Ugh. The Trib today published a column by Baltimore Sun writer Susan Reimer: Confusion Stops Young Women As They Try To Dress For Success (Nice hed, by the way. )

In the column, Reimer discusses taking her daughter Jessie shopping for clothes for the girl's first "real" job, and how frustrating it was. "You can imagine what Jessie thought of pin stripes and suit jackets," she says. (Actually, I can't.)

Reimer, meanwhile was "struck by the camisoles, the spaghetti-strap T's, the sheer blouses and the boat neck and v-neck sweaters." She was "struck by the revealing nature of so much of what is out there."

Maybe she needs to be "struck by" a dose of reality. Say, for example, Gregg Andrews (Nordstrom's fashion director), letting her know that "lace camisoles that are showing up under sweaters and suit jackets this spring are not a scandal. They are a layering piece. They are never meant to be worn without a jacket or a cardigan."

Andrews advises "young women [entering the workforce] need to present themselves in a very professional, polished way. They need to build a work wardrobe that is fashionable, feminine, but not overly sexy and not suggestive."

Tall order, eh? Oh, and do all that on the really teeny piece of discretionary budget you have left from your entry-level paycheck, Jessie.

HR Director for T. Rowe Price in Baltimore Melody Jones reminds Reimer to "read the culture of that particular workplace.... look at the women who have a position a couple of levels above you. Look at the woman who has the job you want. What is she wearing?"

Good advice in general, I'd say (although the peasant blouses and denim skirts that are so cute on my department's highest-ranking female would look really lousy on me). However, Jones blows it with this bon mot: "...the best piece of advice I could give a young person is, you always need to wear a jacket. It will give you the presence you don't have yet."

What? In a law firm, maybe. How sad that we need to pay to much attention to peer pressure to dictate how we look in the workplace (uniforms notwithstanding). We have a dress code that's outlined in our associate handbook here -- it's more a list of things not to do than a directive of what we should wear. (ie limits on visible piercings, etc.)

Personally, I'm a little conservative at work. I tend to wear black all the time, because I like it and it's flattering on me. Almost every pair of work pants I own is black; all that changes is the length and a bit of the style. Almost every pair of shoes I own are black, and pretty much all of my jewelry is conservative. However, I'm not too afraid to toss in a little something here and there -- a leaf-green dip-dyed sweater on Casual Friday, a cute pair of kitten-heeled mules with ivory stitching to add a little feminine punch to my all-black ensemble.

I see a lot of variance where I work, because I'm at the corporate headquarters for a retailer. The MIS folks are like MIS folks almost everywhere -- as casual, in general, as they can get away with. However, we have merchandising and design folks who obviously budget half their salaries for their Prada shoes and Armani pants. I'll admit that I pay a bit of unobtrusive attention to the women who head up the area where I most want to be, subtly taking mental notes so that my wardrobe could, in a pinch, mesh with their environment.

But, hey, I'm 34 and I've worked in several different kinds of places -- from banks and insurance companies to film studios to my own office. What's a girl to do? Beware of looking for advice online and in magazines, that's for sure. Cosmopolitan's "Six Perfect Work Outfits" include white pants and a distressed denim skirt worn, ostensibly, twice in one week (the horror!).  Meanwhile Ladies' Home Journal via MSN advises in "5 Office Dress-Don'ts" things that should be obvious ("Don't wear rubber flip-flops."). At least Marie-Claire has some decent advice in "10 Work-Wear Essentials."

The bottom line is probably finding that safety zone between what looks like you but still fits comfortably in your work arena. Save the studded bondage belts for home, 'kay?

Oh, my.

Key Words:
Earliest Commercial Tampon
Washable Pads
Sanitary Apron
Art of Menstruation (Warning -- it's really gross!)
Cats
Odor

P.S. If nothing else, skim down the list of euphemisms. I particularly like "I'm on the bus (Bleeding Uterus Syndrome)," "at war," "I'm punctuating," and of course, for you Brits, "I'm on a full stop."*

* I'm not. I'm always this cranky.

Insert standard warning to wimpy guys here.

["Malaguena," ISR]

Why do we blog? I get that a lot. I'm always surprised at the sheer number of people I encounter who have no idea what this "blogging" thing is all about, despite the numerous dopey articles in the NYT and others. We had a dinner party (really! so grown up!) on Saturday night, and one of the husbands was at a loss.

He: "What is a blog?"
Me: "Literally, a 'web log.' It's like a journal."
He: "But why would you write one? What would you write about?"
Me: (Ignoring his tense since I've already established that I write one and read several.) "Because I'm a frustrated would-be writer. Because it's fun. Because some people are really good writers but don't have books. A blog can be about anything... a diary, political opinion, gossip... anything."
He: "But why would anyone read it?"

That's a fairly good, if slightly obtuse question. Why does one read anything? Because we're bored. Because we like to escape. Because we're nosy.

I think a lot of the web community is about reaching out. It's a safe way to test the water and make sure it's the right temperature. Maybe you think you're a freak because you like to suck on a pacifier at age 57? I bet you'd find others on the web who do, too... and that can make you feel normal. You have a community of middle-aged pacifier suckers, so you feel better. You can find e-mail lists of people who share their stories and inside jokes about pacifiers and getting caught in traffic sucking your silicone g low-in-the-dark dumm y -- by your boss. You can find stores where you can buy pacifiers that look like more socially appropriate items.

Wow, did I get off on a tangent. Sorry. [ahem.] Anyway, where was I going with this? Not sure. Wendy McClure recently had an entry pointing out that NYT writer William Grimes complained about books like hers and Paula Kamen's. "Is there not something to be said for the unexamined life?" he asks.

What an asshole (who, as outed by Mykull, wrote a personal account about a chicken found in his NYC backyard). In my comment to Wendy, I wrote:
"I find it odd that any person who writes ANYTHING more than a shopping list should scold authors for writing. Obviously, writers are writing because they have something to say; interestingly enough, there are millions upon millions of people like me who gobble every read greedily. So tell Mr. Grimes to bite us. Even the poor delusional knife-wielding goth teens on tBlog have something to say."

