Back to school roller derby

Who will be the next School Supply Roller Derby Queen?

Lace up your skates, moms. It’s time to hit the aisles and go for the gold. If you’re fast and tough, you might actually secure that Justice League lunch box and water bottle your kid’s been pining for all year. Show no mercy. It’s back to school time.

God help me I hate school supply shopping. I hate everything associated with school supply shopping. I hate hordes of people fighting over number 2 pencils, I hate trying to find wide-ruled notebook paper amidst piles and piles of college lined loose leaf. I hate having to buy 4 large glue sticks when they always come 3 to a pack. I hate that despite the fact that every school in the world insists on kids bringing ziploc baggies and disinfectant wipes, they never put that stuff with the school supplies and you have to traipse through the entire store with a million other people to get to the cleaning supply and home storage areas before they run out of the items you need to complete your list.

Argh!!!! It’s awful. It was better this year because I took each boy separately. Trying to navigate two supply lists while maneuvering a shopping cart and corralling two young tykes was nearly impossible last year. At least I wised up a bit.

But the whole process is so utterly angst producing. I’m not even sure why. I love shopping, for almost everything. But this is…just…not fun. I spent over $300 for both boys. That sounds like a lot to me. I mean, that doesn’t even include text books or any real type of learning material.

I saw this one woman, who looked equally distraught, and she said that at her school you can pay extra money and they’ll do your school supply shopping for you. Unfortunately, she had flaked and missed the deadline this year. “Rest assured,” she bemoaned, “that wont happen again.” For a moment I wished our school did that.

But then, in some weird masochistic side of my brain, I heard a voice saying, “but you’d miss such a meaningful mom-son experience if you didn’t go school supply shopping each year.” The fact is, given the choice to abdicate all school related shopping excursions, I probably wouldn’t take it. Because even if I tell myself that instead of the crowded Target aisles, we could go to the water park or the movies or somewhere equally fun and carefree, something else would come up and we’d miss that time together and then it would feel just like every other missed moment I feel guilty and forlorn over.

So, I’ll keep body-checking 12 year-olds to get the last package of yellow highlighters and pushing distracted moms’ carts out of the way to retrieve that one Yoda pencil box that my son simply cannot live without. I will do this year after year after year. Because I’m a mom. And that’s just what we do.

3 Comments

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood…

Not such a beautiful day in our neighborhood

OK, I couldn’t make this stuff up. We live in this neatly polished Scottsdale community. What bothers me most about it, is the neatness and the polish. It’s just not who we are. But you’ve heard all the reasons why we make the compromises we make; “it’s a beautiful, safe, gated community where the kids can ride their bikes and play across the street at the neighbors.” Only problem is that our kids don’t ride bicycles and in the decade we’ve been here, we haven’t met a single neighbor — until now.

About three months ago we got this email from one of our thoughtful, considerate neighbors: (Please note that the names have been changed to protect me from further litigation – already had to learn that lesson the hard way — and also name changing entitles the writer to make a far more interesting and evocative name selection with much greater potential to rile and enrage readers.)

“Mrs. Gettleman,

I reside directly behind your house. Over the past few weeks, both my wife and I have heard your two dogs barking several times.

Today at 3:15p.m., I walked back in the common area to ascertain if the dogs were barking due to a snake or wild animal. I saw none. I also rang your doorbell, but no one was home.

Please see that the barking is remedied.

Adolf”

I wrote back:

“Dear Adolf,
We are very sorry about the dogs. They are puppies who get very excited when they hear things they cannot see. We are trying out several anti-barking devices and have recently hired a new trainer to help us curb their barking. We have been very successful controlling the barking at night and while we are home. But apparently there is still a problem when we are out.

We apologize for the disturbance and will do our best to rectify the situation.
Mrs. Gettleman”

But of course the story doesn’t end here. We’ve gotten a slew of emails over the past few months and the gloves have definitely come off. Adolf’s apparently formed a posse of noise Nazis who patrol the neighborhood and report back to the HOA every time a dog barks, a child cries, or a husband and wife have too volatile an argument.

