names such as Soundgarten and the Foo Fighters got their start. Dave Matthews and Dave Grohl drop by the club regularly and jam on stage. It is a total local hipster scene and I had never ventured inside.

We were to meet our four friends for dinner beforehand at The Green Leaf.   Concerned this might be one of the Medical Pot Dispensary’s that dot the Seattle landscape lately, I googled it beforehand. They served Spring Rolls and Udon Noodles. Another good sign.

When Saturday night arrived the first problem arose. What does a cool middle-aged  gal wear out “clubbing” these days?   I posed the problem to a friend I ran into earlier in the day. She had been to The Crocodile Cafe with her daughter the week prior during an all age concert. Her immediate response was “nothing you can’t wash or sanitize promptly afterwards.”   At least most of my closet fits that category.

Clad in jeans and boots we headed out to meet our friends.   After seventeen hours fighting the usual Seattle traffic, we arrived at the non marijuana dispensary Vietnamese Restaurant.   Located in a properly derelict basement setting – we caught up over icy cocktails and delectable vegetarian spring rolls; laughing and nearly forgetting that we actually had a “part two” to our evening out. When our host suddenly realized it was 9:00 and that the opening band was starting at 8:00 we settled our tab and trudged up the hill to “The Croc” knowing that regardless of whether or not we liked the upcoming music we were having a great evening out.

None of us had ever been to “The Croc” before so there was a bit of anticipation as we handed over our ticket stubs, had our right inside wrist stamped and tramped inside the joint. Hmmm. One would definitely not assume that righteous music had been created here, but we joined the throngs on the cement floors and moved in. We settled in a back corner, got a round of drinks and began the people watching parade.  I realized instantly that I need not have worried about dressing to fit in. Firstly – there was definitely not a uniform look here – from the Charlie Chaplin look-alike to (and I am not kidding) the leprechaun to the couple who looked like they just came from their engagement party at the rotunda – every “style” was represented. Secondly, we appeared to be invisible to the majority of the patrons in the room – this was particularly noticeable as the band appeared to play and at least 90 people walked directly in front of us and stood. Being an appreciable height of 5’2” in my boots – this was somewhat disconcerting.   My view:

One of my girlfriends suggested crowd surfing for a better vantage point but I demurred based on the fact that I would be horrified if someone hoisting me inadvertently grabbed my muffin top.

A man and woman on stage began to play. She had a violin and he was on keyboards. Craning my neck I caught a glimpse of a gamine like face and dark pixie haircut. Not being familiar with the singer from My Brightest Diamond except for a brief view during my YouTube snooping, I figured she must have had a complete makeover since filming her last video. They launched into their first song.  The woman had an amazing voice and sang in a furious opera range while simultaneously playing the violin like an enraged dramatist.  It was very bohemian and I felt like I should be wearing a black turtleneck and a beanie. The beat, tone and rhythm were purposefully discordant and we were all somewhat wide-eyed watching.  We were standing near the door and the constant flow of traffic, most of whom stopped directly in front of us to watch for a song before moving on to a better vantage point, was quite a cross-section of humanity. Not being able to see the stage and being slightly preoccupied with not getting trampled by one of the cast members from Duck Dynasty, I was enjoying myself but pretty sure I would not be purchasing the group’s cd any time soon.

The set ended fairly rapidly and we blinked at each other. Our host who had discovered the group said, “Well, that was interesting – although not really what I was expecting.”   One of our group excused herself to the restroom (a fairly risky move in that place) before we headed back to our cars. It was around 10:30 p.m. and we were jovial after an evening out.  As we were donning our coats our girlfriend rejoined us.  She was laughing hysterically.  While in the restroom she had encountered the lead singer and got to chatting. We had just watched the warm up band Rabbit Rabbit. What could we say? Bunch of old fogies thought the evening was over at 10:30…

We hastily discarded our jackets and decided the opposite side of the room would be more advantageous for viewing since it was farther from the entrance. We settled into our new standing area with a new group of intersting people to ogle. My view of the stage was even slightly better. 

Equipment was being jostled around on stage and a much more familiar looking female vocalist settled in. Aha – the woman from YouTube! The lights dimmed and she lit into song. Magical.  Trained in opera and classical composition, Shara Worden and My Brightest Diamond captured us with the first note.  Her stage presence and energy combined with crisp bright lyrics and a wild rock beat were unlike anything I had ever seen. Not only did she have a dazzling vocal range – she could play that guitar like a female Eddie Vedder.

The only distraction from her performance was the continuous drops of moisture that were dripping from the ceiling.   The incessant surprise showers also explained why there were so many gortex clad dancers in the audience.   They were obviously “Croc” regulars and knew to wear protective outer wear to stay dry on the dance floor. I had actually been laughing to myself earlier about the amount of Seattleites who wore gortex as club wear and now I knew why. We were sincerely hoping it was condensation and not plumbing issues – especially after one of our beers became a direct target.

By the time the performance had ended all six of us were all completely hooked on My Brightest Diamond. We stumbled out into the crisp air at 12:30 star struck and exhilarated. “We old farts” had been standing for nearly three and a half hours and my bad foot was killing me and my knees and back were aching – but that two-hour performance was all completely worth the Advil waiting at home.

