Writing - It's My Thing

"Shock Rock"... What a CROCK.

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 21:15:00 +0000

Creepy masks. Funky costumes. Profanity. Makeup. Fake blood. Satanic symbols. Moshpits. And that's not even the tip of the iceberg. Public nudity and urination. Simulated sex acts and killings. Defamation of women. Defamation of the Bible.

If you can't figure it out from the name, "shock rock" is basically rock music - and I use that term lightly - combined with theatrics for the purposes of shocking the audience/listeners/moms within earshot.

Last night I watched a program with my 14-year old son called "Metal Evolution". This week's episode focused on the history and background of this incredibly inane genre of music, and I was forced to bite my lip on a number of occasions as my son shouted out various band member's names as they appeared on the screen like it was Norm walking into Cheers. Names like "Lemmy" (who is so popular that nearly everyone knows that's Lemmy Kilmister from that trippy band Motörhead, "Joey" (Joey Jordison from Slipknot, (RIP bassist Paul Gray, who died in 2010 from an overdose. SHOCK!), "Oderus" (Oderus Urungus from that cooky dress-up band GWAR) and let's not forget Brian Warner, aka Marilyn Manson. And I'm not even going to link to these parasites - it just feeds their depravity.

Honestly, I could write volumes on my intense disgust of these bands, but that proclamation only seems to fuel their fire. Here's what I see. Take Slipknot for example. They all wear these really crazy masks, from a clown to some sort of weird face cast with spikes sticking out of it. Their vocalist says, "It's our way of becoming more intimate with the music. It's a way for us to become unconscious of who we are and what we do outside of music." But then last night on this Metal Evolution show, the Clown guy says, "It's for every kid who listens to us who feels lost in life - like he has no identity and struggles to fit in. I grew up in an alcoholic family, so this is my way of masking my pain." I look at my son: "Do you feel lost in life? No identity?" Son: "No." Me: "You don't come from an alcoholic family. You have a good family. We're sitting here on a Saturday night snuggled under the blankets in front of the fire eating popcorn and watching Slipknot. How much better does it get?" Son: no reply.

The way I see it, these are misguided, whiny, self-serving, judgmental narcissists who have gotten lucky enough to get their mug and their trashy messages on TV and radio in order to infiltrate and pollute the immature and completely volatile minds of young teenagers.

Oh, wait. They have a message.

Enter Alice Cooper, the grandfather, if you will, of shock rock. What he did back in the 70's today makes him look like Karen Carpenter. And I must say, if I have to pick a favorite shock rocker, and I hope I never do, it would probably be him. Anyway, he starts explaining the rationale behind this shock rock. When Marilyn Manson rips pages from the Bible onstage, he's not propagating destroying the Bible. He's trying to get across his issues with Christianity. When Slipknot "sings" about nihilism and killing, they're really talking about how society is singlehandedly killing itself. Oh, and it's really all just for fun. This Clown guy? He lives in Iowa with his wife and four children. How proud they must all be of their daddy when he comes back to the cornfield for the weekend.

Oh, wait, NOW I get it! How silly of me! What better way to make the world a better place than by dressing up, performing lewd acts on stage and screaming lyrics about killing your mother to a crowd of kids you affectionately call "Maggots"! Kind of a "hair of the dog that bit ya", is that it?

And an aside here. Remember back when Tipper Gore and her motley crew were crusading for that "Parental Advisory - Explicit Lyrics" on any albums or CDs that fit the criteria? Shock bands all over the word THANK you, Tippie, because you just made those bands that much more palatable to your young influential brood.

Here's my opinion, and I'm sure it can be picked apart in a myriad of ways. I get that music is an expressive art. I get that there is Freedom of Speech. I get that these bands will basically argue that they are only expressing their personal, political and societal views utilizing drama and song, kind of like Glee on meth. But here's the deal. IT'S MY KID. And I don't like how you profess your views. And I don't like your masks. And I don't like your screaming. And I don't like your lyrics. And I don't like your message. But you have an edge on me. You're bigger than me. You are everywhere. You're on the radio. You're on YouTube. You're on my kid's iPod. You're his ringtone. You're at his friend's house. You're in his school. And I want you OUT. NOW. Before you do any more damage.

Unfortunately, it's not as easy as "Well, don't let your child listen to that garbage!" Um, do you have a teenager? Can you police him 24 hours a day? And if you forbid it, doesn't it make it that much more palatable?

What I'd like is a little help here. I can go into a whole other post about how we as a society have allowed the entertainment industry to back us into a corner - to push the envelope of decency, morals and how far they streeeeeeeeetch that whole Freedom of Speech to include "whatever the hell you want". Somebody is misinterpreting that one BIG TIME. And I want to do something about it.

I may sound like a fuddy duddy. I'm sure my parents didn't like my Van Halen, Def Leppard and Aerosmith from back in the 80's. But at least the worst most of those lyrics consisted of was dancing the night away, jumping or at the very worst, being hot for teacher. I'd like to think that I've tried to follow my son's musical tastes with an open mind - at least trying to learn the moral behind the madness. But I've come to the conclusion that there is none. And it pisses me off.

Attention shock rockers: Take your screaming, violet, foul-mouth angst and put it back in your basement. Or your parent's garage. Or that rock you crawled out from under. I don't need you yelling it into my kid's brain. And to the powers that be that think this is "fine" and that they're free to do whatever they want? I hope you're not around to see how this country is run when all these little "Maggots" grow up. It's going to be a shocking world.

Mom Guilt

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 03:06:00 +0000

You know it, you've felt it. You can't get away from it. I don't know of any mom who hasn't experienced Mom Guilt at some point in her parenting career - me included.

And I'm one of the lucky ones.

Whenever I feel as if I'm dissing my parental duties (note: these are completely different than the areas I'm backing off of from my last post), I think about the moms who really have it rough. The unemployed moms who can't provide at all for their kids. The moms who have to work two and three jobs in order to make ends meet. The moms with health problems or the moms taking care of other family members with health problems. Pretty much any mom whose "momness" balance is so upset that the ratio of parenting to everything else is ridiculously skewed.

I can't imagine how they feel.

I was a stay-at-home mom for about seven years. Not necessarily by choice - but I'm thankful I got to do it. I wondered if I would have what it takes to stay home all day long with kids. With a husband in the military and an odd work schedule to boot, my employment outside the home just wasn't in the cards. And as much as I someday wanted to have a career, I wasn't planning on getting divorced and being shoved back into the workforce wondering what my 5 and 9 year old were going to do outside the hours of school. And holidays. And breaks. And summer.

But I digress.

As a SAHM, there wasn't much guilt. Only the pressure to perform. To take that SAHM job description to the next level. To be America's Next Top PTC Mom. To make all the birthday cakes from scratch - using diagrams found on the internet and lots of fondant. To schedule playdates and educational outings and play games that would stimulate their physical and mental growth. To limit TV and other electronics and make sure that they had enough outside time. To cook nutritional meals, provide healthy snacks, and read at least 30 minutes a day to them. I rarely had a babysitter, and if I did, it was family.

I loved having a career, and I missed having a career. But when I first went back, it wasn't quite the same. I didn't feel as focused; as driven. My kids were always in the back of my mind. Were they OK? Did I pack their lunch? Did they finish their homework? Were those just sniffles or the first signs of something worse? Was whoever taking care of them making sure they were safe? And entertained yet educated? And more importantly, did they wonder where I was? I was careful not to take on too much work. Or to be too outgoing or share too many ideas that may lead to some kind of career progression. I wanted to work, then be done and go home. My two lives just didn't play well together.

But I was lucky. Number One, that I got a job in my profession (writing), and Number Two, that my profession can be done, in part, at home. So I didn't have to be gone as much as many career moms. But my kids were spoiled by having a SAHM, and the summer days they had to go to camp ("WE HATE CAMP!") instead of spending lazy days by the pool with their friends, made me feel very torn.

As they've gotten older, it's become a little easier - probably because it's become more routine. And as they grow more responsible and self-sufficient, I have been able to settle in better to that career mode from long ago. I absolutely love my job and the people with whom I work. And I'm starting to get that itch. That itch to have my career back, instead of just a job that I go to for a few hours a day while my kids are at school. I'm starting to be able to dive in to work and (I admit) not think about my kids until it's time to go pick them up, unless there is that dreaded call from the school office. I'm starting to have ideas. To wonder how I'm going to grow in this job. To take a vested interest in where I'm working.

