And We're Out!

This post is my thirtieth in a row, marking the end of November and NaBloPoMo-- National Blog Posting Month.  I have managed to post something every one of the last thirty days, though I will own the fact that a few days contained much less original writing than others.  In my own defense, I want to say that the fine print on this post a day thing excluded weekends, but I posted seven days a week.  This is mostly because I didn't figure out that weekends were exempt until after I had done weekend posts, but also because of my dedication to my craft.  Yeah, that's it... dedication....craft. Yeah.  

I am glad I was able to exert some self-discipline.  I am chronically helpless in that area, what with the procrastination and the rationalization and all of the other things I have to stop doing to sit down and write. That was one of the reasons I did this.  I wanted to get myself to my desk more, and this exercise did really help.  I also found that the more I wrote, the more subjects suggested themselves to me as good possibilities for the blog.  The more subjects there were, the more I wrote and the more... I think you get my drift here.  

So, good times, good talk.  Thank you to everyone who has read the blog and commented on it and shared it.  The encouragement means a lot to me and I think of you all when I am writing. I don't know if I can commit to continuing to post daily, but I'm hoping to manage five days a week, just to keep in shape.  Now if I could only find a way to make myself exercise as often as I write....

Black Friday: And So it Begins...

This is the second year in a row that I have not worked in a store on the day after Thanksgiving.  Before that, I worked twenty four straight.  That's twenty four Black Fridays.  That's twenty four years of working a retail holiday season.  

Do I have to tell you that I didn't miss it?  That I won't miss working in a store on Christmas Eve, when the fabric of polite customer relations has worn thin and frayed at the edges and the holiday gift desperation is so thick you could cut it with a knife?  I don't think I have to tell you.

This year, inside my little post office at the back of the bike store, people are strangely gleeful as they express their "sympathy" for the fact that the next few weeks are going to be "really crazy busy." What is that about? Why are people I don't even know so smugly happy that I will be ridiculously busy trying to assist postal customers with their holiday mailing needs?  I can see the smirks, the "glad I'm not you" giggles, that are barely concealed as they inquire about how I'm going to handle it all.  "Oh, you know," I say, "one day at a time," and smile angelically before I look over their shoulders and call out, "Next!"

Well, let me say, there are only about three weeks of mailing mayhem to get through before it's too late to get a package to your loved ones in time to tuck it under the tree.  Anyone can get through three weeks of being stressed out and busy for eight hours a day.  I mean, I was pregnant four times, that's 160 weeks, all together, at forty weeks each time.  If I can get through that, especially those last eight weeks every time when it feels like someone is standing on your bladder, (thirty  two weeks all together) then I can get through a three week holiday postal season. 

 And I've done it before-- twenty four years in a row, as I said.  I don't see how people waiting to mail packages can be ruder or less cooperative than the guys who got into a fistfight when one of them tried to take cuts in the line while I worked for a well-known retail bookseller.  Or the women who had a shouting match in the dressing room over the last black sequined tank top (they both wanted the petite medium.)  

In the meantime, today was a gift.  Mike and I spent a quiet day together, and we each got a turn to pick what we wanted to watch on TV without someone crying or shouting, "NNNOOOO!  This is soooooo booorrring!"  We ate leftovers and made turkey sandwiches and had a chance to catch up, like we need to do once in a while.  The girls went with their cousins and Uncle Matt and Aunt Sheli to do some Black Friday shopping at the mall, and then to the movies.  I know they're already looking forward to next year, and so am I.

Thanksgiving 2013

There are still dishes in my sink, and dishes that haven't even made it to my sink, but for all intents and purposes, this Thanksgiving is drawing to a close.  I hope everyone had a lovely day and is looking forward to the rest of a fine weekend.  Whether you're shopping or avoiding the malls, enjoying your leftovers (best part of the holiday, I say) or looking for something that has no tryphtophan or carbs, enjoy tomorrow too. Take a breath before the swift slide into December and holly and jingle bells.  Then jump in and enjoy that too.  By the time you look around again, it will be new year.  

Thanksgivukkah

This year, as everyone with an internet connection or a television knows by now, Hannukah and Thanksgiving fall at the same time.  The first night of Hannukah is tonight, giving the latke-eating population a chance at an extra night of feasting this week.  Foodie websites have been devoted to how to combine the two holidays-- sweet potato latkes or fried pumpkin doughnuts anyone?-- and even the supermarket clerks are remarking on the fact that this coincidental timing of the holidays won't come around again for 78,000 years or so.  I say amen to that, because, really isn't once every 78 milleniums enough?  And another thing:  will Hannukah or Thanksgiving be celebrated in 78,000 years?  I have my doubts, but those are for the speculative novelists to, you know, speculate about, in their "novelizations" of future history.  Meanwhile we can revel in the fact that this is the year we can reminisce about for as long as we are pulling our chairs up to the turkey and sides and lighting the Hannukkah candles, as in : "Come here, kids, grab the cousins you only see once a year and let me tell you about the year we got cheated because Hanukkah and Thanksgiving fell in the same week.  Oy!  What a year!"

