Where did the little boy go???

Well, Adam has been officially gone -- at college -- for two weeks now. People keep asking me if I miss him. Up until today, I'd have to say, "Not really." But I have had a good excuse. As a teacher, I had to hit the ground running with the start of my school two days after we dropped Adam off. So, I really haven't had much time to even think about missing him.

This morning was another story though. As I reached for the fridge door, my eye caught a photo -- actually a group of photos in a clump under a magnet. My kids started a tradition several years ago of going into the photo booth at Great Adventure once each summer and taking goofy pictures. Each year they add the newest strip to the collection. As my hand reached for the milk, my eyes were drawn to this photo montage of my funny-faced kids squished into a photo booth mugging for the camera. That's when it hit me. I don't miss Adam per se. I miss his boyhood, his innocence, his lack of self consciousness. I miss his cute little boy expression, his gawky, skinny, long-necked puberty face, his not quite, but almost a man-ness. As cliche as it sounds, where did the time go?

Tonight I picked up the phone to hear Adam's voice saying cheerfully, "Hi Mommy!" I must admit -- being called Mommy instead of Mom made me feel like maybe the little boy is still in there somewhere...

Summer daze...

God, I love summer. Today I woke up at 10:30, drank coffee, read for awhile, gabbed on the phone with a girlfriend. Now I am going to shower, go to the gym, and then get a deep tissue massage. Can you even imagine a better day? There is something so recuperative about the lazy days of summer. It's too bad that it takes me almost half of the summer just to slow down enough to enjoy the slow tempo. Here it is, the end of July, and I am finally "in the groove."

On another note, I received an email from a coworker about Israel that I just had to post here. My son returned from Israel three days prior to one of the towns he visited being hit by missiles. At no point in my life have I ever felt more strongly about future of this country. Dennis Miller echos my thoughts exactly. I wish I could be as eloquent as he is.

Middle East Conflict According to Dennis Miller

For those who don't know, Dennis Miller is a comedian who has a show called Dennis Miller Live on HBO.He is not Jewish.He recently said the following about the Mideast situation:

"A brief overview of the situation is always valuable, so as a service to all Americans who still don't get it, I now offer you the story of the Middle East in just a few paragraphs,which is all you really need.Here we go:

The Palestinians want their own country.There's just one thing about that: There are no Palestinians. It's a made up word. Israel was called Palestine for two thousand years.Like "Wiccan," "Palestinian" sounds ancient but is really a modern invention. Before the Israelis won the land in the 1967 war, Gaza was owned by Egypt, the West Bank was owned by Jordan, and there were no "Palestinians." As soon as the Jews took over and started growing oranges as big as basketballs, what do you know, say hello to the "Palestinians,"weeping for their deep bond with their lost "land" and "nation." So for the sake of honesty, let's not use the word "Palestinian" anymore to describe these delightful folks, who dance for joy at our deaths, until someone points out they're being taped. Instead, let's call them what they are: "Other Arabs Who Can't Accomplish Anything In Life And Would Rather Wrap Themselves In The Seductive Melodrama Of Eternal Struggle And Death." I know that's a bit unwieldy to expect to see on CNN. How about this, then: "Adjacent Jew-Haters."

Okay, so the Adjacent Jew-Haters want their own country. Oops, just one more thing. No, they don't. They could've had their own country any time in the last thirty years, especially two years ago at Camp David but if you have your own country, you have to have traffic lights and garbage trucks and Chambers of Commerce, and worse, you actually have to figure out some way to make a living. That's no fun. No, they want what all the other Jew-Haters in the region want: Israel. They also want a big pile of dead Jews, of course -- that's where the real fun is -- but mostly they want Israel. Why? For one thing, trying to destroy Israel - or "The Zionist Entity" as their textbooks call it --for the last fifty years has allowed the rulers of Arab countries to divert the attention of their own people away from the fact that they're the blue-ribbon most illiterate, poorest, and tribally backward on God's Earth, and if you've ever been around God's Earth . . . you know that's really saying something. It makes me roll my eyes every time one of our pundits waxes poetic about the great history and culture of the Muslim Midleast. Unless I'm missing something, the Arabs haven't given anything to the world since Algebra, and, by the way, thanks a hell of a lot for that one.