So I guess my answer to myself (and to the husband), is right ^ up there. Writers write because they have something to say. Hopefully, some people are interested in reading it. G-d love you.

["Pineapple Head," Crowded House]

By now you probably heard that drummer Paul Hester committed suicide. My friend T e-mailed the AP article to me just an hour or so after I read about it. We saw Crowded House play in the early 90s; Sheryl Crow was their opening act. They tore the roof off the motherfucking place. After the concert, they appeared at a second-story bar on Belmont to sign autographs. T and I were so pantingly excited that we didn't even realize we were practically on top of the guys; they were larger than life on stage but certainly not so much in real life.

I think her words were something like "I could lick the top of Neil's head!" but I could be making that up.

The guys were incredibly sweet and we were goggle-eyed and giggly for, dunno, days afterward.

Rest in peace, Paul. I hope you're happier wherever you are then you were here on Earth.

["Distant Sun," Crowded House]

.... now offering absolutely free lessons in grammar to any and all interested bloggers. Today's lesson: The Paragraph.

"In typography, a paragraph is a block of text. Paragraphs are put on a new line and are usually indented, although not on many web sites, including Wikipedia. The paragraph symbol, the pilcrow, is ¶. In HTML, a new paragraph is created with the '<p>' tag, and the pilcrow symbol is ¶."

In literature, a detail is a small piece of information within a paragraph. A detail usually exists to support or explain a main idea.


All above info is stolen directly from the wonderful people at Wikipedia.

["Strange Transmissions," Peter Malick Group feat. Norah Jones]

Jacob was a veritable angel all weekend. He started to get really cranky last night around bedtime, and at one point I got fed up and told him "you're not allowed to talk to me right now."

At which he burst into tears. Oops. Just call me Dr. Mengele.

Ten minutes later, I was called back into their room. They were supposed to be sleeping, but Danny was overtired and couldn't settle down. Jake explained to me that Danny wanted his blue Boohbah, and could Jacob have his, too? I went on a Boohbah hunt, and presented them to each child.

"I'm not mad anymore, Mommy," Jacob said sweetly. And there go my stupid tears again. This child is killing me.

Oh. DH has been crafting responses to last week; to wit:

Q: Why did Jacob thow a chair?
A: Because the desk was too heavy.

Q: Why did Jacob throw a chair?
A: Because he left his gun at home.*

["New York City (DJ Strobe Brooklyn Mix)," Peter Malick Group feat. Norah Jones]

*No, we're not completely insensitive. Yes, we know about the horrible school shooting last week. For the easily offended, please understand that we're vocal anti-gun people; we don't let our kids play with war toys, even squirt guns. It's funny because he's five years old, people. If he was 15, we'd have him in a straitjacket by now.**

**I'm kidding, damn it. Lighten up. [g]

It was with much trepidation that I picked up the little hellion this afternoon, and asked a teacher how he did.

Jake had a fabulous day. Two stars for the first time in weeks. Apparently the taking-away-his-privilege s thing really hit home. He was apologetic to his teachers and well-behaved all day, even at naptime. He at least tasted everything at lunch -- even the vegetable.

Brent, one of the teachers, said to me "he's the comeback kid; the regular Jacob was here today."

I took the boys to get some groceries, and now they're playing quietly in the living room while dinner simmers on the stove. Jake just raced by my door and did a double-take, saying "I love you, Mommy!"

Tears sprang to my eyes (yes, I'm a sucker). "I love you too, Jakey," I said. He came into my room. "And tell Daddy I love him too." Then he ran back out for more Thomas the Tank Engine.

Days like this remind me that G-d is good.

I wrote this whole long post last night about my awful day and it disappeared. Why don't I remember to select all + copy before I click "Publish?"

Okay, Sunday the vacuum broke. DH took it apart and fixed it. The rugs still got shampooed, everything's fine.

Monday, the car went gaflooey. I didn't get stranded anywhere scary and the mechanic was able to fix it the same day. We had enough money to cover the repair (barely). Everything's fine.

Tuesday, I come home to find the apartment flooded with cat vomit. Not a great situation, as you all know. So we thought for a day or two we were going to be Scuzzless, and luckily he's getting better. We're going to be paying the vet bill for four months, but everything's going to be fine.

Yesterday, Jacob's teacher calls. He had a tantrum at school and hit her, and when two other teachers took him away to another room, he got so out of control that he picked up a chair and threw it at a teacher. My son -- my five-year-old son -- threw a fucking chair at someone. I got off the phone with the teacher, called DH, had my hysterics, called my mom, paged the child psychologist. Everyone agrees that this is a serious offense but an isolated incident as far as we can tell. Jake is not the easiest kid in the world, but he's very bright and affectionate and gets frustrated a little easily.

I brought the kids home from preschool and had a talk with Jacob over dinner since DH couldn't get home early. In the lowest, most serious but calmest voi ce possible, I stressed the following:

1. Hitting of any kind is unacceptable behavior.
2. Throwing a chair at anyone is absolutely wrong.
3. It's okay to be angry. It's not okay to hurt people, even if you're angry.
4. Saying sorry is important, but not as important as not repeating the thing you did wrong.
5. We love him all the time. We're extremely disappointed in his behavior, but we still love him and want to help him.
6. There would be no TV, no computer, no games, no stories. He was to eat dinner, brush his teeth, say his prayers and go to bed. Daddy and I would decide if he could do those things after school the next day, depending on his behavior.
7. TV, games, computers, etc are privileges that you get because you do what you're supposed to; ie put toys away, be nice, be polite.
8. Losing his privileges are a consequence of his behavior. If his behavior is better, he will regain privileges. He will need to start thinking of what he does having consequences.
9. If he continues to hit at school, they will not allow him to keep going there.

He turned to me at this last thing, shocked. "If I can't go to school, I won't learn anything!" He was appalled and horrified -- almost as upset as when I told him no TV, etc. After all that discussion, he finished eating, brushed his teeth and came to his room.