Here’s the latest email from one of Adolf’s comrades (I’ve left in all the punctuation and spelling errors for your amusement):

“Mrs. Gettleman,
Your dogs are out of control and the barking all afternoon today was terrible
I understand that other neighbours have complained and that they all have a program of documentation. I don’t really want to document and call the scottsdale police but i must tell you that noise reached a brutal level today.and we may not have a choice
We have been here for awhile and have heard the dogs bark and bark
without any adult intervention. It is not right nor fair in such a nice
earea asthis. I am asking you as nice as i possibly can to control the dogs and their barking. I heard from another neighbour that they are young but that was
like months ago and as soon as they go outside they bark and bark. My wife wants to record the barking for the police however i told her that if you know how bad it really is and how upset all the neighbours around you are getting you
will take some action. Unfortunately some dogs are meant for farm areas
where they can roam and bark unlike this little
community and the houses so close.Please keep them inside and stop the barking .
Heinrich”

We promptly responded:

“Heinrich,
Thank you for alerting us to this situation. Except for rare occasions, when we are not home, they do not bark at all. So we could not have known it was still an issue. We have installed a dog run away from the rear of the property. We have installed an anti-barking device. And we have methodically trained them using proven behavioral techniques.

We also agree that noise pollution needs to be controlled. There are at least two other dogs that we hear with loud barking which need to be restrained. When we are outside, we often hear other dogs in the neighborhood. We are wondering how you know that only our dogs are barking? More importantly, we find the incredibly loud voices of he Goldberg’s in their backyard very difficult to handle. The regular conversations are loud enough, but when the laughter gets going it is very disturbing. I believe the positioning of the houses causes an echo chamber effect that magnifies sound amplification. There have been times when we could not even sit out side because they were so loud that we couldn’t hear each other speaking.And frankly, their humor tends to be rather blue which when broadcast across the wash creates a very uncomfortable situation for our children. Maybe you can e-mail them and remind them to either whisper or not speak at all when in their back yard.

Once again, thank you for the notice of our dogs. We will continue to work on subduing their barking.

Debra Gettleman”

This came next:

“Mrs. Gettleman,
I have been patient. But it has been nearly three months since we last communicated. You may not be aware, but both my wife and I work from home.The amount of distraction from the noise generated by your dogs and your children at certain times of day is affecting our ability to engage in our work and personal activities both inside and out.

I respectfully request that the barking issue be addressed before we are forced to take legal action. We simply want to enjoy the beauty and tranquility of this lovely community.
Adolf”

“Adolf,
Let me start by reminding you that this is in fact a “residential” community. If you are having trouble working, maybe you should consider getting a real office somewhere where children and puppies are not allowed. You seem like the type of person who would be very comfortable in a fluorescently lit office cubicle for 8 hours a day. Or better yet, you could take your friend Heinrich’s advice and go live on a farm far away from other people altogether.

We must admit that we hear barking and frolicking children too when we are outside. But that is in fact part of living in a neighborhood. As for my children, they are in school everyday from 8 to 4 and then have various after-school activities. We assure you that the screaming you hear is not from our house. In fact, we know where the screaming originates. But unlike the tactics used in Deutschland in the 40s, we refuse to turn in our neighbors and join this noise pollution witch hunt that you and your colleagues have embarked upon.
Debra”

“Dear Mrs. Gettleman,
I have tried to be kind and patient. But your tone of hostility is undeniable.You leave us no choice but to pursue legal and civic action against your children and animals.

Adolf”

“Dear Adolf,
Bring it on! There isn’t a court in this country that will punish us for having happy kids and dogs who make noise once in a while. I highly suggest you get some
proof that it is in fact our dogs and our children disturbing your curmudgeonly cosmos.

With all love and sincerety,
Mrs. Gettleman

The funniest part of this whole story is that we’ve been seriously thinking about moving. We were trying to decide if we should move or just do some massive renovations on our home. The more irked I get, the more I’m leaning towards months and months of loud, dusty digging, jackhammers, and construction. I sound mean and vengeful. I know that’s what you’re gonna say in your comments. But come on, it’s one thing to lock people in a gated community and take away their personal mailboxes. But to regulate their kid’s enjoyment or charge them with disturbing the peace because their dogs bark when a coyote passes by. You have to admit, this is excessive.