Chew this around and spit it out: 500 million Arabs; 5 million Jews.Think of all the Arab countries as a football field, and Israel as a pack of matches sitting in the middle of it. And now these same folks swear tha if Israel gives them half of that pack of matches, everyone will be pals.. Really? Wow, what neat news. Hey, but what about the string of wars to obliterate the tiny country and the constant din of rabid blood oaths to drive every Jew into the sea? Oh, that? We were just kidding. My friend Kevin Rooney made a gorgeous point the other day: Just reverse the numbers. Imagine 500 million Jews and 5 million Arabs. I was stunned at the simple brilliance of it. Can anyone picture the Jews strapping belts of razor blades and dynamite to themselves? Of course not. Or marshaling every fiber and force at their disposal for generations to drive a tiny Arab State into the sea? Nonsense. Or dancing for joy at the murder of innocents? Impossible. Or spreading and believing horrible lies about the Arabs baking their bread with the blood of children? Disgusting. No, as you know, left to themselves in a world of peace, the worst Jews would ever do to people is debate them to death.

Mr. Bush, God bless him, is walking a tightrope. I understand that, with vital operations in Iraq and others, it's in our interest, as Americans, to try to stabilize our Arab allies as much as possible, and, after all, that can't be much harder than stabilizing a roomful of super models who've just had their drugs taken away. However, in any big-picture strategy, there's always a danger of losing moral weight . We've already lost some. After September 11th, our president told us and the world he was going to root out all terrorists and the countries that supported them. Beautiful.Then the Israelis, after months and months of having the equivalent of an Oklahoma City every week (and then every day),start to do the same thing we did, and we tell them to show restraint. If America were being attacked with an Oklahoma City every day,we would all very shortly be screaming for the administration to just be done with it and kill everything south of the Mediterranean and east of the Jordan.

Please feel free to pass this along to your friends. Walk in peace! Be Happy! Have a wonderful life!

On the Road Again...

My daughter and I will be hitting the road again as of tomorrow -- on the never-ending quest for the perfect college. I thought this was going to be a fun process, but I quickly learned last year with my son that 17-year olds are not even close to ready for this adventure into their futures. When we took Adam to look at colleges, it was an exercise in mind reading, trying to figure out what his impressions were. "Well," I thought, "he's a boy. They don't communicate." I figured Arlyn would be so much easier.

How wrong I was. On our first trip, which was down to the University of Florida and Florida State, Arlyn was, to put it bluntly, bitchy as hell. Not much gratitude to the mother who spent a small fortune for this little three day foray, I thought. On our third and last day there, Arlyn turned to me and said, "I'm not ready to go to college." AHA! Light bulb! Eureka moment! This is what the bitchiness has been all about. It's so much easier for her, like Adam, to hide in denial than to face these monumental decisions. I'm pushing my kids out of the nest. And a comfy nest it's been. No wonder...

The Countdown

Being a teacher has allowed me to relive a time-honored childhood tradition -- the countdown. Yes, even teachers begin the countdown to the last day of school at some point in May. Like the kids, I find myself recounting the days every so often, just to make sure my calculations are right, and squirming in my seat while daydreaming about endless steamy afternoons baking on the beach with a good book.

To me, summer is all about sleeping late, reading and beach time. Now that I think about it, my summer priorities haven't changed since I was in fifth grade. I specifically remember that year because it was the summer we moved. Since I didn't know many kids in the neighborhood, I spent most of my time reading anything I could get my hands on, and meticulously keeping a list of all completed books. While I can't remember the exact number, I think I hit somewhere in the 50's. (Yup, I was a closet nerd.) Any other free time was spent at the beach, since we lived only a few miles away, and belonged to a beach club. I could go on for hours about beach club memories -- the chlorine smell, pretzel sticks at the snack bar, running back and forth between the pool and the ocean, watching the moms sit around and gossip and knit, watching the teenagers make out under blankets on the sand...

I miss those long days of books and beach. Every summer I promise myself that I will read more and go to the beach more often. In reality, I do end up doing some catch-up reading, but it's usually while stretched out on my family room couch rather than in a beach chair with my toes in the sand. So here's my fantasy about how this summer will work: Get up early, stop by the gym for a vigorous workout, and then head straight to the beach, armed with umbrella, chair and fabulous book -- at least twice a week. Only 16 days to go...

WWJD???

So, I was talking to my parents this past weekend. Actually, that is not technically correct. I was venting to my parents about something that was bugging me. As usual, they did their parent thing and went directly into what I like to refer to as "advise mode," -- offering advice on how to remedy this situation. Do all parents automatically do this? I mean, do I do this with my kids? Is it part of the parent job description? While I sometimes appreciate the advice, often I just want to VENT. Anyway, back to the story. I'm whining away, really working myself into a good cathartic bitch session, when my father utters the following question: "What would Joe do?"