"Story?" Danny asked.
"No, honey," I replied. "No story tonight, because Jacob can't have one. We'll have story tomorrow night." At this, Jake started to get upset ("I never get to do anything!"), but I stayed calm and told him again that he was going to bed early, to get a good night's sleep and have a good day on Friday, and then we could have stories.

My boy bit his lip and narrowed his eyes, not quite looking at me. I could sense the gears turning in his head as he tried to decide whether to have a tantrum.

"Come here, Jake. Let's have a hug and kiss and go to sleep." At this, he started to cry a little -- just letting it all go, I guess. I settled them into bed, led them in the Shm'a and V'Ahavta, and put their lullabye CD on.

Then I crept out of the room and poured myself a big-ass drink.

["Walls Scream," Rex Daisy]

All women must go to Jen's and read this immediately. Men, stay away, for the love of G-d. If you know what's good for you, stay away.

Key words:
Unclean
Crotchular
Hammock
Stench
Arias

Good luck.

["Let the Juke Joint Jump," Koko Taylor]

Your kind thoughts and well wishes must have brought us luck. Dr. Berman just called and said Scuz's liver and kidney levels were okay. His licase enzymes are elevated, indicating (as suspected) possible pancreatitis. He's responding to anti-spasmodic meds so the vomiting and diarrhea have stopped, and he's being a gentle slut with the docs, purring and nuzzling everyone. They're going to do an abdominal x-ray because even pancreatitis doesn't really explain the blood coming from his bladder, but with any luck, he'll be home tonight. The doc thinks that the anti-spaz meds (can I get some?) combined with supplementary enzymes and/or vitamin shots to aid his digestion may do the trick.

Knowing how concerned Jacob was, I faxed a letter to him at preschool, asking one of his teachers to read it to him:

Dear Jacob:

I asked the teachers to give this note to you. Daddy and I know you were very worried about Scuzzy, so I wanted to let you know that I talked to the doctor this morning. Scuzzy is going to be fine. He is sick, but they are giving him medicine that is already helping him. He is getting lots of snuggles at the animal hospital and the doctor says he seems very happy.

The doctor is going to x-ray Scuzzy's tummy to make sure everything looks fine, and then they are probably going to let us take him home tonight. Even if they don't, he'll be home very soon -- the doctors are taking very good care of him and he's doing very well at the hospital. But most likely, you will see Scuzzy at home before you go to bed tonight.

So don't worry about our kitty - I'm sure he misses you but he's getting lots of love and attention, and when he comes home he'll feel SO much better. In the meantime, you have lots of fun at the Purim carnival today, and say hi to Queen Esther from me. Have a great two-star day, and I'll see you after school.

Love,
Mommy
XOXOXO


PS: Want to see the beasties? Go here and click on "SCSI & GUI."

I just sneezed so hard, I tasted chlorine from a fourth-grade swim meet. (They assigned me the butterfly portion of a relay, and I propelled myself into a wall and knocked myself unconscious.)

P.S. We lost.

1. What time did you get up this morning?
5:30 am. Snooze. 6:00 am. Snooze. 6:19 am. 

2. Diamonds or pearls?
Diamonds -- they're a girl's best friend, don'tcha know.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Shark Tale at the dollar theater with Jacob and my parents.

4. What is your favorite TV show?
I liked this season of The Surreal Life, sadly enough. Just saw Penn & Teller's Bullshit on Showtime and it rocked. Does that count?

5. What did you have for breakfast?
Two slices of cheese and some low-fat salami.

6. What is your middle name?
Elizabeth, named for my great-grandmother Ethel.

7. What is your favorite cuisine?
Italian

8. What foods do you dislike?
Yogurt. Brussels sprouts. Onions. Bananas. Cilantro. Curry.

9. What kind of car do you drive?
'93 Corolla.

10. Favorite sandwich?
A turkey bacon club can be a real thing of beauty, but I haven't had one in about three years, and won't be able to probably for another few years.

11. What characteristic do you despise?
Meanness.

12. Favorite item of clothing?
Long, slinky black pants. With everything. I also have a very strong affinity for medium-heeled boots.

13. If you could go anywhere in the world for a holiday, where would you go?
A white-sand beach.

14. What color is your bathroom?
A very soft blue. The same color as the kids' room. I love it.

15. Favorite brand of clothing?
I don't really have one. For suits, I prefer Jones New York. Once I've lost more weight, I'll come back to this question.

16. Where would you like to retire?
Someplace warm but close to my family.

17. Favorite time of the day?
8:00 pm

18. What was your most memorable birthday?
My 34th. I was prepping for my lap-band surgery the following day and had to go to work anyway. I hadn't had solid food in 9 days, and I was so weak and stupid I was completely useless. I stayed at my mom's for the night, but before I went to bed, DH showed up and brought me a cup of sugar-free Jell-O with a candle in it. Isn't that romantic?

19. Where were you born?
Cleveland.

20. Favorite sport to watch?
Basketball.

21. What are you wearing right now?
Faded black jeans and a red hoodie sweatshirt.

22. What star sign are you?
Gemini.

23. What fabric detergent do you use?
All Free & Clear.

24. Pepsi or Coke?
Coke. All the way!

25. Are you a morning person or a night owl?
Morning, only because I get tired really early.

26. What is your shoe size?
11.

27. Do you have any pets?
Two cats, SCSI and GUI. Scuz is a big fat tux cat who is diabetic and weighs 20 lbs. Gooey is a teeny grey tiger cat who only weighs 8 lbs. They were adopted as kittens six months apart.

28. Any new exciting news you'd like to share with your family and friends?
I'm pregnant with twins. No, just kidding.

29. What did you want to be when you were little?
A singer or a writer. Preferably both.

30. What will you be doing today?
Getting the car fixed. Walking a lot. Going to therapy if the car gets fixed in time. Getting stuff to make Jacob's Purim costume. Picking Jake up from preschool. Making dinner for the kids. Feeding said kids. Getting kids ready for bed and putting them down unless DH gets home first. Eating my own dinner. Reading. Going to sleep.