8 Comments

Financial University

It's never too early to teach kids the value of a dollar...or is it?

My youngest son asked his dad how much money he makes. Mark, as usual, came back in his standard unflappable manner with, “More than five dollars and less than enough.” I thought it was a funny retort. But it did kind of get me thinking. What are you supposed to tell kids about finances?

In the past, I’ve mentioned to my kids that we can’t afford certain things. But this always manages to backfire on me in the most embarrassing of ways. For example, I once balked at buying a pint of strawberries for $5.99. They were out of season, small and were the color of hay (in case I needed to justify not buying them for $6) “We cannot afford to buy strawberries right now,” I sternly announced to my children. Well, the next day in school, my eldest son took up a collection to help subsidize our family’s grocery bill. I remember the warm but somber glances I received at pick-up that day. I was mortified when he handed me an envelope filled with a collection of classmates’ coins.

When we go to a restaurant, it’s the same thing. My 10 year old, Levi, eats like a horse. And he enjoys the finer foods. We can be at a cheap eatery and he’ll easily run up a $20 food bill all by himself. But I feel weird saying, “No, you can’t order the freshly grilled salmon with roasted organic vegetables. Why don’t you have chicken nuggets and fries off the kid’s menu?” It’s really a conundrum.

On Tuesdays we go straight from school to karate. We stop somewhere for a quick snack. I’ll admit I’m the least organized person on the planet, so I never manage to plan ahead and bring something to eat in the car or at a park along the way. Our favorite place to stop is Einsteins. Who’d have thought a couple of bagels and some fruit would end up costing upwards of $25. Then Levi almost invariably asks if he can go next door to Jamba Juice for a drink. He wants a fresh fruit and vege smoothie, without my even prompting him to eat healthy. But I find myself annoyed that he wants to spend an additional $4 for a drink. I usually catch myself before scolding him and fork over the funds. But is that the right thing to do?

I remember taking my nephew out for lunch once back in Chicago and he insisted on ordering half a sandwich because a whole sandwich would cost too much. I was horrified. What was my sister teaching this boy? Food was plentiful in America. So was money at that time, and children shouldn’t have to worry about the cost of things. Of course now that I have my own kids, I’m not sure she didn’t have the right idea. Just once I’d like my 6 year old to not pout when I tell him he can’t have whatever useless item he’s coveting as we race through Target. I think it’d be nice if my kids offered to do extra stuff around the house without earning extra cash. It would be a lovely surprise if, instead of tears, they’d nod knowingly at Trader Joes when I said I was sorry, we couldn’t buy blueberries today.

There just doesn’t seem to be a middle ground here. Too much focus on what things cost and my kids go to work collecting for us like we’re homeless and broke. But without my continued efforts to make them aware of a dollar’s value, they want and whine about everything from pomegranate seeds to Star Wars Legos. Anybody have the answer to this enigma?

1 Comment

What would you do for $33,000

Ms. Hawkenson, proudly showing her ASU student ID card.

Granted, nobody wants their 18 year old daughter having live sex on camera in exchange for $2000. But, honestly, is it that big a deal?

The news sources have landed on this loopy tale about Elizabeth Hawkenson, the ASU geology student, who appeared in a video for the porn Web site Backroom Casting Couch and allegedly lost her $33,000 ASU scholarship.

Well, first of all, the whole kerfuffle about the scholarship is a hoax. Apparently there was no irate alumnus who wrote to the board of regents insisting the scholarship be revoked. The video itself; however, does exist. Ms. Hawkenson, finding herself a few thousand dollars short of tuition, (and apparently a few cards short of a full deck), made the unwise decision to appear in a “reality porn” video about a young student who innocently ends up copulating for a promise of 5 grand that never materializes. The “reality” is that Ms. Hawkenson knew exactly what she was doing and chose to have sex on camera supposedly believing that the tape’s distribution would be limited to pay per view websites.

