And Also With You

I admit it, I am one of those Catholics who only goes to church on Christmas Eve. Well, that used to be the case. You see, my third-grade daughter is making her First Holy Communion this May. That, in and of itself, shows our lack of religious affiliation, as she is making it one year later than children traditionally do. So, this year is the big Communion year, and with that comes a whole lot of church going. There are special masses that we must attend, and written assignments that she must do based on them.

Two Sundays ago my daughter and I went to church. It was the first non-major-Catholic holiday mass she had ever attended. We went to the "childrens mass" which I hoped would make it more interesting for her. At one point they ask the children to go into another room, something I remember doing back when I was young. When the children are led back in, I spot my darling, arms crossed and face scowled. She returns to her seat and exclaims "That was boring!" OK, first day not starting off so great.

During the mass I tried not to look like a newbie. This is difficult since they have recently changed some of the prayers and responses that have been ingrained in me since childhood. I feel like the last one invited to the party. When the priest says "the Lord be with you", I instinctively say "and also with you." This, however, is not the appropriate response anymore, as it has been replaced with "and with your spirit." Don't ask me why they felt the need to change this. If it ain't broke don't fix it, I say, and I doubt "and also with you" was all that broken. I hate to sound like Oliver Stone, but I think it's a conspiracy against us non-Church goin' folks. These days, it's easy to spot us, as we are the ones mouthing the wrong words. (And on a related note regarding additional new text, if someone can tell me what "consubstantial" means without looking it up, I will send you $5.)

I sat there and tried hard to focus on the mass, but my mind kept wandering. The monologue in my head went like this: "Ohh, I love that woman's purse. Stop it! You should not be thinking of material things during mass. OK, pay attention now!....God, that is a beautiful purse. Oops, sorry, God... Is that a Coach bag? I think it says Coach, maybe if I lean this way I can tell. I wonder if she got it at the outlet store. I haven't been there in a while, not that I need anything but it's always fun to go. FOCUS!!"

During the collection portion of mass I tell my daughter to complete her writing assignment and the conversation goes something like this:
Me: "Did they read the Gospel to you?"
Her: "I don't know, it was something with Moses." I show her the Gospel and she confirms that this is what was read to them.
Me: "Did you all discuss it afterwards?"
Her: "No."
Me: "There was no homily?"
Her: "No."
Me: "No discussion about the Gospel??"
Her: "Maybe a little."
Me: "So there was a homily."
Her: "They never said the word "homily"."
Me (exasperated): "They don't have to say the word homily, it just IS the homily!" It is at that point that I realize just how much I have failed in my duties as a Catholic parent, and I picture my Italian ancestors rolling over in their graves.

So here I am, struggling to return to the Church like a prodigal daughter; walking the tightrope between appearing hypocritical and being genuinely sincere in wanting my daughters to be exposed to the sense of community that religion brings. I still hold on to some traditions but have let go of others. I wanted to get married in a church, and I do insist on church at Christmas, but I eat meat on Fridays during Lent and have not set foot in a confessioinal booth since Andy Gibb was on the charts and Dallas was on TV.

The next week we return to Sunday mass. My daughter tells me that the Gospel will be boring and I ask why. She replies that she already heard it the prior week. I explain that it will be a different Gospel every week and again picture Giacomo, Augusta, etc. rolling in their aforementioned graves. One small victory, though; in week 2, she arrives back to her seat after the children’s portion in a much better mood. Yes, that was because she found a friend from soccer to sit next to, but I'll take it.

Love and Work in the Age of Technology

For all those of you who watched "Sex & The City", remember the episode where Carrie gets dumped by Burger via post-it note? Well, the employment equivalent of that happened to me three days ago. I got laid off. Via email. By the company's outsourced HR firm, not by my boss. Thank you for that face you just made. I appreciate the empathy.

In that classic and oft-referenced episode, Carrie awakens to find a completely unexpected post-it note telling her that her relationship is over. In my case it was a an e-mail telling me that due to lack of work I was being laid off, effective two days prior. Nevermind that after being there several months, I had been asked by them to make an additional six month commitment to the firm, which I did. Nevemind that I had personal articles in the office that I had to get back. No thanks for everything. No "if you ever need a reference..." Zip. Zilch.