31. What is your favorite quality about yourself?
My resourcefulness.

32. What is your favorite ice cream flavor?
Breyer's Vanilla Fudge Twirl. I used to be addicted to Ben & Jerry's mixture of Cherry Garcia and Fudge Brownie, but they stopped making it. Bastards.

33. What is your favorite CD at the moment?
I need a new one. Any suggestions?

34. Best compliment you ever got:
My grandmother took all of the grandkids on a cruise the summer of '95. Everyone else had spending money, and almost everyone else was married. I was so bored. I ended up singing in the piano bar every night, and the ship's music director offered me a job.

35. Are you superstitious?
A little bit.

36. Favorite thing to cook/make?
I like cooking or baking almost anything that turns out well. It's very satisfying to provide sustenance for people.

37. Favorite quote:
Dunno. I'll have to come back to this one, too.

38. Favorite movie:
Grosse Point Blank, Pirates of the Caribbean.

39. Favorite book:
Pearl or The Book of Rueben, by Tabitha King. Faking It, by Jennifer Cruisie. Princess Bride by William Goldman.

40. Hardest lesson ever learned:
Life is just not like the movies.

41. Something you would recommend to everyone to do at least once:
Fall in love.

Read that in the voice of Dr. Smith, by the way.

My brain, what's left of it, is doing its best to escape my skull using little mallets and axes. Seriously. I can feel it pulsing with evil right now. How I managed to drag my sorry ass to work is beyond me; I don't even remember driving here. Good sign? What do you think?

It's usually a migraine but since it's not limited to one side of my beaten head I'm guessing this is a combination of my chronic + acute sinusitis (has anyone ever told you your sinuses were cute?) with the added bonus of putting in nine-hour days at my work PC. My eyes are like little old construction workers... they're too butch to admit when they just can't do the job until they manage to hurt themselves doing it.

So I'm on Serevent, Singulair, 2,000 mg daily of antibiotics (for a whole month! Imagine the joy of continual residual yeast and bladder infections!), and I have to go see an ENT so I can spend the higher specialist copay for another doctor to tell me "yep, your sinuses are a train wreck." They've been so infected that they're messing with my ears, throat, and eyes. Oh, and they're why I keep coughing hard enough for DH to pass me his asthma inhaler and tell me to pop a Benadryl or three.

The pain starts between my eyes, reaches up my forehead, and wraps around the back of my melon to strangle my neck. What I could really use would be a nice massage. Instead, I think I'll put some Norah Jones on my headphones and settle down to read through some XML files. Now, that's relaxing!

I run Hijack This! every morning. Ad-Aware. CWS Shredder. Supposedly, I have anti-virus stuff on here. My system at home is clean. But at work, I am consistently bombarded with pop-ups and search hijack motherfucking bastards and I need to vent.

Goddamn motherfucking sons of bitches! Get gone from my frigging browser and let me do my goddamned work! I'm actually TRYING to get my testing done! But NOOOOOO, you can't just leave me the fuck alone and stay out of my business. You have to be such a fucking nuisance that I spend an hour a day (okay, I'm exaggerating) trying to close your fucking windows and running anti-spyware stuff and checking with MajorGeeks and analyzing impossible-to-read filenames. Fucking hell shit-assed nincompoops, don't you have anything better to hack? I actually get PAID to do this shit, but I won't if I can't get through a few decent passes of the test plans and I still have PAGES AND PAGES to do.

So begone, spawn of Satan browser hijack motherfucking assjockeys. I have no time for you.

["Got To Be Real," Mary J. Blige]

Okay, I stole that subject name from.... shit. Must be Suburban Bliss. Anyway, I'm doing a moms-and-kids-only tea party for some of my friends next month, and want to start planning the menu now, because... well, Trekguy probably said it best. I'm riduculously anal-retentive (and I love planning parties).

So, for the kids, I think I'll have chicken strips or nuggets and smiley-face fries. Various dips and chips (hummus, salsa, hot artichoke dip). Then some stuffed mini-mushrooms and nibbly desserts. To drink? Variations on vodka-with-a-splash-of-so mething. Lemonade for the kiddies in those awesome almost-disposable sippy cups.

Anyway, I'm always happy to get appetizer recipes, so lay 'em on me, Avoid the nuts. Thanks, bud!

DH and I shuffled off to Kingsley Elementary last night, to a kindergarten orientation night. That's right, I'm going to have a kid in elementary school. Less than six months from now, my firstborn will drink the water and become the system.

This is a big step for our little family, and we're sort of terrified and in flux. Each step in our kids' development raises all kinds of issues, and DH and I have all these decisions to make (decisions again!) that could mold our kids. Part of the problem is, our differening outlooks make it doubly hard to figure out what to do.

Here's the thing. We live in a big city. We like the city. It's an amazing place to live, especially without kids. With very small kids, it's still amazing. There's lots to do, tons of places to live, easy ways to get around. We've been extremely lucky with childcare -- we've had the same nanny since Jacob was five weeks old. We're mostly pleased with preschool.

Staying in the city isn't much of an option for us. The Chicago public school system is notably flawed, and most neighborhood schools are so lousy, and the population is not one we necessarily want our kids to be a part of. Then you have private schools. Insanely expensive, exclusive and really hard to get into. Add to those the frighteningly spoiled brats your kid would be hanging around if you had the scratch and could get in... not a great equation. There are magnet schools in the CPS, but they're lottery-based and a total headache.

A correllary to private school is religious school. I was raised a Reform Jew, and would probably call my self a Conservative/Traditional based on theory and service style, but I'm not very observant at this point. I don't keep Kosher, don't feel a need to, and don't feel guilty not observing Shabbat. I really like the memories I have of Sunday School when I was a kid; our temple (Fairmount in Cleveland) was a warm, friendly place I definitely felt comfortable. I guess I'm a cultural Jew.

