betty is not whirlin' right now

I'd like to be, but I'm not. It seems that there's no pleasing me. When I have a lot going on at work, I just want relief- the more, the better. Yet when I actually do have a lighter schedule, I seem lost. Currently my workload is temporarily lighter than usual, yet I deeply resent each extra burden, such as a dentist's appointment, that makes its way into my sparse schedule. Today I came undone over the prospect of attending a 4th of July party, to the point where I ended up not going. What sense does that make?

During the springtime this year, I was enthusiastic about pruning and getting things in order outdoors. I was glad to live here, despite my strong preference for a walkable urban neighborhood. Now, early in the summer season, I am pretty much over this place. The weeds have had their way, and by now the poison ivy to which I am so allergic has popped up all over the place so that it is no longer safe for me to do any yard work. I resent the fact that the roof needs repair and rain now leaks into the living room. This property is small, and there's no place to go to escape the ennui. The weather is increasingly hot and humid. With my central air on its last legs, I barely use it, not wanting to face the bill for replacement, and have had resultant sleepless nights.

My former discipline, flimsy though it was, has gone out the window. Some days I do force an early, half-hearted jog just because I feel even worse if I don't. Other than that, though, I'm just lost, trudging through the hot, unbearable ghost town of my days, hardly even glancing back at the heyday in the rearview mirror.

Are you guilty of this?

Today I read an article on the onion.com about a young man who admits to a surprising policy during visits with his family:



95 Percent Of Opinions Withheld On Visit To Family


KALAMAZOO, MI–A full 95 percent of the opinions held by Justin Wilmot, 26, were kept to himself Sunday during a Father's Day visit with his family.

Wilmot holds his tongue while his sister and mother discuss their mutual excitement about Legally Blonde 2.

"No one in my family really gets my worldview, so I find it easier just to smile and nod and agree with everything," Wilmot said Monday. "When I'm with them, I tend to be a lot quieter than when I'm hanging out with friends."

Wilmot, who grew up in Kalamazoo and now lives in Chicago, described the visit as "seven hours of self-censorship."

"We're totally not on the same wavelength at all," Wilmot said. "I'm not just talking about dangerous subjects like politics or religion, but pretty much everything they bring up–the shows they watch, the things they buy, the people they know. So if someone says Daddy Day Care was hilarious, I may be thinking, 'I can't believe Eddie Murphy was once respected as a subversive comic genius,' but I sure as hell don't say it."

Among the subjects Wilmot declined to weigh in on during the weekend get-together: new Tropical Sprite, Survivor, the selfishness of childless couples, Iraq, golf, AM talk radio, and his brother-in-law's fantastic idea for a calling-card side business.

Wilmot said he used to voice his opinions, but has long since given up.

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Does that seem shocking to you? Not to me, and you can imagine why. Yes, whirling betty is guilty of the same. I am not particularly proud of it, but I learned several years ago that being true to myself is not worth it during family visits.

When my mother was alive, I was quite assertive. She always deferred to me. After she died, everything changed.

The family dissipated. My father married his longtime mistress and she was the complete opposite of my mother. She deferred to no one- least of all me!

When I went to visit my father in the house I was raised in, the presence of his new wife turned the house into a prison for me, even though I had lived there a lot longer than she had. I was only allowed to enter the bedroom I was assigned to (which, of course, was NOT the bedroom which had always been mine- it was my brother's and I had never liked it) and the downstairs.

HOWEVER, I was only allowed to be in the downstairs portion of the house WITH supervision! I kid you not. The bitch whom my father married was convinced that I was going to rob them if left unattended- yes, ROB them- even though my criminal history is nonexistent- nope, not even a speeding ticket can be attributed to whirlingbetty.

I had to make a decision. Either I had to eliminate my father from my life or I had to figure out a way to tolerate the insanity which he married. I decided that my visits would be infrequent and short. I would visit once every 3 years, and for only two days. They never visit me.