I was at a pizza place having my weekly pizza play date with my friend and our kids when the dreaded e-mail arrived. On reading it I exclaimed "I've just been laid off! Via e-mail!", much to the shock and horror of my friend and the lovely ladies at the next table, who offered their condolences when I left. Everyone is in agreement that this is a crappy way to get laid off. The email stated that they had "tried unsuccessfully to reach me at my home number", which is funny cause I received no message on my answering machine and there was no missed call on my Caller ID. Whatever.

For me, the worst part was not losing the job (I knew it was temporary, but had no idea it was this temporary), it was purely the way that it happened. I was unceremoniouly dumped. Like in a relationship, I felt that the time I put in meant nothing, that I wasn't even worth a face to face dumping. As Carrie told Burger's unsuspecting and unlucky-to-be-there friend in a club, "you can have the guts and the courtesy to tell a woman to her face that you no longer want to see her. Call me crazy, but I think you can make a point of ending your relationship in a manner that does not include an email, a doorman or a missing persons report." Amen, sister.

So, it got me wondering (channeling Carrie), is it people that shape technology or technology that shapes people? What I mean is that were people hungry for a way to de-personalize much of life, or did e-mail put the idea in their head? If it weren't for e-mail, would I have been dumped in person, or would my boss have found another impersonal way to do it, like a good old fashioned letter from the aforementioned HR firm.

Friends have offered their advice on how I should handle this. I have heard everything from reply to the email reminding them that they asked me for that six month commitment, to calling my former boss and thanking him for the opportunity to work there, all with the intent of making him feel like crap, to, and this is my favorite, pulling a George Costanza and showing up there today pretending that I never got the e-mail. I, however, chose not to reply at all. I don't feel that anything in the e-mail asked for or deserves a reply. I have chosen to end it there and move on. After all, in the end Carrie got Mr. Big. And a ginormous shoe closet.

A List of Things I Used To

I used to know every popular song and singer on the radio. Now my daughter does.

I used to judge women who took their young daughters for manicures. Now I know it's often the only way we can get one for ourselves.

I used to think that 42 was old. Sometimes I still do.

I used to love reading horror books and watching horror movies. Now everyone who "dies" is somebody's kid to me, or somebody's parent, which takes all the fun out of it.

I used to know how to dance.

I used to wonder if I'd be a good mother. Now I know how to be one.

I used to see grown up movies. Now I see kid movies, and I like them.

I used to think I would never get plastic surgery. Now I pay closer attention to those ads on TV.

I used to think the world was black and white. Now I know it is made up of every hue of grey imaginable.

I used to sweat the small stuff. I still do, but not as much.

I used to love watching "A Baby Story" before I had kids. Now I don't cause when I do I'm all like "been there, done that, just get the freakin epidural."

I used to have great friends. I still do.

Surprise, Surprise!

Recently my friend and her husband planned a trip to Disney World for themselves and their two children, ages 4 and 5. She devised a clever way to tell them about the trip, gathering all of their Disney character toys together and carefully placing them on the floor. She then turned on the video camera and called the kids over to have them guess where they would be going. After a couple of incorrect guesses, she told them. There was a moment of silence, then the 5 year old said "I thought the surprise would be even better."

When she told me about this, I completely empathized with her. I told her that I gave up "surprising" my kids a while ago, after too many disappointments. But the disappointment that was the catalyst for my surprise-embargo was not theirs, it was mine. Too many times I told my girls that I had a surprise for them when I got home, only to have the same sort of disappointment come my way that my friend experienced. Unfortunately, no matter how fabulous, elaborate and major your surprise may be (it was DISNEY WORLD for Chrissake!), the kids will always think it should have been something more fabulous, more elaborate and more major.

You would think I would have learned this lesson from my own experience. Many, many years ago, I came home from school to my mother telling me that she had a surprise for me upstairs on my bed. I bounded up the stairs, no doubt wondering if there was a new Adam Ant LP record or pink bandana awaiting me. I threw open the door and there, on my bed, in a box, was a training bra. As disappointed as I was, I'm sure it was even worse for my mom.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Maybe.