Then there are days like the past few, where work has been crazy, and it's been necessary to put in more hours than my kids are used to. And the guilt creeps back in. Grandparents and friends have to be called at the last minute to pick up kids from school. Kids have to be informed that someone else is picking them up, or they're supposed to ride the bus home somewhere else, or they'll be getting to school via some other mom. Homework has gone unsigned, lunches have been forgotten, and "why have you been working so much?" has been uttered more than once. It's agonizing.

And I don't even have it that bad. There are moms (and dads) at my job who are working far more than me. Late, late hours. Traveling. Working at home while the kids are off somewhere else in the house. That's not the norm for me. But it happens enough to make this single parent cringe just a little bit.

But I once again struggle for balance. Parenting is still Number One, though not quite as intensely as it was five or ten years ago. I'm still sacrificing career for motherhood to an extent, and that's fine - most days. It sucks leaving my co-workers when I know I could easily put in a few more hours in the office. It also sucks trying to explain to the kids why I wasn't there when they got home.

I'll have plenty of years to work as long and as hard as I want - or am needed - hopefully in this same job. (Hell, at the rate of my retirement plan, I'll be working for the rest of my life.) The kids won't always be kids, and they're not going to "need" me the way they need me now for that much longer. I never want to look back and wish that I had spent more time with them. I may have regrets in my career, but they are no match for the regrets that I would have knowing that I missed out on the part of their life that I was SUPPOSED to be there for. My kids are already going to look back on their childhood and say, "Well, my parents divorced when I was.....". The last thing I want is for them to have to add "...and my mom was never home because she worked all the time." So I'll try to make these long work weeks few and far between, and try to straddle this teeter-totter for as long as I have to, or as long as I can. Whichever comes first.

I've decided to quit parenting.

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 00:42:00 +0000

OK, that's an exaggeration.

In my head, though, I FEEL as if I'm quitting parenting. Because I'm supposed to be SuperMom. The woman who can make a grilled cheese for breakfast (because that's the only thing he'll eat), pack lunches to hopefully make up for the lousy breakfast, check on, help with and sign homework, drive to tumbling class and "ooh and ahh" over the latest flip or twist, find Vans shoes on sale because he likes them even though I think name brands are silly, create a dinner out of nothing (tonight it was mozzarella sticks, apples with the peels cut off and cinnamon raisin toast), praise the good stuff, discipline the bad stuff, teach what I know, love what I've got and remember to unload big and little boy pockets so things don't go bump in the laundry.

And I'll probably continue to do those things - like all moms do. But thanks to years of therapy, lots of soul searching and some long discussions with another SuperMom of four children (my mom), I've decided that my New Year's resolution is to BACK THE HELL OFF. Back off from being that helicopter parent (yes, I've denied that title for years, but after seeing how other parents roll, I think I'm definitely flying high), back off from being a human shield from any and every disappointment that my children may encounter, back off from trying to ensure that there are no failures, no wrong decisions, no repercussions.

Because in doing those things, I'm failing them as a parent. And I hate to fail. So I quit.

It's time to realize that in trying to rescue my kids from any possible bad thing that could happen to them, I'm actually not helping them set themselves up to be adults. Think about it. The person you are today is, in part, due to how you were raised. But what really shaped you is what you discovered through trial and error. The decisions you made - good and bad. The trials you went through that made you stronger. The effort you had to expel - mentally, physically and spiritually - to find your way out of any given situation. And the wisdom you gained by the whole process.

So I'm backing off. My mom calls it "tough love". (Tougher on me than them, I think.) It's not always catching them when they fall. It's putting in your two cents, then stepping aside and letting them make their own decision, regardless of whether or not I think it's what I would do, or what they should do. It's knowing the consequences and biting your tongue and letting them experience it for themselves.

I'm still trying to gauge when to back off and when to step up. When to sit on the side of the pool, when to dip my toe in, and when to plunge feet-first into the deep end, life preserver in hand. I think it's on a case-by-case basis. Recently I intervened in my son's school schedule - adding a class that I, his counselor and teacher thought he should take. It was for his benefit. It made sense. It would help him in the long run. He would be good at it and meet new friends. It would all be fine.

He didn't want to do it. He liked his schedule just fine. He didn't care what it would do for his future. It didn't make sense to him. He didn't want to meet new people.

Instead of forcing the issue (which I would have normally done), I sat him down and said, "This is why I think you should do this. This is why I think it might be detrimental if you don't do this. This is why I think you don't want to do this. Now it's up to you." He changed his schedule back - to my dismay. But somehow, knowing that I voiced my opinion and did the whole "what's best for you" speech acted kind of like a disclaimer in my favor. Not in an "I told you so" way, but in a "next time think of this" way. We'll see.

My mom equated this "tough love" to a saying she has hanging on her wall. I think I gave it to her years ago, before I was a parent. I either thought it was cool, or was trying to tell her to back the hell off. I don't remember. Ironically, when I asked her to send me the verbiage, she mentioned that it is attributed to Erma Bombeck, one of my favorite writers:

"Children are like kites. You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground. You run with them until you're both breathless - they crash - you add a longer tail - they hit the roof top - you pluck them out of the spout - you patch and comfort, adjust and teach. You watch them lifted by the wind and assure them that someday they'll fly! Finally they are airborne, but they need more string and you keep letting it out and with each twist of the ball of twine, there is a sadness that goes with the joy because the kite becomes more distant and somehow you know that it won't be long before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that bound you together and soar as it was meant to soar - free and alone." My mom says she likes to add the line, "Still you stand by and wait - just in case they need rescue from a kite-eating tree or a fierce wind."

I hate flying kites. I'm always afraid something is going to go wrong - like the string will break and the kite will sail off into the trees, out of my control - and stuck - with me standing there and not being able to do anything about it. On the other hand, I'm not sure what good it would do if the kite got stuck while I was still hanging on to the string - not much I can do there, either, other than shake it in frustration and mutter some select curse words and vow never to fly another kite again.

And the big stuff? The small, less life-changing decisions are hard enough. I don't know how I'll handle letting them really face the music for their decisions versus trying to make it all better. I know there could be some bad juju that comes down the line. So I'm starting small. But if I make every decision for them, and bail them out of any negative situation, they'll never learn. They'll never be strong. They'll never know the depth of their consequences, and the agony of making the hard decisions.

And... they'll never leave the house.

Tales from the waiting room

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 16:37:00 +0000

So I'm sitting here in the surgery waiting room at OSF Saint Francis Medical Center with my family. My mom is in her third hour of surgery, under the careful and hopefully precise direction of Dr. LoCoco and the da Vinci robot, which we have affectionately named "Leo".

We've been in this waiting room before. Nine months ago, we were here when my mom had a cancerous kidney removed. Today, it's a hysterectomy and removal of cancer on her omentum, the lining of the stomach. While the surgery is major, I worry more about the six months of chemo that is ahead for her.

But right now, I don't want to think about that. Every time I'm here, I feel like I just walked onto a movie set. If I'm on the elevator with a surgeon, dressed in his scrubs and little cap with a mask hanging off his face, it's like I'm face to face with a celebrity. I see the nurses rushing around, in and out of patient's rooms, and I'm amazed at how they can do this day after day and still treat each patient like a human being and remember that though it's the norm for the nurse, it's most likely not the norm for the patient.

As I navigate the halls of this huge place, I peek in rooms (even though I shouldn't). I see people in obvious pain and wonder how their lives have been changed by what has put them in this place. I sit in this waiting room and see a range of people - those who have obviously have been down this road before and those that look scared stiff. I see families congregating (like mine) and passing the time talking, on laptops or cellphones. Right now, my sister is on her phone, I am on my laptop and my brother and dad are each on their iPads. I wonder what has brought each of these people to this place and if the patients they are waiting for know how worried those in this room are, praying everything goes as planned. As we go past the third hour of what was supposed to be a two hour surgery for my mom, I think we're all getting a little uncomfortable.

My mom is the first surgery of the day. Dr. LoCoco has two more after this. My dad just commented that he'd hate to be the third surgery of the day. I honestly think that surgeons are cut from a different mold (no pun intended). I know several people who have the life and work ethic that surgeons do, and I sometimes wish that I could jump into their lives for just a day to see how truly different their brains work. I think it would be fascinating.