Okay, naivete is one thing. But let’s examine the idiocy of this young woman’s choices. First of all, no matter what part of Texas you’re from, you ought to know that sex videos go viral. And if not right away, 20 years later when you actually have a family, career or husband who might really be humiliated by them. Sex on camera, nude photos, and compromising voice-mail messages all fall into the category of idiotic mistakes that even a country rube just off the turnip truck shouldn’t make. Can you say “Dr. Laura?” But there’s an even more asinine choice that Ms. Hawkenson made and that one really baffles me. At one point in the video, she proudly displays her drivers license and ASU student ID card. I’m sorry. But that takes the cake for stupidity. I mean, if you’re gonna have sex with strangers for money, at least pretend you’re from U of A, or Oregon, or USC for that matter.

Now I actually get that people sometimes do foolish things when finances are waining. I, for one, remember a time, eons ago, when a starving actor in Chicago, posed nude for a high class shoe advertisement that turned out, luckily enough, to only expose the scaly skin of a pair of crocodile leather Jimmy Choo stilettos. I was fortunate. A lot of young women aren’t.

Ms. Hawkenson is quoted in several articles saying that her dorm life has become treacherous since the viral video hit the web. No kidding. It’s gotta be rough fielding all those late night “study” invitations she’s no doubt been receiving. But what did she expect? If you’re gonna have sex on camera, you need to realize that someone is going to see that. That’s the whole bloody point of it, you dodo. I mean, they’re not capturing the act on film in order to bury it in the backyard.

I’m glad Ms. Hawkenson didn’t lose her ASU scholarship on account of her poor choices. I can even argue that it’s partly her parents fault for not finding the cash to fund tuition. She did what she had to do to make some much needed dinero. If she’d founded an internet start-up, we’d all be praising her independence and entrepreneurial spirit.

But instead, she used her God given gifts to up her bottom line (if you’ll excuse the expression). And that, my friends, is considered a no-no in our culture. But perhaps we all ought to just drop the “holier than thou” attitude and look within to see how we may have contributed to this sad scene of juvenile delinquency

Maybe there aren’t enough legitimate work-study options at ASU. Maybe sky-rocketing tuition costs for out-of-staters need to be re-evaluated. Or maybe, we all need to step back and stop reveling in the juicy details of this poor woman’s misfortune and focus on earning a few extra bucks ourselves, so that by the time our kids need to pay tuition, we’ll actually be able to cover it. I mean, given the choice, wouldn’t you rather spend a few extra years with your nose to the grindstone, so that your poverty stricken youth don’t end up hocking their wares in today’s equivalent of the world’s oldest profession?

3 Comments

A bird in the hand…

My ducks in a row...

Do you ever just get tired?

Tired of cleaning up, settling in, watering down?

I do.

Today I’m tired.

I’m tired of cutting back, reigning in, buckling down.

I’m tired of home-making, meal-planning, car-pooling.

I’m tired of managing money, making ends meet, paying through my nose.

I’m tired of missing the trees, seeing the forest, carrying too much baggage.

I’m tired of thinking ahead, missing the mark, walking on eggshells.

I’m tired of asking the right questions, smelling the roses, wishing on stars.

I’m tired of beating around bushes, meeting people half way, putting my nose to the grindstone.

I’m tired of digging in, making waves, going with the flow.

I’m tired of burning bridges, grinding axes, knocking on wood.

I’m tired of last straws, bowls of cherries and keeping my head above water.

I’m tired of spinning my wheels, turning my cheek, and running as fast as I can.

Some days you just want to give up, give in, give it a rest.

Maybe I’ll feel better in the morning.

Doubtless the sun’ll come up tomorrow.

4 Comments

My two cents…literally

So we’re hanging at Z Pizza, me and the boys. Levi’s just inhaled his second humongous slice of za and Eli’s barely touched his first. “Mom, can I go get another piece?” my bottomless pit of a son asks. I sigh a bit hopelessly as I contemplate how we’re going to feed him for the next 9 years until he turns 18. “Of course,” I say, forcing a smile. I reach into my wallet and hand him a five. “This should cover it.” Of course the counter is 4 feet away, so if my fin doesn’t suffice, I can step in and cover the difference.