DH has much stronger views on Judaism than I. In his early 20s, he became a Lubavitch Jew, and observed very seriously for several years. While he had a really nice group of people who became like family to him (and in fact, his rabbi married us and was present at Jacob's bris), he eventually became unhappy enough for his own reasons to shave his beard and sort of take a step back. Now, I guess he'd be considered maybe Modern Orthodox. He doesn't wear a beard, but he doesn't eat treyf, and prefers much more Torah-observant services when he goes to them. Jewish holidays seem very bittersweet to him; I think it's incredibly hard for him to find a comfort zone, since he was raised Reform but Lubavitch made such a strong impression on him. He's a passionate guy in many ways, and I think the laws of Torah both guide and sometimes weigh on him.

Anyway, this long digression into my vision of DH's psyche (sorry, honey) is my way of getting to a difficult point for us; the possibility of sending our kids to a Jewish day school. The problems I have are:

1. Private school is ridiculously expensive, and we are not wealthy people.
2. Even if scholarships made it possible, I feel very uncomfortable being in a financially penitent position.
3. I don't want our kids to only be around wealthier families.
4. I went to private school until I was 14, and I was miserable. I got an amazing education (read the Odyssey when I was 11, for G-d's sake!) but the small, insular environment was torture for a kid who didn't fit in.
5. I have no plans to keep a Kosher home or bentch (pray) after meals, which are two things common in our area day schools.
6. I feel it would be hypocritical to educate our children in a manner I can't feel comfortable mimicking at home.

Personally, I don't see anything wrong with -- in fact I prefer -- sending our kids to a decent public school, and sending them to religious school on a Saturday or Sunday morning through the school year. I feel it would give them the ability to live in two worlds -- the secular and the Jewish -- and let them eventually make a decision on how observant they want to be on their own. Yes, I would like them to receive religious instruction. Yes, I would like them to be Bar Mitzvah'ed, and will in fact insist upon it barring any unforseen circumstances. Yes, I would be very pleased if they continue their religious education after that point.

Why do I feel so strongly about public school? I have a hard time figuring this out. I guess because it's so hard for me to feel like I fit in anywhere, I want my kids to have starts as just regular kids. When I was young and miserable in prep school, Sunday School was kind of a refuge of sorts -- I had friends there, I mostly enjoyed the studies and even the services with Rabbi Eisenberg, and nobody there had to know I was a geek at Hawken from Monday through Friday. It was my first time being JT, really; the first time I could try to be someone other than how I was pigeonholed at prep school.

So, am I being selfish in wanting to create my vision of idyllic childhood for my kids? Maybe. I have such a hard time conceding the point of day school to DH because I just don't believe in it. I also really love the idea of a neighborhood school; the school's boundaries from last night are less than three miles square. That means if Jake and Danny went to school there, they'd have multiple friends (ideally) who live within walking distance. Their social circle would be imminently accessible. They'd be building their own little community; be the little gang of the blocks. In this day and age of ultra-heightened security and fear, I relish the thought of literally letting my boy ride his bike two blocks over to play someday.

There's no conclusion to this post, because I still don't really know what we're going to do. Add to this fogginess that the school district we're looking at has two magnet school information nights (tonight and tomorrow), and we're going to try to go to both. Then, add DH's suggestion that the community I really would like to live in shouldn't be the only one we consider. (Which is sensible but for some reason, I feel totally in tune with the one we're looking at now.) Then, add in the fact that I only got five hours of sleep last night. Does all that add up to a sensible post with a beginning, middle and end? I guess not.

Crap.

Sound effects: Beautiful Soul, Jesse McCartney

Mimi Smartypants reminds me that my children have entered the terrifying realm of Mommy Let Me Tell You A Joke I Made Up. The MLMTYAJIMU is just awe-inspiring in how much it can fuck with my head. Here's the premise:

Jacob, in his little rocket booster seat: "Mommy, knock knock!"
Me, from the front, trying to drive: "Who's there?"
J: "Salami!"
Me: "Salami who?"
J: "Salami airplane!" (explodes into laughter)
Me:

Which of the following responses to Jacob's non-joke is the right one?
A. (laugh my head off)
B. "Have you heard the one about the Pope and Raquel Welch in a lifeboat?"
C. "Jacob, that's not funny. The dictionary defines 'joke' as 'Something said or done to evoke laughter or amusement, especially an amusing story with a punch line.' You can do better than that."
D. "I don't get it. You must be smarter and funnier than Mommy."

Correct answer? None of the above. Here's why:
A. Instills false sense of confidence, spoiling him rotten.
B. So freakin' inappropriate, and it's a really old joke.
C. Eww. Just re-reading it gives me a headache.
D. Just as gross as C and as wrong as B.

DH has responded by helping the kids create jokes. This one has been making the rounds of Jacob's preschool:

Q: Knock Knock!
A: Who's there?
Q: I made up
A: I made up who?
Q: Ewwww! You made a poo?

I spend most of my Mondays in meetings now. We drill down, summing up the previous meeting's results for the following meeting, and so on until we all want to kill ourselves. By the second or third meeting, I'm making lists on my notepad (doodling is too obvious a distraction; lists look like you're taking notes).

Today's Lists:
Page One: All the calculations for how much it would cost to buy my favorite sectional while the employee appreciation sale is going on, versus the rest of the year.

Page Two: Stuff going on this weekend... Noah's birthday party on Saturday, the Housewares show and Molly's birthday on Sunday.
Money stuff to think about:
1. Getting both kids to the dentist for their long-overdue checkups.
2. Getting me to the dentist for my waaaay long-overdue checkup ($260), and replacement of my really old and broken Maryland bridge with a dental implant ($1,500. Yes, you read that right).
3. Checkup with the doc who keeps me in don't-kill-the-guy-who-cu t-me-off-in-traffic  medicine.
4. Checkup with the doc who keeps my endometriosis from eating up all of my internal organs.
5. Moving this summer (assuming $1500 for movers and moving expenses, plus G-d knows how much for 1st month's rent and security deposit).
6. Summer camp for Jacob (probably $1600 all told).