Right now, I'm just thankful that he and "Leo" are working together, hopefully taking the extra time to make sure they get every bit of cancer that has invaded my mother's body. And I say a prayer for her as well as all the other people in this waiting room and in this hospital, and for all of the staff here that live this "norm" for all of us who don't each and every day.

The Year In Review

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 05:37:00 +0000

Wowza. You know, every December 31 or so, I've been known to write a letter to myself recapping the year and pondering what the next may bring. Thinking back on previous years, I'm always amazed at how unpredictable they can be - and this one has been no exception.

Think about it. One year ago today, where were you? Who were you with? What were you doing? How were you feeling? What did you expect for the coming year? Fast forward 365 days. How'd ya do with those predictions? Are you in the same place, with the same person, doing the same thing and feeling the same way? Perhaps yes, but probably not.

As you may have gathered if you're a regular Writing - It's My Thing reader, this past year was a roller coaster - full of twists and turns, ups and downs. In fact, it was so topsy-turvy, I, for the first time in I don't know how many years, didn't send out a Christmas newsletter. You know, the ones that highlight how great your kids are and how wonderful life has been for the past year? I joked on my Facebook page that mine would have read like a chapter out of a Stephen King novel. No one would believe it and it would be pretty scary.

See, if I wrote one, I'd want to hit all the highlights, which were pretty much monthly:

January: High hopes for the new year!

February: My Green Bay Packers win the Super Bowl!

March: I put my house of 12 years on the market.

April: My otherwise active and healthy mother is diagnosed with kidney cancer, and has said kidney successfully removed, with no apparent residual cancer. Her recovery - which they said could last as long as nine months - is remarkable - just like her.

May: My oldest son is confirmed, has his First Communion, and graduates from 8th grade. We Kennards like to do our accomplishments in threes.

June: My house sells. My family and I take a trip that opens my eyes and changes my life, and results in me enduring one of the hardest summers I can ever remember. I lose 10 pounds.

July: Both sons celebrate birthdays! I discover that two of my friends have breast cancer, and I am somehow drawn to them even more and they become my inspiration.

August: After three weeks of living out of suitcases, we move into our new home.

September: My oldest starts his freshman year at a brand new school.

October: I get a team together to join a volleyball league at the RiverPlex. I begin to gain back the 10 pounds.

November: I celebrate my one-year anniversary of being employed. My sister-in-law suffers a stroke at a Bears game in Chicago. My mother is diagnosed with ovarian cancer, which apparently had nothing to do with the kidney cancer. Neither disease runs in our family. I begin compiling blog material to publish my own book.

December: My book is published! The family unites for a thankful Christmas and braces for Mom's surgery and subsequent chemotherapy starting in January. I start wondering what 2012 will bring, and hope I can write more like Erma Bombeck than Steven King at the end of it all.

Happy New Year to everyone, and may 2012 bring you everything you hope for, and nothing more than God thinks you can handle.

"Count your blessings, and forget the rest"

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 02:09:00 +0000

It's two days before Christmas, and this year more than ever, I'm not feeling it. Perhaps it's the ages of my kids - now 10 and 14. Five years ago, I would still have been frantically baking my 12th kind of cookie and making sure each gift was wrapped in different colored paper. I would have test-drove the stocking stuffers to make sure they fit in said stockings, and ensured that my video camera was charged and at the ready.

This year, I've made two kinds of cookies - one from a box. Most of my gifts are bagged, not wrapped, and I didn't even make sure I had even numbers of green and red tissue-wrapped stuffers for the stockings. In fact, I drank for the better part of my wrapping hours.

Inevitably, two days before Christmas, my kids will be watching TV (which is what they will do for the next 10 days on their "Winter Break") and suddenly say, "Hey, Mom! THAT'S on the TOP of my Christmas list!!!" I'll look at this item that I've never seen or heard of before in my life and wonder where the hell this little gem was a month ago when I asked them to list and prioritize their Christmas wants.

The older they get, the more expensive their list items become. And the older I get, the poorer I seem to become. You do the math. My older son has pictures of very expensive drum sets plastered all over the refrigerator. He's not a beginner musician, so trying to get one of those Ronco "As Seen on TV" drum sets isn't going to cut it. I'm also not ready to part with that kind of money, even if it's the only way to get him to smile and perhaps say, "Thanks, Mom! You're the BEST!"

I've tried to adhere to my rule - THREE GIFTS. Just like Jesus got. One big gift from Santa, and two from "Mom and Dad" (even though we're divorced, we share this expense. Thank God. I pity the divorced and/or blended families who are forced to do two Christmases and the kids end up double-dipping.) Anyway, a couple of years ago, I got sick of Santa getting the credit for the big gift. "Santa's so cool, Mom - you never would have gotten us that." and the inevitable, "You can't take that away from us! Santa gave that to us!" Screw that. Santa can give you underwear and socks from now on. You're 10 and 14 now. Mom rules; Santa sucks. Deal with it.

So like every other year, it's less than 36 hours before the big day and I'm worried that a) it's not enough; b) they're not going to like what they got and c) this Christmas will be the one that will go down in history as "The Year Mom Lost It".

I think back to my Christmases as a child - I don't really know what my parents spent on the four of us other than they made sure it was "equal" - as if we were mentally calculating our share of the pot then holding court later that night to determine who Mom and Dad liked best that year. I don't remember ever feeling gypped, slighted, or the least bit disappointed no matter what I got. So, either my parents were AWESOME at satisfying my EVERY need, or in the end, the things I thought I really wanted just didn't matter as much as I thought they did.

I don't know how my parents did it - and still do. Every year, Mom bakes cookies. Not from a box. The ones you make and chill the dough and cut out with cookie cutters and decorate. Yeah, those. She shops all year long for every child, grandchild, great-grandchild and all the other miscellaneous members of our family. She wraps each gift impeccably and yes, still makes sure that the four kids are equally gifted.

I feel like such a loser. To make matters worse, up until last year, Mom made virtually everything for Christmas dinner. We finally convinced her to do the main dish and the desserts, and we would bring the rest - whatever we wanted. Know what I'm bringing? Rolls, Jell-O Jigglers, and fruit. Why? Because that's pretty much all my kids will eat, plus my sister and brother took all the good stuff and are waaaaay better cooks than me.

*Sigh*. I do look forward to Christmas morning. My kids are usually genuinely thankful and pleased. It's nice to get the family together. And to get me through those Christmas night doldrums? Packers vs. Bears at 7:30. You guess who I'm rooting for and here's a hint. It doesn't start with a "B".

Seriously, win or lose, I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas experience, no matter where you are and who you are with. A friend of mine offhandedly made a simple remark to me today that really resonated: "Count your blessings, and forget the rest." I hope you all will take time to appreciate the blessings in your life, and for just one day, forget the other stuff. I know I will certainly try - if not for just one day.

Dating tips from someone who doesn't really date

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 01:59:00 +0000

It's time for me to be that chick you hate. That chick that tells it like it is like she knows it all. The chick that says what you don't want to hear. Because you've been that guy. You've been that girl. And so have I.

Now I do a lot of people-watching, and people-listening, and I see and hear quite a bit of this little flirty singles dance that's out there. A lot of "He texted me this" and "I told him that" and "Can you believe he/she said/did THAT?" And just for the record, I'm middle-aged. This isn't my first rodeo - and if you're reading this, it probably isn't yours, either.

So here's the deal. I'm going to go all Patty Stanger on you (she's that in-your-face madwoman from Millionaire Matchmaker, who, to me, makes perfect sense nearly every time she speaks) and give you some no-brainer, no-shit dating tips that you should already know, but either you're too wrapped up in yourself to realize it or you're just bat crazy.

First, for the guys. You're all morons. You have no idea what you're doing, and if you think you do, you're full of yourself. If you're looking to get some drunk chick in the sack for a night, keep doing what you're doing and that's probably what you'll get. I guarantee she'll get uglier as the day gets lighter and you'll probably never see her again. Wait, you will, and it will be uncomfortable at best.

If you are looking for a relationship, swap the sexual innuendos for something a little more practical - like being sweet instead of sexy, intelligent instead of ignorant, and perspicacious instead of a prick. If you do by some act of God get her phone number, the texts should be kept to a minimum - a quick "Hi, it was great meeting you last night" or "Can you break for lunch?" or "Call you later!" will suffice. If you want this little bud of a romance to go anywhere, pick up the damn phone and call her. Texting that much is for losers. And it's exhausting to boot.