Levi orders politely and pays for his pizza. Then he brings me the change. “Here you go,” he says, as he places a few coins in my palm. “Mom,” he adds, still gripping a penny, “Can I have this for the ‘take a penny, give a penny’ pot by the cash register?” I once again oblige and he bops back to the counter, penny in hand.

When he comes back to the table he looks really perplexed. I notice a penny still clenched between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t really get this,” he says looking at the penny. “It says ‘take a penny, give a penny.’ But now I’ve just got a different penny. I mean, what’s the point?”

“Honey,” I say trying not to laugh, “they don’t mean ‘exchange’ a penny. The idea is that if you have an extra penny or two, you can leave them for someone who might need a penny sometime in the future. Does that make sense?”

“But why would anyone ever NEED a penny? You say all the time that they’re just worthless pieces of copper that ought to be done away with.”

“That’s true,” I concede. “But people do still use them and sometimes it’s easier to borrow a penny and not end up with a fist full of change.” I quickly realize that this simple concept is morphing into a complex dissertation. “Like if your bill comes to $20 and two cents, you’d rather just pay the two cents than walk away with 98 cents.”

He’s a smart kid, but I can see he’s having trouble wrapping his mind around this. “Whatever,” he harumphs, eyes grazing the ceiling, “Grown-ups are just…weird.”

“Yes they are,” I concur. “Now why don’t you sit down and eat your pizza.”

“Actually,” he announces without a trace of regret, “I’m not really hungry anymore.”
And with that, he tosses his perfectly good slice of uneaten pizza into the trash and I erupt like a verbal volcano. “You just wasted four dollars. We could have at least taken that piece home, or your brother might have wanted it. Why would you do something like that?”

“Because mom,” he reasoned, pointing to a sign on the wall above my head, “It says ‘please discard all uneaten food into appropriate trash container.”

I thought about explaining that sometimes grown-ups don’t actually say exactly what they mean. But I let it go this time, too tired for yet another foray into the realm of his intellectual curiosity.

“Come here, you silly boy,” I said opening my arms for him to snuggle into. He obliged at first and then pulled away.

“Come on, mom,” he said quietly, as he wiggled out of my embrace, “someone might see us.”

I let him go, a bit sadly I must admit. Guess my little guy’s growing up.

5 Comments

A real life email to my husband during tense economic times

how modern women communicate with their men

A real life e-mail to my husband during tense economic times

Dear Mark,
While thinking about our financial difficulties this morning, I came up with a brilliant money making strategy. However, after much research, I’m sorry to report that there is not one single reality TV show I can apply to be on to increase our earnings. The only thing that even comes close is one for you. “Husbands!!! Is your wife driving you nuts?” Want to try to get on the Marriage Ref, Seinfelds new show?

I’ve checked out everything from “Does your spouse wear a snuggie?” (What the hell’s a snuggie?) to “Have you recently come back from the dead?” There’s nothing for me. Seriously. It’s a real bummer. I’m not really a shopaholic. (Although I know you might argue that point). I’m not addicted to prescription pain meds. I’m not even recently divorced. I almost qualified for The Apprentice. But of course I missed the deadline by three months.

One show advertises “Feel you’re in over your head as a parent?” That one really speaks to me. But you have to live in Los Angeles County. You haven’t cheated on me recently, have you? There’s a new National talk show looking for spouses who’ve been cheated upon who have strong convictions on the subject. (I’d kind of guess that would be all of them, wouldn’t you?)

Would you characterize yourself as controlling? There’s an ad for women with husbands who try to control their every move.

Do you often muse to yourself that I’m just not the woman you married? There’s a show for you on that issue.

We don’t have a blended family. No inter-racial components. No step-kids. Shit. We’re the most uninteresting family in the universe.

There’s even a show for Moms addicted to energy drinks. Figures I gave up my Red Bull a few years ago.

Wait, here’s one. You are pretty hot. They’re looking for men as bold and good looking as the guys from Jersey Shore, that MTV show. You’re kind of old though. Too bad. How about this? “Spoiled Wives.” Do you think I’m a spoiled brat in need of constant manicures, pedicures and facials? Ok, don’t answer that. I’m not applying for that one. Too bad I’m so artistic. There’s a show for Interior decorators who are really interior desecrators. There’s even a show for women who own pawn shops.