I'm going to let this go for now and get back to my double holiday cooking, but I want to leave you with something amusing in the meantime.  It's a long time until dinner, no matter what you're celebrating...

Here are Thanksgivukkah Playlists from Tablet Magazine and The Daily Skimm, and parodies from Jewcy.com.  I can't say I love them all, but I offer them for your consideration.  Enjoy!

 

 

Images from here (Once in a Lifetime) and here (Thanksgivukkah American Gothic)

Why This Jewish Mother is Seriously Digging the New Pope

One of the big stories in the news today is about Pope Francis and his recent apostolic exhortation, a statement of what the Pope believes the Catholic church is called to do during his papacy.  Each pope makes such a statement, so the release of the document isn't such big news, but apparently the content is.  The more I read on Salon and Huff Post and the Daily Beast, the more I realized I had to read his words for myself.  

The Babka of my childhood:  "Racetrack" from
Canter's Deli & Bakery in Los Angeles.  (Yes, it's a
totally gratuitous coffee cake picture.) 

I have previously identified myself as a Jewish mother in these pages, accepting all of the good and bad connotations that go with that title.  The fact is, I am Jewish, and I am a mom, so the description is apt. (And, Oy!  I do worry about the kids, but also, I'm so proud of them.  Come by sometime for a slice of chocolate babka and a nice cup of tea, and we'll talk.  Or I could make you some chicken soup, you are looking a little tired, dear.)  So what do I know about the Pope?  Well, mostly what I read in the papers. Also, I happen to be married to a Catholic, a man who went to parochial school from kindergarten through college.  In addition, I worked on a masters in philosophy at Boston College, a Jesuit university. Those personal facts may not give me enough street cred to speak knowledgeably about Catholic religious doctrine, but I do know how to read and analyze a document, and, Lord help me, how to offer my opinion of what I've read.  So here goes. 


From what I can gather, after a discussion of spiritual joy and the need to spread such light through the world-- and here, the Pope is kind of a noodge, reminding Catholics that they need to be agents of positive change-- Pope Francis talks about the troubles of the world, identifying the love of money and the spread of competitive capitalism as real evils in the world because they have lead to inequality and exclusion. He speaks of "the idolatry of money" and the "lack of concern for real human beings" and despairs about the growing inequality of the marketplace and the resulting human consequences:

While the earnings of a minority are growing exponentially, so too is the gap separating the majority from the prosperity enjoyed by those happy few. This imbalance is the result of ideologies which defend the absolute autonomy of the marketplace and financial speculation.... A new tyranny is thus born, invisible and often virtual, which unilaterally and relentlessly imposes its own laws and rules.... To all this we can add widespread corruption and self-serving tax evasion, which have taken on worldwide dimensions. The thirst for power and possessions knows no limits. In this system, which tends to devour everything which stands in the way of increased profits, whatever is fragile, like the environment, is defenseless before the interests of a deified market, which become the only rule.

"How can it be that it is not a news item when an elderly
 homeless person dies of exposure, but it is news
when the stock market loses two points?"

Wow.  This is such a powerful statement of how the pursuit of money caused individuals and governments to forget about what is truly important, not just neglecting and demeaning people, but damaging the environment as well. He goes on to mention that "trickle down economics" does not work, and to exhort everyone, not just his flock, to recognize the consequences of poor policies and to make changes that will make real differences in the lives of people everywhere. 

 Maybe it isn't news that the relentless pursuit of wealth for its own sake is an epic fail for people and for the planet-- yeah, you've heard that commie liberal crap before. But here is Pope Francis, someone that most people would identify as genuinely conservative in all of the best ways, someone with a global audience, who is throwing down and telling the world to get right.

I like that.  

I'd like to have him over for a slice of babka and a cup of tea, because he seems to be so genuine in his wish to heal the world and so sensible in his identification of problems that touch us all, no matter what religion we are or where we fall on the economic spectrum.  But he's a busy, busy man, and it's going to take a lot to get his message out, so I know he won't be stopping by for a nosh.  Wherever she is, his mother must be so proud... 

I hope it is absolutely clear that I mean no disrespect to the Pope or to any Catholic.  I think the statement he made is an astute analysis of the challenges facing the world today and I deeply admire his will to bring joy and love to the world.  

How it All worked Out, or, How Daddy Saved the Day

 Yeah, I've been up since about three thirty, because I knew something was not right. (Like Miss Clavel,  from the Madeline books.)  I knew Fiona was too warm, and I knew she wasn't breathing softly and smoothly, like she should be if she was going to get up and go to school in the morning. So I kept turning it all over in my head.  How would I cover my shift? What would the repercussions be? What if I did send her to school, and then she felt worse, or got sicker?  I had to stay home-- because I should stay home, that was the only thing to do-- but then I would certainly be out of pocket for the pay.  But what was more important, Fiona, or a day's pay?  Back and forth, back and forth.  Mental pacing.  Over and over. You'd think I would have at least put myself back to sleep with it.  I can see your lids drooping over there right now...

As it turned out, I went to work today, but only because Mike stayed home with Fiona, who was, of course, still running a fever early this morning.  There I was, fretting, when Mike's alarm went off and he got up at 4:40 to get ready for work.  "I'm going to need to stay home with her," I said, as he got up to take a shower.