And if you're the guy on the other end of the spectrum - the sweet, quiet, shy guy who can't even make eye contact? WE DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING. We can't read your mind, but your face looks like a deer caught in headlights. Man up, because, well, you're the man. And if WE have to be the ones to man up, then there's a problem.

Now if a FWB (Friend with Benefits) is what you're looking for, try having that conversation with your lady friend about it instead of just "assuming" that's what it is, or just riding that train for as long as you can before someone (she) notices. Try this icebreaker: "Hey, I really like you and all, but not really enough to admit to anyone that I'm in a relationship with you. Plus I really want to keep my options open in case someone really out of my league decides that I rock their world. BUT, you're the only action I really get right now, so if we could just keep it on the downlow, that would be great. Here, let me pick up the check." What? You don't think that will go over well with your female buddy? Huh.

Girls, now it's your turn. Quit being such needy pansies. I'm not much for "self-help" books (obviously), but I once read a book that I'm embarrassed to admit to reading, but I've taken the author's advice to this day. Greg Behrendt wrote He's Not That Into You in 2004 (you probably remember the movie back in 2009). Anyway, the book was freakin' genius.

Now while most of his insights had to do with getting over someone who had broken up with you, they can be tweaked for dating purposes. Like, "If he wants to call, he'll call." There is no, "He must have lost my number." or "Maybe he's in the hospital." or "Maybe I didn't indicate to him enough that I wanted him to call." If he wants to call, HE WILL CALL. So go on about your day and chill. Now, when he DOES call, we are NOT going to analyze every single thing that came out of his mouth. WHY? Because he didn't mean it ANY DIFFERENT OR ANY DEEPER than it sounded. Unless he is one of those incredibly rare, emotionally-available males who are deeply in touch with their feminine side, what you hear is what you get. THERE IS NO MORE. So go on about your day and chill.

And there's more, dear ladies. You may think that letting him know what other men have done to you is going to somehow endear you to him. IT'S NOT. You may think that if you don't go home with him he'll think you're a prude and never ask you out again. THAT COULD HAPPEN. And I hope it does. And as titillating as phone sex or sexting may seem at 2 am, it's really, really awkward at 10 in the morning. So, like, don't do it. Same for sending raunchy pictures that more than likely will end up on his Facebook page.

If you do make that love connection and start down that relationship road, make sure it's a reciprocal one. If you're surprising him with dinner, putting little notes on his car, or dropping off cookies at his workplace and there's nothing coming back your way, STOP DOING IT. YOU'RE BEING CREEPY GIRLFRIEND STALKER. If on the other hand YOU are getting cookies at work and little notes on your car and not doing the same thing, RUN DON'T WALK, and consider changing your phone number.

I'm sure some of this advice sounds jaded, and perhaps it is. But I can't keep my mouth shut when I see this happening all around me - on both sides. Men and women - doing this dorky dance like a couple of mating flamingos trying to figure out if they're pink enough for each other. Here's a novel idea. Talk for awhile. Get to know each other. Go out a couple of times on some fun dates. Go a couple of days in between without talking to each other (OK - a short text is permissible). You'll know if you're on the same page. If you even question it, you're not. If you have to have talk after talk after talk about it, you're not. MOVE ON. Like marriages, relationships do take some work. However, if they take THAT much work, you're better off cutting loose before you tie that knot.

Any other advice for men and women daters out there? Want to tell me I'm a freak? Go ahead. I may seem that way, but in the spirit of Patty Stanger, I know what I'm talking about.

I have a secret....

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 21:53:00 +0000

Have you seen this site?

POSTSECRET

PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail in their secrets anonymously on a postcard. Creator Frank Warren said that the origin of PostSecret started with a dream he had while visiting Paris in 2003, which morphed into a "reluctant oracle" project in 2004, and finally, the PostSecret site emerged in 2005.

The secrets, posted weekly, range from fascinating, disturbing, enlightening, sad, intriguing, odd, and heartwarming... but all very, very real. They're humanizing admissions that make us all realize that no matter how much of an "open book" we say we are, we all have confessions, regrets, thoughts and feelings that we are sure if discovered would be judged unfavorably.

If I had something that secretive, I assure you I'd send it to PostSecret before I'd admit it publicly. But just for fun, I'll share a few secrets with you, if nothing else just to make you feel better about yourself. Feel free to share yours... if you dare.

25 Secrets I Won't Tell Just Anybody
1. I blamed it on your brother, but really - I did it.
2. Sometimes I really wish I would have been a high school English teacher.
3. When I told you that our toddler made that hole in the wall when he threw his sippy cup, I was lying. I punched it because I was frustrated with him.
4. I watch The Real Housewives and Millionaire Matchmaker.
5. If I think about you dying, it literally makes me cry.
6. You want to win me over? Think outside the box. Plan the date. Make me something. Show up early. Show me I matter. The independent front is all a ruse.
7. I totally regifted that.
8. I didn't wash it; I just rinsed it.
9. I worry if I'll ever be able to afford to retire.
10. I don't know which way is North.
11. You think I'm a certain way, but I'm really not. I just only show you that side.
12. I sometimes wonder if you do drugs.
13. I think you made a big mistake but I know if I tell you it will just make you mad.
14. I have clothes hanging in my closet that I never wear simply because I hate to iron.
15. I think about you more than you realize.
16. You don't smell good.
17. I do dance like no one is watching; and usually they aren't.
18. I still count on my fingers.
19. I hope I have the strength to be as tough on you as I'm going to need to be.
20. Your priorities are WAY jacked up.
21. If I had the money and my kids were older, I'd totally have plastic surgery.
22. I know you only text me when you're bored and have nothing better to do and it really pisses me off.
23. I have hidden you from my Facebook feed because I'm tired of reading your posts.
24. Some days, I eat about 1000 calories more than I should, just because I'm bored.
25. I have your password.

Ha - so do I have you thinking? See? Everyone has secrets. Some are no big deal, like the ones above. Some, like on PostSecret, are deeply moving and might be quite life changing if ever truly revealed. Honestly, I think it's great that there's an outlet for those who really just need to get that deep, dark secret out in the open, even if it's anonymously.

So tell me, what's your secret?

Traditions aren't necessarily things you do over and over

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 02:26:00 +0000

Traditions were a big thing in my house growing up. I don't know if they were intentionally planned or not, but they just seemed to fall into place, as opposed to the strategically thought out and somewhat "forced" traditions of today. Now, you read all these articles on "how to create traditions in your family" like it's something you cut out and glue together. I don't know that my parents thought it out quite like that. I think it just... happened.

Maybe they were more like habits. We had a lot of those. Or maybe "established practices" is the better term. I don't know. But some of my fondest memories of my childhood are things we did every year, like clockwork. They were things I looked forward to. Expected. Like picking mulberries in the morning for breakfast. Or strawberries. Or raspberries. (We had a lot of fruit in our yard.) Or jumping in the leaves in the fall (NOT raking them, mind you. I hated that.) Or taking the huge toboggan out sledding in the winter - all of us piled on.

Holidays were of course centered around church. Catholic church. Long, drawn-out Catholic masses, but somehow comforting nonetheless. Expected. Regular. The smell of incense during the Stations of the Cross before Easter. The choir at Christmas. And all those Holy Days that we got off from school (but still had to go to mass).

Whether they realized it or not, my parents rocked holiday traditions. Christmas was especially spot on. I don't quite remember the order of things, but writing it out makes it look like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

I have photos of us all gathered around the piano as each of the four children (and Mom) played selected Christmas tunes that we had been practicing in our weekly piano lessons. Dad read the Birth of Jesus from the Bible, then we had the procession to the manger. No, Jesus did not appear in our manger until Christmas Eve, and I remember being the proud bearer of the tiny ceramic babe to his rightful place in the fake straw of the stall. Then the stocking were hung by the chimney with care and we were off to bed with sugarplums dancing in our heads and all that other stuff.

I guess I just assumed that everyone did the same thing on Christmas and that things would never change. As the kids got older, moved out, got into relationships, had kids, got divorced, remarried, had step-kids, their kids had kids, and so on, and so on, somehow things got really complicated. My own divorce kind of threw a wrench in my traditions all together.