Page Three: Stuff I can project is going to happen every month until I get depressed thinking about it:
March: two birthdays (one kid, one adult), dinner party on the 26th, Purim, kids' class pictures
April: Nanny's birthday, taxes, Passover
May: DH's and my big birthdays and possible combination party, Mother's Day
June: Vacation with my mom, DH's and my 9th anniversary, Father's Day, last day of preschool for both kids.
July: Move? Mom's birthday. Jacob to camp?
August: Jacob starts school. Danny's 3rd birthday (shit).
September: Mom & Dad's 39th anniversary. High holidays?

Page Four: Yes, there is a fucking page four. Do you see how neurotic I am? I literally planned the major points of every day this work week, including possible workouts, when I pick the kids up, the kindergarten orientation Tuesday, the Gilda's Club fundraiser Wednesday, going to Jenni's Friday night....

Either I need to seriously retool my life, or stop going to these ridiculous meetings. I think the latter will be much easier to do than the former. 

Sound effects: Oye Como Va, Tito Puente (live)

1. Why people need to run in the street, when there's a perfectly good sidewalk on either side.
2. Why so many people have all the money, but no taste or manners.
3. Why cellulite has to exist. Stretch marks, too.
4. Why anybody cares what the fuck J Lo thinks.
5. Why there have to be six versions of CSI or Law & Order on television.
6. Why we spent so much time and money getting Jacob speech therapy so that the kid would never shut up within two years.
7. Why ice cream tastes so good, and brussel sprouts taste so bad.
8. Why cars have to be so freaking expensive.
9. Houses, too.
10. Why I'd be so good at being rich, but I'm never going to get to prove it.
11. Why super-low-cut jeans are supposed to be attractive.
12. Ditto seeing someone's thong up their ass over the tops of said jeans.
13. Why I spend four hours every few weeks making homemade macaroni and cheese when the Kraft version only takes 12 minutes.
14. Why shopping makes me high.
15. Why it takes me so long to get over any illness.
16. Why women have to have body hair. What's up with that?
17. Why we have to drink skim milk, when even 2% of milkfat makes it taste so much better.
18. Why I don't get the writing bug on weekends, but I do at work, when I'm not supposed to be writing. Oops.

Sound effects: DH and Jacob playing a PBS Kids.com game, and Danny in the tub saying "Wanna come out." Better go.

News flash: supporters of white supremacist Matthew Hale are demanding apologies from authorities and news media.  Hale and his followers were allegedly among those suspected in last week's murder of the husband and mother of federal Judge Joan Humphrey Lefkow. And now, they're pissed because Hale is supposedly off the hook, and therefore never deserved to have people thinking ill of him.

Bart Ross, a "disgruntled Chicago man with no apparent ties to [Hale] has been identified as the likely killer." Hale's parents and friends are expressing relief that Ross' suicide (and suicide notes) are limiting investigations into Hale's potential connection. Despite the fact that Hale is currently awaiting sentencing for his 2004 conviction that he plotted the murder of the now-widowed Judge Lefkow.

Oh, poor, poor Matthew Hale. Poor white supremacists. Let me tell you, folks. When I was in college and writing for the Daily Illini, Matt Hale was an incredibly vocal local opponent of the DI and it's supposed liberal freak tendencies. Even then, he spouted hatred at every turn. He had his own "response" paper, filled with vitriol, that at the time my colleagues and I laughed at. I didn't take seriously the inclusion of my name as yet another Jewish liberal bitch. But my dismissing of the words never really masked the fear that hatred could force to the surface.

I don't know if Hale really had anything to do with this. For all we know this is a horribly sad case of a disfigured and miserable man who lashed out in pain and forever damaged the lives of other innocent people. But I still fear the twisted anger that lies beneath that man's smirk.

Apparently I'm not disgruntled enough today to do my Enough Already list, so that may have to wait until tomorrow. Here now, let's do Brushes With Fame!

One of my favorites:
When I was a single gal, one of my all-time favorite authors was Cynthia Heimel, who wrote plays, short fiction, and a column for Playboy. She's feisty, funny, and (was) unapologetically single but loved men. Anyway, when "If You Can't Live Without Me, Why Aren't You Dead Yet?" came out, I attended a reading she did at Borders, armed with my dog-eared copy of "Girls' Guide To Chaos."

Cynthia brought with her to the reading her friend Steven Wright, who did some reading from her book (and had us all in stitches). Ms. Heimel graciously signed my copy of "Girls' Guide" even though I didn't buy her new book. I wanted to get Wright's autograph too, but missed him. Then, on my way out, I saw him near the escalator and stopped him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wright," I asked. "Would you mind signing my book?"

He looked at me, and at my book, and then asked me why I hadn't bought the new one.

"I'm a starving wanna-be writer," I said. "I can't afford hardcovers."

That wonderful, clownheaded man then opened his copy of Cynthia's book, signed it, and handed it to me. "Here," he said.

"Oh, no, I couldn't," I stammered.

"No, really. I can get another one. I want you to have this. Keep writing," he said. "Good luck."

I hope I was able to thank him before I drifted to the 151 bus toward home before my transfer ran out. It didn't take much for him to do that, and he probably never thought anything of it, but it was such a nice thing to do for a girl who had high hopes and few resources. To this day, I think of him and smile, and remind myself how much small gestures can mean.

Sound effects: Waltz in E Minor, Chopin (performed by Geza Anda)

When I was a kid, I couldn't wait to grow up. It seemed so unfair to have other people always in control of my life. Unable to make most decisions for myself, I always fantasized about the next phase of life... being a teenager, being in college, being an adult. Being controlled by others my whole life made me panicky, irritable, and nervous.

College life gave me the illusion of independence. I lived alone, or with roommates, and picked my own classes, cleaned my own place, did my own shopping. I dated whoever I wanted, without thought to the guy my parents might have chosen for me. I worked and spent more of my time and energy on my jobs than on my schoolwork. However, that pseudo-adulthood was limited by my financial dependence on my parents, whose money paid my tuition and a large portion of my living expenses.