First, here is my disclaimer. This post is not for anyone under 12 years of age. If you are under 12 and reading this, then I am held harmless from any damages caused by his blog. Besides, shouldn't your parents be monitoring what you see on the internet anyway? See, it's always the parents' fault.

So, how old were you when you stopped believing in Santa? My daughter is 8 and she is asking questions. First, she announced to my husband and I that she was not going to write a letter to Santa, create a list or produce any other form of written documentation. She said that she would make a "Christmas wish" that only Santa would receive. My husband and I looked at each other in panic. OK, this was a test. What do we do? Do we bluff or fold? Every moment of parenting (and watching Celebrity Poker Showdown) came down to this. We played it cool. We explained that making a Christmas wish was fine, but then coaxed the information out of her. Maybe we outsmarted her, or maybe she realized that if she didn't actually tell us, there was no way she was getting the blue digital camera she wants (if that is the case, she failed to realize that she gets a few more years of Santa gifts anyway, thanks to her 4-year old sister, who hopefully has some time before reality sets in.)

Then there were other questions. "If nobody has ever really seen Santa, how do people know what he looks like" and the ever-popular and equally annoying "so and so from school says that there is no Santa Claus." In those times, I stick with the canned response, "if you believe in him, then he is real."

We are not the type of parents who create elaborate plans to make it look like Santa is there; no climbing on the roof top making reindeer hoof sounds for us. We leave out cookies and carrots and thankfully remember to take them away (save for a few cookie crumbs) when the girls go to sleep. We do wrap Santa's gifts in different wrapping paper, but my daughter was quick to point out the other night that last year Santa's gift tags were the same ones that daddy used. We are also a bit lazy with our adherence to the correct pronouns. Looking at stocking stuffers is usually peppered with "I-er, he knew you would like that." It's a lot of effort to keep this up when you are both just too tired from staying up the night before wrapping gifts.

I am not proud to admit it. OK, here is goes. I want the credit for the good gifts. There, I said it. No, Santa did not make this in his workshop. Mommy went to Target two months ago to make sure you had this, even though that meant that it left you time to change your mind, which you did, so back to Target, this time two weeks before Christmas, to wait on long lines to make sure that you got the gifts of both Christmas list past and present. Yeah, I know, I have approval issues.

Last night, I was cuddling with my 4-year old. She was so excited because she received reindeer food and could not wait to leave it out. I asked her what would be left behind, expecting her to say "presents!", but instead smiled and said "crumbs". And I remembered why we lie to our children.

And I Thought Vixen Was Just a Reindeer (Alternate Title: Ho, Ho, Ho)

Each year my family and I watch the lighting of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree on television. I will admit that I don't always make it into Manhattan to see the tree in person, so watching the lighting and knowing that I at least have been there at some point makes me feel all New York cool.

I look forward to seeing Tony Bennett and his toupee, which my mom calls the "best toupee in the world". He is a regular at this event and, at 85, sings the pants off of those young whippersnappers.

So, after watching Tony, the delightful Michael Buble and the Rockettes (I always say the same thing every year; "they must be cold!"), Justin Beiber appeared and introduced the world premier of his video for "All I Want for Christmas is You", with Mariah Carey. Now, first of all, Mariah has gotten way too much mileage out of that song already and should be banned from ever making another version, but it's actually a catchy song so whatever. The video starts with her posing in a Santa suit, but a version of a Santa suit that you would not find in any Burl Ives narrated claymation Christmas story. Nope, this one is cut low in the front, high on the bottom, and is missing a very large patch in the middle. OK, Mariah, we get it, you had twins and are in great shape. Message received. Now put on some clothes.