We had it down for a few years. Our oldest was in Sunday School so we attended Redeemer's "Birthday Party for Jesus" on Christmas Eve at 4:00. He sang fun kiddie Christmas songs with his class then we had a Children's message and then all sang Happy Birthday and had cake and ice cream afterwards. Now growing up, we'd go home to chili and oyster stew, but my picky kids weren't down with that, so it was usually Avanti's gondolas. And they usually weren't hungry. From all the cake and ice cream. *Sigh*. So much for that tradition.

Somehow, Christmas Eve ended up being a very cranky evening at our house, and I often felt like I was going through the motions making a big deal out of the stockings and the cookies and milk for Santa and killing time until my little cherubs went to bed. Because once we got them upstairs, the only thing I was thinking of was how late I was going to be up stuffing the stockings and loading up the Christmas tree. And I soon found out why my parents looked so bleary-eyed as they smiled weakly on Christmas morning gripping their steaming mugs of coffee.

Divorce turned the Christmas Eve tradition into meeting my ex at church for services before he headed in to work, then the boys and I going out to Avanti's for Christmas Eve dinner. For six years now, Christmas Eve has to be one of the hardest and loneliest nights for me. When we get home, we usually snuggle in and watch A Christmas Story, then put out the goodies for Santa. Now it's just me waiting for them to go to sleep, and the older they get, the longer I have to stay awake.

Christmas morning they're like toddlers no matter how old they are - and I love that. They're allowed to open their stockings as they wait for their dad to come over after working the night shift. Again, it's great for them that they get to spend Christmas morning with both their parents, and I just have to remember each year, "This is for them. You had your time." After the presents are opened and Dad leaves, we gear up to go over to my parents' with the rest of the family.

That's when I finally feel whole again. The traditions I have not been able to implement are still there when I go back in time and over to my mom and dad's house. Sister and brother, sister-in-law and brother-in-law, nieces, nephews, step-nieces and nephews, their kids... whatever relation that is.... all there under one roof, coming and going all night long.

All those traditions (including taking my mom's wooden blocks that spell out "Merry Christmas" and making inappropriate, non-holidayish phrases words out of them) in all those blended families coming together for a short time. Like clockwork.

I think it's hard in this day and age to have such "structured" traditions as we had back then, and I'll be anxious to hear someday what my kids remember about their "childhood Christmases". I hope above all that they will remember them fondly, no matter how "unstructured" the traditions ended up being. And I hope they'll take some of what their grandparents did for their mom and some of what their mom did for them and someday have wonderful, meaningful, memorable traditions of their very own.

So what exactly is the damn Plan?

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 19:04:00 +0000

I have been trying to subscribe to this philosophy that "everything happens for a reason" and that "God has a Plan." You've seen it in my posts and though you may think that I have this amazing faith that causes me to put everything in the hands of God because I know He knows what He's going to do with it, that's not the case.

Like now. I'm really struggling with this whole "God has a Plan" thing. Sometimes I think that's what you say when you don't know what else to say. You can't figure out why something like this would happen. There's no rhyme or reason - it just seems grossly unfair. So you just shrug your shoulders and chalk it up to The Plan.

Here's a couple of examples. I have several friends right now battling illnesses. For one of them, it seems SO unfair. She already has so much going on in her life, and is one of the least-deserving (not that anyone deserves it) people I know to be afflicted with cancer. She's trudging through it like a warrior, though, with a full army backing her up. She flaunts her bald head instead of hides it, throws a "Pink" party instead of crawling under the covers, and laughs her infectious southern laugh that I'm sure they're already familiar with in the chemo room. Though her life is probably changed forever, God has apparently chosen her to be a poster mom for breast cancer, and I can't think of a better one.

In that same category is a friend of mine who is a seven-year cancer survivor. I didn't know her during her ordeal, but suffice it to say that the first time I met her she blew me away with her enthusiasm for life, her "devil-may-care" attitude and her genuine excitement for the world around her. She may have always been like that, but I have a feeling that she made a bet with God that if he got her through cancer she would make it worth His while - and she has. Now that's a Plan I can handle.

Then there's the Plans I struggle with. My mom has lived a healthy lifestyle for the better part of her life. She's in her 70's (God forbid I get her age wrong so I'm just going to be general about it) but looks 20 years younger to me. She and my dad takes long walks daily and go to the gym to lift weights and exercise. They've both always been active in some form, eat healthy, and rarely gets sick. So WHY out of the blue did she have a cancerous kidney the size of a small football removed last April? And why are they biopsying "suspicious spots" on her abdomen today? What's in store for her? What's that Plan, God? What's the point in living a healthy, active lifestyle when you're just going to pull this in the end? I just don't get it.

And what about my sister-in-law, trying to make my brother's 40th birthday special by surprising him with Bears tickets? What was your Plan when she had a stroke in the 3rd quarter and had to be rushed to a Chicago hospital? Thankfully, she's home now, which in itself is a small miracle. So are you trying to tell her something? If so, what? Because they have a really good marriage and I'm thinking she's a little freaked out, as is my brother. You want to clue us in?

And I wonder sometimes - is saying "everything happens for a reason" just some lame way of making yourself feel better? For instance, right now there's a little girl named Maddy lying in a hospital room in Chicago, just diagnosed with leukemia. Maybe she will grow up to be an advocate for leukemia research. Maybe there is someone in that hospital who needs to cross paths with her parents. Maybe her angelic presence is going to change the life of someone she meets. I don't know - but telling her parents that "it's happening for a reason" is not going to go over real well right now.

Sometimes we are faced with hard decisions, like I was recently. What got me through it was both "everything happens for a reason" and "God has a Plan". Now I feel as if my faith is faltering. I feel as if I may have used this philosophy as a crutch, telling myself that God subconsciously told me to make that decision because it's part of this special path He has me on, as opposed to the fact that I really just single-handedly jacked up my whole life. I wonder how many people are faced with even more life-changing decisions than mine, and if they ever question if God is really at the wheel.

I hate that I question this; I really do. I don't mean to be a Doubting Thomas, but there are times when I just can't see the proverbial forest for the trees here. I know that every bad thing that happens to someone and the subsequent life-changing result isn't always worthy of a teary, feel-good YouTube video - some are more subtle and not as immediate. Maybe just too many "bad" things are happening around me all at once and I'm miserably failing whatever test God is administering.

I do still believe God has a Plan, and when I realize it I'll probably feel really stupid - like when someone gives me one of those logical brain teasing questions where the answer is really obvious but doesn't manifest itself as such.

Let's hope it's just that simple in the end.

People play-by-plays... in the drive-thru

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Sat, 12 Nov 2011 01:52:00 +0000

So I'm sitting in line at the Avanti's pickup window on a chilly Friday night, waiting to pick up dinner for my kids, who opted to stay home and play video games rather than go out to a restaurant with their mom.

As I sit in my car, I watch the people in front of me getting their gondolas and raviolis. I look over to the parking lot and see couples and families walking in and out of the restaurant and carry-out. And I do what I always do to pass the time - I make up their stories.

The older couple just leaving got there just in time for the early-bird special. They'll go home, watch a little TV, then fall asleep during the news.

The man walking out carrying the little boy told his wife he'd go start the car since junior was getting antsy. She brings up the rear holding the hand of a squirmy princess dressed all in pink while lugging a baby carrier. An exhausting attempt at "family night" after a long work week and probably a double-long stay-at-home-mom week.

Two women, a man and a teenager enter the carry-out. The man and woman are married; the teenager is their son. The other woman is the sister, who is going through a divorce. "Come to dinner with us - we'll just get carry-out then go home and talk over a glass of wine."

I do this in restaurants, too. Sometimes my silence may be looked on by my companion as boredom. Not so. I'm merely surveying the room and getting the "stories" of all the other patrons. The young woman playing with her hair across from the guy fumbling with his fork? First date. The couple eating in silence while staring blankly into space? Their kids are teenagers and off doing their own thing tonight. They've been parenting for so long they don't even know each other anymore. And the older woman who automatically picks the onions off her husband's salad while he systematically passes her the Parmesan cheese? Soulmates.

I'm always wondering what's going on in the lives of these people. It's easy to see a family laughing and joking and be envious that they're just the "perfect family". I sometimes can't look away from the couple who stare adoringly at each other and can't go more than a couple of minutes without touching. "They must just have the best relationship ever," I think. The mom and daughter who I can hear in the dressing room comparing new outfits. "How great that they're friends."