He nodded, I think.  It was still dark.  I listened to the shower run, trying to figure out how early was too early to call my boss and let her know I wouldn't be there.  And what about calling a co-worker to cover the shift? It's always too early to get that call, especially when you have the day off...

Then Mike came over and solved the problem.  "I have a sick day.  I'll stay home and you go to work.  Go back to sleep for a little while."  Best. Husband and Daddy. Ever.  I know, right?  It was like magic.  It's not that he hasn't stayed home with sick kids before, but he has the full-time job with the grown-up wage, so if we have to choose, he is the one who goes to work and I was sure that, this late in the year, there was no way he had sick time left.  He didn't think so either at first, apparently, but he was smart enough to check, given that the time is accrued paycheck to paycheck, and last Friday was payday.  Though you'd never know it now, here on Monday (but that's another all-night fretting session right there.) 

So, even though I didn't get to go back to sleep (see, not really a fairy tale), because all the hushed chit-chat woke Fiona (who immediately said she was better, and was pissed because we said she was staying home) I did go to work and didn't have to deal with any sick-kid fallout.  It was a good thing too, since the post office inside the bike shop was busier than sh*t, because suddenly everyone decided that, with Thanksgiving falling this week and all, it was time to mail multiple packages. This did make the day move right along, proving that time flies, even when you don't get a lunch and are not, technically, having any fun. Fiona texted a couple of times, and was feeling pretty well by the time I got home.  After 24 hours with no fever, she may get her wish to go to school tomorrow.  

There was a small, fairy tale-ish, element that reminded us what we're doing this for, even though Mike and I were both totally wiped out by 8 o'clock.  It turned out that the girls had missed each other during the day.  Yeah, the same girls who will fight to the death over a purple barrette each claimed to have been kind of upset when only one of them went to school.  Fiona asked when Delia was coming home about a thousand times, starting, Mike said, about an hour after she'd left for school. And, as I was cooking dinner, Delia confided that her day was great, except, "Going to school without Fiona doesn't feel right.  It's just, you know, awkward!"  

Picture of Miss Clavel, from here.

Feverishness and Guilt



Fiona, feeling fine

So, last night, Fiona woke me up at about one thirty in the morning, and even as I was waking myself up and trying to focus on the words she was saying, I could tell she was talking very fast in the hot, breathy voice that always accompanies a fever.  Well, accompanies a fever for her.  Each of my kids has a "tell" that lets me know they are really sick, not just tired or having a round of allergies.  Delia's eyes get very cloudy, and the the area under her eyes is a transparent purple.  Usually that means she is going to fall deeply asleep or throw up, or both,  some time in the next two hours.  My oldest son had a pinched look, as though he weren't getting enough air, which was fitting, because he also battled asthma symptoms and carried an inhaler at least until junior high.  My younger son got pale, and extremely cranky.  The crankiness also comes over Fiona, and Delia gets kind of weepy.  All of this has always made me cranky and kind of weepy too, not only because I suffer when my children suffer, but because so often, sick children present a gigantic logistical challenge.  Oy!

That's bad, right?  It's bad to not only feel sorry for the sick kid but to feel sorry for yourslf too, because you have to go to work tomorrow, even though it looks like your kid is going to have to stay home.  Because no one can cover for you, or you've had to miss too many days already, or because you just flat-out won't get paid, and then the whole family will suffer next week if you miss this shift.  And by "you," I mean me.  I confess that I own this particular badness, because as I look back on my life as a mom, I realize that I have spent days and nights hoping a fever will break, not only because I want my kid to be better, but because I really don't want to have to call out, or to call in a favor, or to call and ask someone who doesn't owe me a favor to help me out, or to switch shifts, or to work 10 days in a row because I had to switch shifts, because someone had to do me a favor.  I also own the badness of sending a kid without a fever, who might be better off at home for the day, to school, and then spending the day at work feeling guilty and keeping my fingers crossed and sending up thank you prayers every hour I didn't get a call from the school. 

I hate being that mom.  The mom whose kid feels under the weather and walk like zombies through the school day.  The mom who might be sending a germ bomb to school, just to be sure that we can eat next week.  And I am not always that mom.  When I had the good fortune to have a job with sick days, I never took them for myself.  I went to work with a fever, if necessary (hello germ bomb!) to make sure that I could take off when the kids were sick.  I worked all weekend most weeks, when I knew someone could cover for me at home, so that I could be more flexible during the week, especially during cold and flu season, which, if you have kids, you know runs year-round. 

And tomorrow, I will stay home if Fiona is sick.  I already dread the call-out, the work-around, the anxiety of trying to figure out how I will cover any lost hours.  But what I dread even more is the possibility of spending eight hours feeling like I did the wrong thing for Fiona, by making her go to school sick. 

She's sleeping soundly now, cool as a cucumber and breathing lightly.  It looks like we've turned the corner, but I won't really know until she gets up.  And yes, my fingers are crossed, and I'm sending up a prayer.  For her, of course, and for me too.   We could both use a break...