It is a well known fact that my parents love Joe. In their minds, the guy walks on water, eats quiche, you name it. (Let's face it -- he married me, which means they don't have to worry...) While I tend to to heat up and cool down quickly when it comes to temper, Joe is quieter and steadier in temperament, a businessman (just bid'nez, he likes to say). I suddently realized that my father was stepping aside in his advice-giving role and handing the baton to my husband. Something felt very old fashioned, very un-women's lib about this, but at the same time, endearing. It's sweet and comforting to know these men are looking out for me.

When I got off the phone with my parents, I hurried to find Joe and inform him of his new role -- and my new slogan for him -- WWJD -- What would Joe do? We had a good laugh over this one.

(Just in case, for those of you who don't get the Oriental Trading catalogue or haven't been into Spencer's in a long time, WWJD in the real world stands for "What would Jesus do?")

What's in a name? That which we call a rose..."

Teaching eighth graders certainly has its moments. These kids can be annoying, frustrating, endearing, or hilarious -- and all within a matter of minutes. Each year I've had one student who enjoys "changing" my name. Last year it was Mike, who instead of calling me Mrs. Fallon, spent the year calling me Mrs. Failin'. Unfortunately for him, he created the name from personal experience. This year it's Connor. It started one morning when he had a question, and instead of calling out my name, out slipped "Mom!" The whole class cracked up while lanky, gangly Connor slid into his seat, turning several shades of crimson. Since then, he's learned to appreciate the humor, not to mention the attention, and continues to call me "Mom." However, this past week a new name slipped out. While trying to get my attention, he yelled out, "Yo!" to which I sarcastically responded, "Excuse me????" to which he responded, "I'm sorry. I meant Mrs. Yo." Ya gotta give credit where it's due. It was a nice save. So, now it seems that until June 21st I'm "Mrs. Yo." I wonder what it will be next year?

I Don't Give a Good God Damn...

I really didn't understand my grandmother's favorite saying, "I don't give a good God damn" until recently. I think it has to do with this milestone 50th birthday staring me in the face.

My grandmother was way ahead of her time. She was French, arrogant as hell, and lived life exactly the way she wanted. She would tell my grandfather that everything cost twice as much as it really did so he would give her more $$, and then when she'd saved enough, she'd head off to Paris, leaving him with a bunch of frozen dinners. Needless to say, he was not pleased. She would purse her mouth the way French people do, arch her eyebrows, and say, "I don't give a good God damn..."

How many of us can say we live that freely? As we women get older, though, we do begin to shed some of those constraints that have kept us grounded. I guess that's the philosophy of those red hat ladies. We just don't seem to care as much anymore what other people think. For example, we start to pay more attention to comfort than style. We're not as obsessed with dieting as we once were. We clean house every so often, dumping energy vampire and high maintenance friends who just aren't worth our limited stores of energy. I guess that's the tradeoff for aging. Our bodies start to succumb to gravity and head south, but damn are we liberated! I think I'm going to like this phase.... Yup, I don't give a good God damn!

I'm Just Curious!

As a person who loves to write, and as a woman about to reach that tender "certain" age, this seemed like as good a time as any to start my own blog. Then a conversation this afternoon with Pat Vac fueled the fire, as we bi-coastally brainstormed ideas of how to capitalize on the public's (and our) thirst for reality TV shows such as "Housewives of the OC." The point is -- we really do like to see how other people live. It all comes down to being voyeuristic, or should I more politely say curious??? Isn't this why we go to high school reunions? To see how good or bad our peers look, who's lost their hair, who grew a pot belly, who still looks hot, how many of us women are now blond?

Personally, I don't think there's anything wrong with being curious about others. Sometimes I think life is all about the details. The other day my daughter Arlyn and I were standing in line at Starbuck's and I was doing "it" again -- staring at someone. I don't realize I'm doing it. She elbows me in the ribs, rolls her eyes like only almost 17 year-olds can do, and whines, "Mommmmmm, stop it. You're sooo embarassing." (Of course, my having a pulse embarasses her...) I don't even remember what I was staring at. It could have been an interesting tattoo or a fingernail with one of those weird rhinestones glued on it. The point is, I like to notice the details -- the beauty of a face, the curve of a neck, hairs sprouting out of weird places. It doesn't matter. I find them fascinating. So, I guess the point here is, the next time you notice someone staring at you, consider it a compliment. Maybe they're curious too.