For two days every three years, I can squelch myself. I do not share their views on politics or gun control or homosexuality or race discrimination. I do not care to hear about how superior my father's wife and her adult children are to me and my siblings and my deceased mother. But I made the decision that I will spend two days every three years biting my tongue and visiting.

I'm glad I'm not the only one.

End of an Era

Today The Child graduated from 5th grade and elementary school. Many thoughts swirled through my head as I reminisced about his school career and then dredged up ancient memories of my own schooling.

We were lucky that The Child was able to attend this particular elementary school. A gem within a huge urban school district, this highly sought-after school is populated by students who have won the citywide lottery. It's an alternative school, which basically means that the individual is honored. Because acceptance is paramount, there is no such thing as bullying here.

Before he started Kindergarten, I was a wreck, thoroughly convinced that there was no way that my son would survive even a day of Kindergarten. I wrote a letter to the principal of this school, expressing my concerns. To my shock, she called me and invited me to bring The Child in a few days before school started to meet with her and his teacher. This was the beginning of the support and acceptance that was offered to me by this school. As a single mother with no family or support, this meant the world to me.

It was still traumatic for The Child to start school, even after the generous preparation from the principal and teacher. All-day Kindergarten was too much for him. But thank heavens he was in that particular school, where his lessons could be learned in a caring and conscious environment.

One morning I dropped him off in his Kindergarten classroom, and just before I rushed off to work, I became aware of a problem brewing. One of his classmates, one who indulged in the alteration of facts to suit his agenda, was becoming enraged because The Child was in after-school latchkey and he wasn't. The Troublemaker was telling the teacher that The Child had been taunting him and telling him lies about latchkey, of all things. (Hard though it is to imagine, The Troublemaker was actually upset that he wasn't in latchkey.)

I knew what had been going on between the two boys because The Child had been diligent about telling me EVERYTHING. When I arrived at work, I called the principal of the school to tell her what was going on, and I was so worked up that I was shaking as I informed her that the teacher was preparing to send The Child to detention over a problem that had been fabricated by The Troublemaker.

In any other school The Child would have been sent to detention and been reprimanded, whether he deserved it or not. At this school, the principal made a beeline to the Kindergarten room, where she intervened and took the two boys to her office. Using top-notch problem-solving techniques, she heard each boy's version of events. In a fit of brilliance, she called The Troublemaker's big brother into her office to check out the facts as presented by The Troublemaker, and sure enough, Big Brother exposed the fabrication.

One of the things I loved about this school was its bookstore. Families and teachers donated their used books, and the books were then sold to students at prices ranging from a penny to a dollar, and the proceeds were used for school projects. I volunteered at the bookstore, and really enjoyed being in charge one afternoon each week. I met lots of students that way, and enjoyed watching the children embark upon a lifelong love affair with books.

Today I was much more distraught than the Child was over the end of our relationship with this school. I console myself with the reminder that the relationship may be over, but the lessons learned, by both The Child and his mother, are everlasting.

from Dorothy Parker

Indian Summer
by Dorothy Parker


In youth, it was a way I had
To do my best to please,
And change, with every passing lad,
To suit his theories.

But now I know the things I know,
And do the things I do;
And if you do not like me so,
To hell, my love, with you!


I recently happened upon this poem by Dorothy Parker. I suppose it's sad to say that it resonated with me, even though I certainly hope that I haven't yet entered the Indian Summer of my life.

Beginning in high school, I was definitely guilty of that chameleon-like behavior which Dorothy describes so laconically. I kept it up until The Child came along, and at that point I seem to have taken on Ms. Parker's Indian Summer attitude.

I have a theory which resulted from my awareness of that phenomenon: maybe my former "lad-pleasing" behavior was actually inspired, unbeknownst to me, by a biological urge to reproduce. Once that happened, I was allowed to be myself and let the chips (or lads) fall as they may.

I have always preferred to do my own thing, although, admittedly, there are those rare occasions when it would be nice to have a companion. When the Child grows up and flies the coop, there will be a void.

Maybe then I'll have to revert to my youthful ways.

Meanwhile, here are a couple of shots from my walk in the park today:

What would YOU have done?