Then in comes Justin and his posse, staring longingly at Mariah. She comes alive and the fun begins. Mariah apparantly likes to touch her hair, and her cleavage, and her legs. She seductively looks into the camera while singing . At the end they are both in a sleigh, she has her bare legs stretched out and squeezes her breasts together to show even more cleavage. OK, this is the part when I point out that she is 41, he is 17. Um..... Am I crazy or is this a tad inappropriate?? And just plain icky? Cause it's a music video it's OK? OK, all you moms out there of 17 year old boys. Say the hot 41 year old woman down the street wants to make that kind of video with your son. What is your reaction? I am guessing it's somewhere in between "no way in hell" and "over my dead body". (Notice I am not asking the dads, who might have any number of reactions that are vastly different than mom's.) This is the stuff that Lifetime movies are made of and in those someone ends up in jail.

The sad part is that the song is pretty good, and the video would have been cute if the Cougar would have been tamed. But instead they went the cheap route. Which means that I don't want my daughters watching this video. It deserves repeating; icky. Mariah, you are a mom now, class it up a bit. Justin, well, you have bigger issues to deal with, just don't ask Mariah to accompany you to the bathroom. I've seen you on the news enough lately.

Trick or Treat!?

I am a huge fan of Halloween. In fact, a friend recently referred to me as the Halloqueen. It's my favorite holiday. No offense, Jesus, but in recent years Halloween has usurped Christmas as my number 1 holiday. I've always liked Halloween, but I think as Christmases became more hectic, the consistency of Halloween made it, for me, the most joyous of holidays.

Let me explain why and maybe, you too, will come to embrace the true beauty that is Halloween.

1) It's a holiday but it does not require visiting relatives. Now, please don't get me wrong (especially you family members who might be reading this), I love my relatives but juggling two sets of families around holidays is, at times, no easy task. Add to that when those family members have family members of their own to work around as well.

2) No presents to buy. I used to love buying Christmas presents. I would make lists and then joyfully hit the stores. Then I would spend hours wrapping and creating fancy bows. But as the years go on and my time is limited, I have come to appreciate the "grab bag" policy that my family had adopted.

3) Candy. You don't actually need an explanation for that, do you??

4) Costumes. While I realize that some people HATE dressing up in costumes, I absolutely love it. When else can you dress up as Madonna and not look like an idiot (or look like an idiot but not care?) My past costumes have included Peter Criss from KISS, Eddie Munster, and Velma (of the Scooby Doo Gang). And those are only the ones from my adult years in my 30's! I actually have more fun dressing up now than when I was a kid. When I was young I usually had one of those Woolworth costumes, with the plastic smock and mask. I had friends whose moms made them elaborate costumes, princess, etc, all handmade. I was secretly jealous. My costumes also, at times, were unrecognizable. For example, one year I was Princess Leia. Are you picturing the long white dress and bun-hairdo? Well, I decided to be different and to dress as Princess Leia circa Return of the Jedi. And I don't mean the gold bikini. Can't picture it? Don't worry, you are not alone. Nobody knew who I was. And if you are wondering if I had a light saber then shame on you, cause Leia did not use one. She did have a blaster, but I digress.

5) Kids in costumes. There is nothing cuter to me than the sight of little kids in Halloween costumes (caveat: this does not apply to little kids dressed as Freddy, the Scream guy, Pinhead, etc.; those freak me out.) Anyway, the sight of a little girl in a princess costume just melts me, as does a little Superman. The way they run down the block to the next house, wondering what kind of treat they will get...come on, don't you wish you had that kind of excitement in your life now?? Actually, chocolate does create that kind of excitement for me. See #3 above.

6) The school parades. This ties into #5, but it's #5 to the 100th power! A parade filled with kids in costume! Look! A vending machine!! Look! A Twister game!! I get positively giddy!

The day always ends with me and my girls sitting on the floor going through their loot; separating what they don't want and putting those pieces into our own bowl of candy for trick or treaters (hey, one kid's junk is another kid's Sugar Daddy.) The girls don't like coconut so I gleefully take the Mounds and Almond Joys. My oldest separates the Tootsie Rolls to give to daddy. We marvel at the full-sized candy bar that one of our neighbors gives to every child, every year. We collect the pennies and put them in piggy banks. My girls already start to think about what they want to be next year. We laugh and have a great time. And there aren't yards of wrapping paper to clean up afterwards.