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one that does this, and if I'm not, then what do people think is my story when they see me? There could be a different chapter every day. Sometimes, they'll see a kooky mom chasing her kids through the Shoppes at Grand Prairie or trying to shoot basketballs at Dick's Sporting Goods even though they put that plexiglass shield over the basket. Sometimes they'll see an exasperated mom making one boy walk five paces ahead of the cart while the other begrudgingly holds her hand because they couldn't stop wresting and knocked over a display of cereal. Tonight, they saw a lonely single mom who didn't want to be at home tonight, and wished her family was whole.

I try to keep things in perspective when I'm people watching, and not get too caught up in my story of them, knowing full well there's more to it than meets the eye. But sometimes, it's hard to picture the reality that everyone goes through when they seem so "normal" on the outside. It matters not, I guess. I like to watch people, and I like to make up stories. So stick me in a drive-thru anytime - you just may not want to cross my line of sight lest your story be written... by me.

My health insurance company is bracing for the worst

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 18:37:00 +0000

I just got a letter from my insurance company telling me that as of January 1, my premium will go up almost $100 a month. Why? Because I turned 45.

This same thing happened five years ago, when I turned 40. It was a different insurance company, but as soon as I hit the big 4-0, apparently the chances of me suddenly coming down with some middle-age malady skyrockets, so my premium follows suit.

I guess if I had health issues I'd understand. But I don't. In fact, I probably take better care of myself now than I did in my 20s and 30s. Not to jinx myself, but I've never broken a bone. I've never had major surgery. I've never had any sort of life-threatening illness. I've never been hospitalized other than giving birth and an unfortunate incident involving a slightly-septic knee injury (and a bottle of rum).

Which is why, at age 45, I balk at the prospect of spending hundreds of dollars a month on this "hit by a bus" medical insurance, which is basically a high deductible plan that sticks me with the first $5,000 of any catastrophic medical malady that might occur, like getting hit by a bus.

Thankfully, this insurance DOES cover wellness checks. Honestly, I think any insurance that doesn't is worthless. If I'm paying hundreds a month to you people, at least thrown in a yearly medical exam, ob/gyn visit and mammogram just to make sure things are ticking away properly. I understand my drop in the bucket is going toward all the other people's claims, but cut me that small break, please. You're killing me.

And dental? Don't get me started. I haven't had dental insurance in years. So what do I do? I don't go to the dentist. Why? Because it's money out of my pocket. And how is that working out for me? It means I have an emergency appointment to look at a tooth that's been giving me so much pain I can't even eat on that side. I have a feeling this is going to cost me.

Same with vision. I know vision insurance is probably a thing of the past, but that's what's going south faster than my health. Do I remember to have my yearly eye exam? No. I'm just glad they can get me in quickly when I realize I can no longer read the signs on the highway.

I wish medical insurance premiums had discounts like car insurances do. I mean, I know you'll get a better rate if you don't smoke or drink or skydive, but hey, give me a discount for exercising five days a week. Or by eating the recommended daily allowance of fruit and vegetables a day. Or by not drinking soda. Something.

When I do my monthly budget, I try to see what line items I can decrease, like my cable, my phone or my grocery bill. Insurance never seems to be a negotiable. It's kind of like property taxes - you begrudgingly fork over the money but rarely seem to see the payout.

I know I'm lucky - there are people out there with major medical conditions that they either can't pay even after insurance or worse yet, are denied insurance coverage all together. I can't imagine having to decide between medications or groceries. So in comparison to them, I'm living the high life with my couple hundred dollar a month premium and few doctor bills.

My point is, I wish there was a better way. A more affordable way. A fairer way. Maybe we healthy people get lower premiums if we agree to help out a sick person in financial straits. Maybe we restructure the whole healthcare system to reflect the fact that everyone's medical plate is different. Maybe we mandate that doctors allow certain percentage discounts to patients who truly need them.

I don't know. I don't claim to be an expert in the health insurance field. But apparently after 45, I'm going to have enough claims that the insurance industry feels I should pay into now, just in case.

Let's hear it for health.

Halfway there

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 17:36:00 +0000

So, I turned 45 the other day. That’s middle age, right? Once you are over the hill you just pick up speed, right?

Hey, I have no qualms about getting older. Plus I really don't want to live past 90. As I’ve said before, my mom once told me her 40’s were one of the best decades of her life and I thought she was crazy. But I can say that so far, it has been the best decade for me.

I don’t mean the best in terms of “all good things have happened”. Certainly not. But definitely the best as far as how much I’ve grown (middle age spread aside), what I’ve learned and what I realize I have left to learn.

It’s hard to describe, really, so maybe I’ll just list some things that I’ve come to realize now that I’m officially halfway through my 40’s. Such as:

1. I’ve never been an optimist, but I’ve gradually embraced this whole concept by renaming it as “Plan B”, as in “always have one.”

2. The high road may be harder, but like exercise, in the end it feels soooo good.

3. Sometimes it’s not what you say; it’s how you say it. This is true in work, with kids, family and friends. As they say in the restaurant business, “It’s all in the presentation.”

4. One of the best things to do when you are knee deep in your own troubles is to reach out to someone with their own. In the end, you’ll both feel blessed.

5. Although technology is grand, make sure your kids know how to write a thank-you note, make a phone call or spell without using abbreviations. And don’t feel bad about taking their electronic devices during dinner or when they go to bed.

6. Those that check out your groceries, take your money at the drive-thru and wait on you in restaurants are people, too. Treat them well.

7. Even if you rarely get angry, what you say when you are can have devastating repercussions. You don’t always have to vocalize what’s in your head.

8. I have less than 48 months before my child is in college.

9. People have capacities and they’re all different. Don’t expect someone to “meet you in the middle” – it may not be their middle.

10. No matter how crappy your day is, there’s always something to be thankful for.

11. Writing IS my thing.

12. Facebook is a great way to stay in touch, but nothing beats a phone call or a face-to-face visit.

13. You can punish your kids, but never withhold love and affection. They're usually "over it" waaaaay before you are anyway.

14. Cherish your parents because they truly love you more than anyone else in the entire world, no matter how bad of a teenager you were.

15. Sometimes, the right decision is the hardest decision you will ever have to make.

16. Strong may be the new skinny, but I still have to eat half as much and exercise twice as long to ward off the pitfalls of the middle-aged metabolism shutdown.

17. You’re not always right. But you’re not always wrong, either. The trick is to recognize when each of those occur.

18. Try to do something that challenges either your mind or your body every day. Every once in awhile, do something that scares you.

19. Love isn’t complicated; however, sometimes the logistics are.

20. God has a Plan. God has a Plan. God has a Plan.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary. How does your brain grow?

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 18:05:00 +0000

Well it ain't with silver bells and cockel shells.

Guess what? Kids these days probably don't have a clue as to what I'm talking about, nursery rhyme or otherwise. They have no more of an idea as to how their brain grows than who Mary, Mary is. They've got their heads down and their brains on autopilot, navigating through a sea of computer commands and text lingo. Basically, all their thinking is being done for them.

This came across my desk today, and I'm constantly amazed at how these things "appear" just when I've been thinking/talking about them.

The Talent Code: Brainology for All! talks about how these days, kids are learning the basic material - math, English, science, but are lacking the information and skills necessary to make themselves smarter. Like repetition. Like memory work. Like practice.

I have often wondered what makes some people - or more specifically - some kids, more ambitious, or driven, or "accomplished" than others. Yes, I know that everyone is different, and you can't pigeon hole people into successes or failures based on some sort of universal benchmark. But I've always wondered if there was some key ingredient, some parenting method or style, that propagated a type of behavior in a child.

Last year, I was alerted to (and subsequently became involved in) the Brainology Program, instituted by Stanford University professor Carol S. Dweck, Ph.D. Read about it HERE so I don't have to repeat myself and you don't have to read a really, really long blog post.

As I was reading Daniel Coyle's blog, it reminded me of the Brainology program before he even mentioned it, but he had a little bit of a twist on it. He assembled a New Bill of Kid Rights. No, it doesn't list out that every kid should have an iPad in order to succeed in school (no matter what my son says to try to convince me). It's more basic than that. Old-school if you will. And definitely something that's missing in today's youth:

The New Bill of Kid Rights:

1. Every child has the right to know how their brain grows.
2. Every child has the right to a teacher who understands how skill develops.
3. Every child has the right to an environment that’s aligned with the way skills grow in the brain.