Can you see that white flower in the middle of the above photo? It's an iris- one of the star bloomers at this time of year. Until a few minutes ago, that single iris was surrounded by many others.

Here's what happened: I happened to be looking out of my living room window into the park on which my house is situated. That's when I saw a woman walk up to the flower bed of irises and bend down. I thought she was just getting a closer look, until I realized that she was actually picking the flowers! There were no people around, and she certainly didn't know that I was watching from inside my house.

As she walked toward the parking lot with her booty, I debated whether I should let it go or confront her. The decision was made as I found myself standing a few feet from her car, saying (in a voice loud enough to be heard but not yelling), "I think that what you just did is illegal."

She mumbled a dismissive "yeah" without looking at me and proceeded to enter her car.

Not quite ready to let it go, I added, "Not only that, but it's not fair to your fellow man."

No response, and she drove off.

I've been around long enough to usually have a sense of whether I've done the right thing or not. In this case, I'm unsure. As the sole witness to this woman's indiscretion, was I morally obligated to let her know that she was seen and judged? Or was it none of my business? Was I standing up for the taxpayers of this city whose money paid for those flowers? Was I upholding the law? Was I speaking on behalf of the many people who enjoy this park and its flowers? Or was I just using her weak moment to try to boost myself into a morally superior position?

Thank you, mother

for all the "square" meals you prepared
for the huge roast you made just for me when you found out I was anemic
for taking me to see the New York City Ballet
for the treats you put in my bag lunches
for all of the term papers you typed (and re-typed)
for making it possible for me to explore my interests
for the horse-drawn carriage rides around Central Park
for teaching me how to "mother" on the day my puppy was bitten by a bee
for doing the best you could to show a defiant daughter how to snare a boy
for making lime slush for every holiday meal because it was my favorite
for providing a good example of "moderation in all things"
for not being jealous those times when I preferred to spend time with your mother
for providing a constant example of the saying "you catch more bees with honey"
for allowing me to be myself, even though "myself" was foreign to you in many ways
for inadvertently teaching me by example to not let a man run my life
for the fresh baked cookies you mailed to me at summer camp
for taking me to Saratoga for that concert I just had to attend
for planning all those picnic lunches for the two of us
for allowing me more freedom than most parents would have
for believing in me beyond reason

parenting

Today I realized that good parenting requires a fertile imagination. It's so easy to be bogged down with the challenges of everyday life, especially for single parents, and especially in today's economy.

Yesterday, for example, I kept asking The Child all day long what he'd like to do. I was hoping for the art museum, zoo or science museum. He had other ideas- he wanted to spend the day on the computer. I had things to do, so I waited. And waited.

Finally sometime late in the afternoon he that he wanted to go to Cinnabon for a cinnamon roll. By this time, I was tired, hungry, frustrated and upset about something that was going on at work. I drove him across town to Cinnabon, griping the whole way. By the time we arrived, he was miserable and I was guilty.

I tried to apologize and smooth things over, explaining the things that were bothering me so that he'd know it wasn't about him. I asked if he wanted to go anywhere else, but he just wanted to return home.

This morning he cried before we left for his school bus stop. He strongly dislikes school, and didn't want to go. I tried to be on my best behavior, asking if there was anything I could do to brighten his morning- short of letting him stay home, that is.

When I returned home after his bus roared off, I sat on the patio feeding peanuts to the squirrels and chipmunks. I wished The Child could have been there with me, because I wanted to talk to him about the reason I do this.

Then something very rare happened: I had a good idea. I ran into the house to get a pen and paper, and I wrote The Child a letter, saying what I would have said had he been there.

This accomplished two things: I communicated my beliefs to him, and I provided him with a writing example. Although The Child is an excellent reader, he has never really enjoyed writing- a common problem among boys.

I am curious about any parenting breakthroughs or pearls of wisdom you all may have to offer- on any aspect of parenting at all- not related specifically to the incident described here. I just want to hear about any examples you have of parenting successes! Those of you who don't have a child are invited to weigh in- you certainly don't have to be a parent to have parenting ideas or theories.