What did I do after college? Move right in with my college boyfriend. He picked the apartment, the car, the furniture we got. His schedule dictated ours. Our friends were the guys he met at work or playing baseball, and their wives or girlfriends. If there was something he did that I didn't (like golf, ), or working out first thing in the morning in front of Sportscenter, his response to me was "we'll learn ya."

I rarely fought against the decisions Tim made, because they all seemed to make sense, and he didn't beat me over the head with them. It wasn't until we broke up that I realized almost everything I'd done for the past three years had been with him in mind.

I spent two years living alone after Tim. I had a studio apartment in Lakeview, near Diversey Harbor in Chicago. My apartment was a teeny space -- actually 298 square feet -- but it was absolutely mine and I loved it. I loved doing laundry in the giant, top-floor laundry room, and coming back to my little space all clean and smelling of Bounce. I perfected cooking on my tiny, two-burner stove and half-sized oven. I wasn't financially comfortable, but I was on my own, and my decisions were mine. I know I was lonely, but I don't remember the sadness of being solo anymore, just the peace and independence. Even falling in love was controlled, and done in a way that shocked my friends. "You're going to marry some guy you met on the Internet? Are you insane?"

Now, I'm a mom. I have two little boys, an apartment that's six times the size of my studio, and a million decisions to make every day. What will the kids wear, eat, do today? What time should everything happen? How much TV should they watch? When should they go to the dentist? What stories should we read? I watch my eldest son fight me for every inch of control he can get, and I sympathize. I see in him the battle that I fought my whole life, and still feel that rush of freedom when I get a few hours to myself -- even if I don't run off to Tahiti, I have independence sometimes.

I realize now that the slightest, teeniest bit of control I can give my son might give him the comfort and security I didn't feel as a kid. I let him win small battles; pick his meals, what toothbrush to buy, what story to read at night. I give him a two or three options and let him pick one when I can. To some, that's spoiling. Who lets their kids pick what they're going to eat for dinner every day? Well, I do. Serving them pizza three times a week is a small price to pay if it leads to peace in my home, and peace in my kid's heart. 

Sound effects: "You Dance," by Eastmountainsouth

All those blank posts? It's from when I was too lazy to pick a bullshit "Topic." Just got it.

Anyway, I'm posting from the "family" computer because I'm home sick again. I swear, I got up, washed, brushed, dressed and dragged myself to the car. Four blocks away, I threw up all over the place at a red light. So I turned right instead of left and came back home to mop up my poor overcoat and brush out my mouth with Listerine.

Both kids are still sick; Danny's in Early Fever Cling mode, and Jacob is in Stir Crazy Still Sickly But Very Bratty mode. Thank G-d for the nanny, Alberta, who is often a candidate for sainthood and who should be here soon....

Going back to my box of Puffs Plus and my bed. Hope you're all better than I!

Well, the Danimal saw a doc today, or rather a Nurse Practitioner. He has had the fever all day, as well as sinusy stuff, but no ear infection (as yet). Lanny, the CNP, said he could have the fever for up to five days, but if he still has it on Friday, they'll want to check his ears again.

So now I have a long week to look forward to -- days spent dragging my ass to work, then long nights of whiny, feverish, overly sensitive boys. And DH seems out of sorts, too, but he might just be distracted with work stuff.

Sorry to be a bummer. I haven't read my normal blogs today, and I'm writing this from our dining room, where DH had set up a "family" computer for the kids to use. He gave them an old IBM keyboard and it's really freakin' loud. It's kind of satisfying in an old-smoky-newsroom sort of way, but the kids have got to get some sleep. Also, the monitor only does 800x600 (too large on 15") or 1024x768, which is really hard for me to read. Bitch, bitch bitch.

I promise I will:
1. Make a better attempt to sleep well tonight and go to work tomorrow
2. Find something fun to write about
3. Finish my Cafepress store so you can stock up on JT magnets and thongs
4. Attempt to be pleasant to my husband when he rolls in (he's blading home from work).

G'night all...

For your Friday slacking-off-from-work pleasure, here's the question of the day as posed by Flea:

What's your stripper name? Be honest, choose first dog (or pet) from your childhood, plus the (first) home street name from childhood.

My stripper name is JJ Fairmont, if we're going by the dog my parents got after I was born. (The one before that was Winston, and I don't want to be a Chippendales Dancer.)

Jacob will be SCSI (Scuzzy) Bittersweet.
Danny will be GUI (Gooey) Clybourn.
And DH? He gets to be Rosie Sawmill Brook Parkway. LMAO...

I'm going to join the throng thanking Dysfunction1018 for the marvelous links to our 2005 archives. I'd e-mailed support about it a few days back, and sent tMail to Rocky just today about it. For now...

JT - January 2005

JT - February 2005

Today on JT, a very special Blossom:

Steve Fossett: Enough already! Don't you have anything better to do with your millions of dollars than waste valuable newsfeed time? Wah, gazillionaire Steve Fossett is soooo tired from flying around the world in a single-engine plane! Waaaah, gazillionaire Steve Fossett wants to break a world record! Tell you what, Mr. Fossett. Do us all a favor -- spend your time and money being a professional philanthropist, or just fly for fun and shut the fuck up.

The Zippo Company: Oh, the poor little lighter company. If people can't take lighters on planes, our business will suffer! Horrors: less than 5,000 Zippo Collectors will be affected by not being able to buy them at airports! Waaah! We sell a tool that helps people give themselves and their loved ones cancer! Protect us from the big bad FAA, please! (Okay, even I have to admit that I think the ban of lighters in checked baggage is excessive, but work with me here.)

Martha Stewart: You're in jail, you're out of jail, you're on house arrest, you're got a new personal chef. Who the fuck cares? You're an uberrich bitch, and you're half the reason why the vast majority of American homemakers feel like they're just not good enough because they didn't force the flowers for their Solstice Celebration Centerpiece using antique Civil War spittons made of real copper. Enough already! Consider this an important lesson learned and just go the fuck away. (But thanks for the homemade macaroni & cheese recipe.)