I got wind that my child maybe wasn't executing his Bill of Rights during middle school. He was doing poorly on tests and I would ask him, "Didn't you study?" To which he would reply, "Yeah, uh, I studied," Then one night I went into his room and asked him to show me how he studied. Turns out, he didn't have a clue. He never really knew what it meant. I suppose he maybe should have figured it out, but it's like anything else. If no one's ever showed you or you've never seen it for yourself, how do you really know?

Now that I have discovered this blog, I'm very interested to read Daniel Coyle's book, "The Talent Code". I think he may have some of the answers to my questions. And while he seems to identify "talent" as the characteristic, I think skills, ambition and drive can also be classified with talent as well. Because it's all cultivated. It's all nurtured. You can't really have one without the other and succeed.

What Coyle basically says in the book is that the key to success includes certain methods of training, motivation and coaching - to teach kids how to acquire skill. No, we're not putting it all on the teachers or leaving it all up to the parents - it should be joint effort by every parent, teacher, coach, guidance counselor, and any other adult mentor in your child's life. Kids have to somehow learn the fundamentals to success - work hard, practice, improve, put forth the effort. THIS is what kids are missing. And it's up to parents and teachers and every other adult they come in contact with to teach it to them, and show them through example. Which means, maybe we have to get our heads out of our a......pple iPods and Pads and Phones and start doing things old school.

It blows my mind that kids today don't know how to look up a word in a dictionary - a real, tangible dictionary. Or hand-write a thank-you letter (let alone address an envelope). Or sit in a library studying for a test using written notes and perhaps flash cards with their friends instead of Googling and Skyping. Or that they ask you to play tennis on the Wii, but have no intention or desire of actually grabbing a racquet and going outside.

Do I need to go on? We wonder why kids are lazy. We wonder why they just skate by and when they're pushed to go the extra mile, ask if there's an "app" for that. They have no idea how their own brains even work, and what they're capable of.

Case in point: The New York Times reported back in September that The College Board said that average SAT scores across the country were down last year, with average marks – all scored out of 800 – of 514 for math, 489 for writing and 497 for reading, a record low. This year’s average composite score was 1,500, down by six points from last year.

I'm not sure what the answer is, because doing what I really want to do - and that's get rid of all electronic devices in the house and forcing my kids to read a book and write out flash cards and go to the library and THINK WITH THEIR OWN BRAINS for a change is going to make me a pretty unpopular parent (but isn't that an oxymoron?) and I don't even know if that would be the wake-up call we all need. I do worry that if they don't learn soon how their brains work and what makes them tick, we're going to be raising a society that is going to be so dependent on having things done for them that talent, drive and ambition will become the exception instead of the norm.

Want a great weekend getaway? Try Southern Illinois.

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 04:23:00 +0000

I think the furthest south I’ve ever been in Illinois isn’t even technically Illinois – St. Louis is about as far as I’ve gotten. I had heard that there was some amazing hiking and beauty in Southern Illinois, but it always seemed so… far.

It’s really not. And it’s well worth the 4-1/2 hour drive.

We left late Friday morning and began our trek. The weather was beautiful on this bright October day. The sun reflected on the changing trees, and the further south we drove, the more colorful they became. The flat plains of Central Illinois gave way to rolling hills and breathtaking landscape. We could almost feel ourselves breathe a relaxing sigh as we made our way to our home away from home for the weekend, The Davie School Inn in Anna, IL.

The Davie School Inn was built in 1910 and served as a public school until 1996. The proprietors, Gary and Andrea Dahmer, bought the schoolhouse in 2002 and completed renovations in 2006. Each classroom has been turned into a suite – 11 in all. What’s amazing is that for as many modern conveniences as there are (fireplaces, Jacuzzi tubs, kitchenettes and private baths), they still managed to keep the atmosphere of the old schoolhouse. Many rooms still have the original hardwood floors and chalkboards. School desks and even the original water fountains still remain.

Gary was a delightful host, and had excellent recommendations as well as interesting stories. Former students and teachers from the school had actually stayed in the Inn, some in their old classrooms. Every year, Gary and his wife, Andrea, host a party for alumni, the oldest a spry 103 years.

Our suite, formerly the kindergarten room, was an 850 square foot hideaway complete with king-size bed, sitting area with leather couch and flat screen TV, gas fireplace, kitchenette with coffee maker sink, refrigerator and microwave, Jacuzzi tub and shower. A door at the back headed out to a small patio amidst mature trees. The room itself was decorated with lovely antiques,but still had a modern quality that made it quaint and comfortable.

We checked in and had an informative conversation with Gary, who gave us hiking and biking recommendations as well as some restaurant don’t-misses.We headed out late in the afternoon and drove north to Giant City State Park, an impressive 4,000 acre wilderness paradise. Unfortunately, the Visitor’s Center was closed, so we made our way to the lodge to ask for directions. We’re not sure if we got on the right trail or not – we think not, but we did enjoy several miles of “Horse Trail”, minus the sidestepping of equine poop. After some precarious rocky terrain, we came upon some impressive sandstone structures that almost looked like meteors dropped from the sky. We made it back just before nightfall and were given a farewell by an ornery screech owl,who scared the daylights out of me.

Ready for some sustenance, we headed to the Blue Boar Restaurant, which had been recommended to us. After taking a wrong turn down a gravel path (according to the picture on the GPS, we dropped off the face of the earth), we finally drove down a windy road and saw a small, 8 x 10 paper sign with an arrow that said “Blue Boar”. Needless to say, we were not optimistic. How wrong we were. The Blue Boar is a open lodge full of eclectic wall hangings including animal heads on one side, New Orleans-style instruments on the other, and sports memorabilia over the full bar. A one-man band entertained us on the guitar from a balcony perch overlooking the mess hall-style room, which felt cozy with tables of families and friends who all seemed to know each other. We dined on excellent steaks and imbibed in the pumpkin ale that the waitress recommended, and I dare say it was one of the most comfortable meals we had ever had.

The next morning, Gary delivered breakfast to our room at 9:30 am sharp – a bountiful display of some sort of egg and spinach and cheese scramble, spicy hash browns, bacon, and the most amazing pastries. Oh, and fruit. According to him, all of it was fat-free. After breakfast, we ventured behind the Inn to Anna Park and found the tennis courts for a few sets. Amidst the pee-wee football teams playing on the fields next to us and the cool, crisp autumn air, it felt like a piece of Americana.

Perhaps not realizing our limitations, we loaded up our bicycles and headed over to the Shawnee Hills Wine Trail, a 28.7 mile stretch of rolling woodlands and farm fields interrupted (conveniently) by strategically-placed local wineries.

We should have read the full description of the Trail, which says, “Consuming great amounts of wine and bicycling narrow, winding, hilly roads is a treacherous enterprise. Use care when combining the vino with the velo.” Upon commencing our trek, we were greeted by “Hill #1”. I call it that because it wasn’t the only one. There were SOOOO many more. I kept thinking, “We’ve gone up so much; eventually we will have to go down.” We did, but it was always paired with another “up”. I had to walk my bike up many of the steep inclines, and was more than thankful, when, after about 6-1/2 miles, we reached the first winery, StarView.

The tasting room was crowded (a limo had pulled in right before us), but we finally had our Chardonel and Vignoles in hand and ventured out to the lake next to the vineyard and took a break to take in the breathtaking view and watch the koi swim in the pond. We could have easily stayed there all day, but we had miles to go.

About 6-1/2 more treacherous miles later, we arrived (panting)at Blue Sky Vineyards, an incredibly impressive, Tuscan-style winery. Having been to the California Wine Country, I was impressed at how “like that” it was. We sat on the patio and enjoyed a Chambourcin and a White Wine Sangria while munching on cheese and sausage, crackers and grapes. The pavilion overlooked an expansive, grassy area full of tables near a large pond, and a folk singer serenaded us nearby. Again, we could have called it quits there.

But no – we ventured on. Again, another six or so miles later, we made our final stop at Owl Creek Vineyard, a rustic, simple place that was bustling with patrons. A bluegrass band entertained outside in the bed of an old, rusted out pickup truck, singing songs like “Constant Sorrow” from Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou? We both sampled the Seyval Blanc, and before we could try the “ChardonOwl” or the “Whooos Blush”, we had closed the place down.