While my exceptional evening out may not be all that stimulating to you my dear readers – what I do hope to convey is that sometimes you just need to give up your squishy place on the couch cushions and go experience life. Quit worrying about what to wear, how old you are, the drips from the ceiling or the risk of trampled toes. Grab your friends, your spouse, your kids, your neighbors and find an adventure outside your regular comfort zone. Just go, just do, just enjoy – your Brightest Diamond is waiting for you.

Links to My Brightest Diamond.   I encourage you to listen. She’s brilliant. And how can you not love someone who records on a label called “Asthmatic Kitty”?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLpIk7Gw4Xo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CePpTXIuQzY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXeTsIFJ3I8

December 4 – Remembering RVOD

Tags

depression, Forefront Organization, National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, RVOD, Teen Crisis Clinic, Teen depression, Teen Suicide

Suicide is the second leading cause of death in the state of Washington for youth 10 – 24 years old and the third leading cause of death nationally.   Shockingly, there are nearly twice as many suicides as homicides of youth in this same age range.

Today’s blog is a tough one to write. I’m not even sure I will post it – but I have learned that letting your feelings out rather than keeping them in aids in the grieving process, so I am letting my words spill out onto paper.  I also hope that just maybe someone will read this and it will help them too.

One year ago today a friend of both my sons, the same age as my oldest, committed suicide. My oldest and he weren’t BFF’s, his passions were long boarding and soccer and my son’s were baseball and music, but they had hung out in the same circles as long as forever. His Mom and Dad are my friends, we have sat in numerous sports venues cheering on our boys together, laughed at parties, suffered through PTA meetings, and bonded over little boy’s birthday parties and Homecoming photo sessions.   But a year ago their charming, smart, funny boy decided that he could not endure any more of the sadness that had settled in his head and took his own life.

Just writing these words feels as if an enormous band aid has been wrenched off of my heart. It’s a wound that will not ever heal and my heart and my head hurt for our entire community, his parents, his amazing sister and the realms of beautiful young people who were his friends.   I suspect by the time I decide whether or not to share this blog that a viral wave of media will have swept across the internet with poignant sadness sharing love and remembrance for the boy who will always be known as RVOD.

Even though my heart is breaking with this virtual remembrance, I am overwhelmed by the love and am so grateful that everyone can reach out to one another across the world and have one big group hug on this day.   I know that literally hundreds and hundreds of people are thinking of him with a hole in their hearts today – because he was the kind of promising young man whose radiant smile touched your soul and made you feel special. As one counselor said to us last year, “You will never go back to normal – but eventually you will start living a new normal around that empty space in your heart.”

I’ve learned a lot in the last year about teens and depression. I’ve learned more than I want to know but recognize I should continue my education.   I’ve learned that depression affects one in nine kids between the ages of 10 and 24 and I’ve learned that mental illness most commonly begins its occurrence at age 18.   I’ve learned that long lasting changes in personality, mood and behavior are red flags of a deeper problem and not just “teen angst”. I’ve learned that kids who have been part of my sons’ friendship circle for an eternity, who are popular, athletic, 4.0 students, team captains and liked by everyone are just as likely to have problems with depression as anyone else.

My boys and I have learned that if you think someone is considering suicide, the hardest but single most important thing you can do is ask them, “Are you thinking of ending your life?”   We’ve learned that by asking that question you can provide a critical outlet for someone who thinks that no one would understands and that they are relieved to share their thoughts.   And we have learned that if they say “Yes” – that they need help from a professional immediately.

One of the hardest things about losing someone to suicide is finding blame. When a life is lost to cancer or a car accident your mind automatically blames disease or a slippery road; however, losing someone to suicide is also losing someone to illness.   Unfortunately, depression is a silent disease and our society is not comfortable talking about it. This needs to change.   If a teenager has stomach pains we would ask them what is wrong and try to find the necessary medical solution. That is the same response we should have if we sense a teenager has anxiety, moodiness or depression.   All of these things are treatable albeit much harder to recognize or diagnose.   Don’t be afraid to ask the hard questions and don’t be afraid to hear the hard answers and practice saying those questions out loud so that you are comfortable with the words.

I’m not an expert on teen depression or suicide, but there are volumes of information online and through local health experts that can help you understand. Here are three links I recommend http://www.intheforefront.org/ which is through the University of Washington and http://866teenlink.org/ The Teen Link Crisis Clinic and the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/.   Also if you live in the Seattle area, carry this number (866.TEENLINK / 206-461-4922) for Teen Link in your phone and put it in your kid’s phone. It’s a confidential helpline for teens run by teens through the Crisis Clinic. If you are not a Seattle Area resident – find the local crisis line number for your area or use the National Suicide Prevention Hot Line at 1-800-273-8255.

I urge you to not brush off a basic understanding of teen anxiety and depression.   You may be able to help yourself, your own family or friends with just a minimum of knowledge. Trust me, it’s worth the effort.

RVOD – You will be in our hearts forever. I wish that you could have known that there was light waiting for you on the other side of your darkness.

Forefront Organization http://www.intheforefront.org/

Teen Link Crisis Clinic http://866teenlink.org/

Teen Link Crisis Phone Number 866.TEENLINK / 206-461-4922

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/   1-800-273-8255