I’m not a young veteran, don’t want to confront someone about their slutty facebook pictures, I’m not even interested in confronting your mistress. I’m certainly not the real life 40 year old virgin. And as far as I know you don’t have a compulsion to cover the furniture in plastic wrap. Do you by any chance still suck your thumb?

I’m not sure what “Cakemania” is, but if you’re obsessed with it or hooked on performance enhancing drugs, I have a shot at a couple of shows. I doubt I’m smarter than a 5th grader. And I’m too darn old to try out for the “real” weather girl for a new iPhone App.

Guess I’ll just go back to clipping coupons.

Frugally yours,
debra

3 Comments

Your tax dollars at work!

Okay, what is wrong with this picture? Our State is literally going broke. We don’t have enough space to house the criminal offenders we have. Our law enforcement officers are radically understaffed because of funding issues. Our courts our ridiculously overcrowded. And yet, there’s enough manpower, money and chutzpah to send an official “officer of the court” to my private residence at 8:30 at night (on a school night) to serve me f-ing papers for a traffic camera ticket I received in July. I have to ask, could we possibly put our resources to better use?

So I’ve finally gotten my five-year-old to bed and am tucking in my 9-year-old when the doorbell rings. This is odd since we live in a gated community and never received a call from the guard gate that someone was here for us. We live in a very anti-social neighborhood (don’t get me started) and only know a few of our neighbors, none of whom randomly show up at odd hours of the night to borrow a cup of sugar or ask for help with a run-away pooch. I run to the door and ask the obligatory “Who is it?”

No answer.

Now any sane individual wouldn’t open the door at this point. But I guess I figured it was some poor, lost mute looking for aid and I swung the door open with total abandon. There stood this scramble-haired, gen-Y kid in jeans and a skater-looking t-shirt. “Um…Are you Debra?” he asked. Suddenly my senses returned and I realized this probably wasn’t the Publisher’s Clearing House here to deliver my 10 million dollar prize. In the meantime, my little guy, who was jarred awake by the doorbell, is now screaming frantically for me to come to him, and my older son is anxiously shivering in a towel in his doorway.

“No,” I said with the conviction of a well trained perjurer. “Why?”

“I have to…um…serve these papers to…um…Debra.” he clumsily announced.

“Well, she’s not here,” I continued with the fabrication. “Do you want me to give them to her?” (Now, let me note here that I thought in order for papers to be properly served they had to go to the individual named in said papers.)

“That’d be great,” he said handing me the papers. He turned to leave and then looked back. “By the way, what was your name?”

“Um…Diane,” I said, “I’m the baby sitter.”

“Uh huh,” he smiled as if to let me know he wasn’t fooled by my inane charade.

I closed the door and immediately opened the letter It was a photo-radar ticket from July. “You have got to be kidding,” I muttered with incredulity, adding a few choice words along the way. “What the hell is wrong with these people? Aren’t there real criminals they could go after? I mean, what are they gonna do, put me in jail?” My nine-year-old is now sobbing uncontrollably. I run to him and pull him close. “Honey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“I don’t want mommy to go to jail,” he wimpered.

“Mommy isn’t going to jail, sweetie. This is nothing. Please don’t worry,” I reassured him.

I finally managed to settle my children, calm their fears and get them to bed. But it was already after 9 and I knew that the next day was bound to be a tough one since they usually go to bed well before 8.

The ticket is for $220. I don’t deny that the ticket was deserved, or that the hideous photo is actually me. But can anyone tell me why they needed to come to my house at 8:30 at night, disrupt my children’s routine, and waste an abundance of time, energy and resources for something as insignificant as a four-month old speeding ticket?

Maybe I should send this to Sheriff Joe. He’s a sensible guy. I bet he’d go after the idiot beurocrats who sent the scraggly kid to my doorstep to terrorize my children and annoy the hell out of me. Hmmm….maybe he’ll help me if I tell him that kid was an illegal?