Celebrity Marriages: Enough already! Waaah, Brad & Jen broke up! Waaah, Jessica and Nick are arguing! Waaah, Denise and Charlie are getting a divorce! (Gee, who didn't see that coming?) You have more money and attention than you deserve, and you're a little too used to everyone fawning all over you to have a healthy relationship. Get off the red carpets and out of the spotlights, and spend a little time visiting a therapist or two. Spend a little more time on your marriage and a little less time on your scrapbook of Us Magazine covers, and perhaps you won't have to die alone.

Many thanks to the wonderful and talented Mimi Smartypants; not only for her terrific blog today, but the inclusion of the Cuddly Menace. I'm still afraid to eat my breakfast for fear I'll barf it up laughing.

... if you're underaged. I might swear.

Random Thoughts for Today:

1. I'm going to burn in hell.
2. ...Because I Gizoogled "Mother Theresa," that's why.
3. I have tulips on my desk.
4. ...But I'm not kissing it
5. ...With that, either <slap>.
6. DH & I've been asked to dinner by a couple we knew years ago.
7. ...Which makes me feel popular.
8. ...But we like her, and not him.
9. ...But I feel like we should go anyway.
10. I intend to get some good testing done today.
11. I'm getting a pedicure at 3:30 pm at work!
12. Someone I trained with is getting her own store, and I'm jealous.
13. Coca-Cola is the nectar of the gods.
14. Thinking of my kids gets me all mushy inside.

Sound effects: Remix of the "Pink Panther" theme, by Henri Mancini and DJ Siddarth

Dear New Blogger,

We'd like to welcome you to the blogosphere, and offer some points for creating the kind of blog that people want to read. Feel free to take this with a big ol' bottle of kosher salt.

1. Do you speak and write in English? If yes, do us all a favor and use the language well. Write in complete sentences where possible, and spell your words correctly. It doesn't matter how old or young you are; you can command respect if what you write is written clearly. You're all used to conserving your words and using bizarre fragments on your Blackberries and Sidekicks, but nobody's charging you by the character here.

2. If your age ends with the suffix "-teen," you probably write poetry. It's probably full of longing and sadness. The darker it is, the more likely we'll assume you color your fingernails with a black Sharpie. We all have done the Sad Lonely Goth Kid thing to some degree, at some point. We know you think you're the only one; that's part of being young. But, if we can be honest with you, someday you too will look back on your poetry and shudder in shame. Do yourself a favor, and keep the poetry to yourself. Just write about your feelings without trying to make them sing.

3. Be funny, at least once in a while. We all like that.

4. Be real. Expose little parts of your self and your soul here and there. Be honest. That's what makes you a fascinating read.

5. We like deep thoughts, but tell us little things, too. Conversely, we don't need to hear every single detail about what ashley did with jake and said that thing that made you jealous and mad on the same day your dad trashed your cell phone and your brother ate the last twinkie especially if you write everything in a really long run-on sentence with no paragraph breaks or capital letters. <phew!>

6. If you're under the age of 21, don't post pictures of yourself on your blog. There are just too many creepy guys out there, trolling for fresh young things who are vulnerable. Additionally, don't post your e-mail address, phone numbers, etc, even in comments. Sorry to be a boring wet-blanket type, but I'm a mom and I get nervous about you crazy kids sometimes.

7. Don't get involved in stupid interblog wars. Seriously, everyone's lives can be hard at times, and we are certainly all annoying at times. But we don't need to slam each other. Save your vitriol for people who really deserve it, like white supremacists.

8. And, finally, if I can say something to certain young thinglets out there... please, stop cutting yourselves. Quit doing drugs. Don't have sex just to prove a point. Don't diet unless your doctor recommends it. Dress yourself with some self-respect. If you're talking about slicing into your forearms, and always wearing long sleeves to hide scars, then, honey, you are depressed and you need help. Don't be paranoid when someone tells you to get help. If you're writing these things here, you're seeking attention because some little spark in your soul knows that what you're doing is a sign that the boogeyman is having his way with you.

We all sometimes have to fight that evil demon; he lays his eggs our hearts when we're not looking and implants his spawn like spyware on our souls. And many of us need this outlet to scrub the dirt out from under our fingernails and have the world examine it. That also leaves us a little vulnerable to attacks from less-than-noble personae. So my final point about blogging is somewhat related to BobbyJoe's... be a little responsible. You can still have fun. You can still swear (okay, except in tBlurt), and be honest, and be funny, and be real, and even be mean. But let's be nice to ourselves; sometimes, we're all we've got. 

I know everybody's doing it, but I simply must Gizoogle my own blog:

Happy March n shit! It certainly doesn't look like spr'n outside. Howeva, here is mah thoughts fo` March 1st, 2005:

* There is 164 messages in mah Inbox, which means it's tizzy ta clean house.
* Did you know tizzy tizzle actually expect n require me ta work fo` a liv'n? I'd playa do some of tizzy wizzle shiznit today.
* I'm sleepy. I'm always sleepy. Pusha occasionally I'm otha dwarves like Grumpy.
* I wizzay ta Pep Boys ta git mah heezeelight fixed yesterday, n let them know mah dome light keeps messin' out, too . Wussup to all my niggaz in the house. I was informed thizzat tha dome light wasn't mobbin' coz, uh, it was switched off crazy up in here. I've brotha fizzy mizzy like a Jewish princess. Oops. .
* The emergency brakes light comes on on tha dashboard wizzle it's cold out. I imagine that's one of tha th'n I need ta git fixed.
* It's hard ta send yo ride in fo` repairs when you rely upon it ta git ta work every day with my forty-fo' mag.
* I have a really hard time frontin' thizzay Joanie " Chyna Dizzle " Shot Calla doesn't hizzy a penis tucked away in there somewhere.
* I need new music ta listen ta at work.
* Ditto caffeine. See y'all lata.