Finally back in a vehicle that didn’t require pedaling, we headed to nearby Cobden and found The Palace Pizzeria, famous for their Double Crust Pizza. They also sold most of the wines from our tour, but by then, I settled for the Saluki Porter. After a 20 mile bike ride, the pizza was the best I had ever tasted.

The next morning, our muscles were screaming from the prior day’s exercise. Gary delivered breakfast (thank goodness; I probably could not have made it down to the kitchen). This time it was a dish he said he had finally perfected – a cross between a French toast and a bread pudding, with a nutty caramel sauce. I expected it to be heavy and rich, but instead it was light and extremely flavorful, and served with sausages and melon. After that hearty meal, we checked out of our room, but not before sitting in Gary’s office (the old principal’s office) to hear more stories of the Davie School Inn. We even viewed the old bell clock and the safe where the milk money was kept.

Hoping to stretch out our tired muscles, we headed homeward, but stopped at the Pomona Natural Bridge, one of those “are we going the right way because I’m not seeing anything and we’ve been on this gravel road for miles” treks. We did a short, hilly hike and walked across the sandstone bridge that had been created by years of water erosion. What amazed me most was not only this natural beauty, but the diversity of trees in this forest – far more than what you see in Central Illinois.

From there, we headed home, and the rolling landscape and colorful foliage gave way to flatter plains and less impressive-looking colors. But what I will remember is the beauty of that region of Illinois that I never realized was there. And there’s so much more we didn’t see - the main part of Shawnee National Forest, Garden of the Gods, Little Grand Canyon… all saved for another weekend.

Thanks to Gary at Davie School Inn for giving us an amazing resting place, to my companion who made the weekend one to remember, and to God for creating such a beautiful place so close to home.

What exactly are we occupying here?

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 19:55:00 +0000

Occupy Wall Street. According to Business Insider, this "movement" is fueled by a collective sense that things in our economy are not fair or right. (And by the way, I love the sign the woman is holding that says, "One day the poor will have nothing left to eat but the rich.")

Wikipedia states that "The participants are mainly protesting social and economic inequality, corporate greed, as well as the power and influence of corporations, particularly from the financial service sector, and lobbyists over government."

Forbes Magazine cites the Occupied Wall Street Journal with the battle cry, “Rebellion will not stop until the corporate state is extinguished!”

You guys might be in for a loooong haul.

Before all you Occupy Peoria and other Occupy groups jump my s**t, I'm not knocking the movement here. It's just that I don't quite understand it.

It's a "leaderless movement", fueled by the 99% theory: "The one thing we all have in common is that we are the 99% that will no longer tolerate the greed and corruption of the 1%." The one percent being the outrageously wealthy, I assume.

Well, if you put it that way, the odds look like they're in our favor.

Here's another good synopsis, straight from occupywallst.org:
Occupy Wall Street is a people-powered movement that began on September 17, 2011 in Liberty Square in Manhattan’s Financial District, and has spread to over 100 cities in the United States and actions in over 1,500 cities globally. #OWS is fighting back against the corrosive power of major banks and multinational corporations over the democratic process, and the role of Wall Street in creating an economic collapse that has caused the greatest recession in generations. The movement is inspired by popular uprisings in Egypt and Tunisia, and aims to expose how the richest 1% of people are writing the rules of an unfair global economy that is foreclosing on our future.

Again, sounds good. I'm with ya. But what are you doing? Fighting back. Inspired popular uprisings. Exposing the rich. Then what?

I guess I'm the type of person that wants to know how exactly this marching and sign holding and protesting is going to cause anything to change. Is it the "squeaky wheel" principle? The ones who make the most noise get the most attention? And what attention is it that they want?

Don't get me wrong - I'm familiar with the protests of the 60's. How people took a stand - were even beaten and/or arrested for what they believed in. It's very First Amendment, and I applaud those that felt so strongly about it that they were willing to go to such lengths for their cause.

Maybe I'm just not seeing the forest for the trees. Maybe I'm seeing this like the disgruntled worker who complains about his job all the time to his co-workers and even his boss but isn't really sure what to do about it.

What I want to know is what Occupy Wall Street's end-all, be-all is. I found this blog called Irregular Times that gave me a bit of an idea. It listed Occupy Wall Street's demands: "End capital punishment. End police intimidation. End wealth inequality. End corporate censorship. End the modern gilded age. End political corruption. End joblessness. End poverty. End health-profiteering. End American imperialism. End war."

WOW. That's a lot to ask. Can we pare it down a little? And then maybe we could have a plan for each of them then slowly make our way down the list? And are these really all Wall Street's fault?

Again, please understand. I'm just asking for some clarification. I appreciate Occupy Wall Street's "mission", if you will, and I have friends who are Occupy Peoria supporters and I see their passion. It's undeniable. But before I can even think about getting on board, I really have to know not only what I'm getting on board FOR, but what the plan is to embark on a journey to make these immense changes.

Whatever the goals, there must be something to it for half of Americans (according to a recent Time survey) to be involved, with 1500 protests in 82 countries (as of October 15). And if you go to the website, We Are the 99 Percent, you will definitely be moved at the poignant, hand-written stories and photos of struggling Americans.

But still... what's the plan, Occupy?

I'm not a control freak; I just need to have a handle on everything. All the time.

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 22:20:00 +0000

OK, OK. I'm a control freak. But I'm not proud of it. And I really don't know how to change it.

I'm not sure when it all started. I think I was always relatively ambitious growing up, but I always thought that being that way was just "what you did". I always lived on my own, managed my meager amounts of money and took care of what needed to be taken care of. "Independent", I called it. I mean, what else was I going to do?

Maybe that's when it started - when I took independence a little too far and took such control of my life (ha... I didn't even realize I typed that) that it started being more of a curse than a blessing.

Oh, it comes in handy. I see a lot of obstacles as challenges because it's a lot easier to sit around and try to find a solution to the problem than it is to wallow in it. Although, I do my fair share of wallowing, too. And if I do have to ask someone for help or somehow give up some control, I feel weak - like I couldn't handle it. And giving up control means that the outcome may not be how I would do it, and I may not even know when it will be done. So to eradicate that angst, it's just easier to keep it all to myself.

Case in point #1: I used to get upset with my ex-husband because I would ask him to do something and he seemed to never get around to doing it. At one point he said to me, exasperated, "I don't do it because by the time I get around to it you've already DONE it!"

Point taken.

Up until now, I always thought control has served me well. It's made me self-sufficient and helped me feel empowered. It's given me something to hold onto when my world seems to be spinning. But I've also discovered it's starting to take its toll.

Case in point #2: My son is at that age where he is starting to hang out more with friends - friends I don't know and whose moms I've never met. He's gone for hours and I have to trust that he's where he says he is. I have no idea what's going on with his schoolwork other than checking his grades on the school website. I've never heard of three quarters of the people he has friended on Facebook. And he has more email addresses than I can even keep track of.

That drives me insane. Not that he's doing anything wrong, just that I can't VERIFY this stuff. I don't have control of it. I'm not dropping him off at his friend's house and hanging around for coffee with the mom. I'm not on the PTC of the high school. I suppose I could be, but I think he would hate that. It's time to try to let go a little bit. I can't possibly have control over the choices he makes, good or bad. And at this point, not only is it not a good idea for my own mental health, it's not good for him, either. HE has to take the control, and I have to sit in the passenger seat like some Driver's Ed teacher and just apply the brake on my side of the car if it becomes absolutely necessary.

And that's hard. Because I am so tempted to just lightly ride the brake the WHOLE time, just to be safe.

Case in point #3: I was telling a good friend today about a relationship I have, and some issues that had occurred recently. I admitted I was probably too independent and controlling for my own good. She asked me, "What do you think would have happened if you gave up a little of that control and independence?" That gave me pause, and the only response I could think of was, "Then I wouldn't be who he fell in love with. I would be needy, and that would make me feel vulnerable."

Sooooo.... THAT'S it. I don't want to feel vulnerable. It makes me wonder - does my mom feel vulnerable? She is one of the most independent (and a little controlling) people I know, yet she doesn't pump her own gas or go to the ATM. My dad does that. Doesn't make her less of a person in my eyes. As I see it, he takes care of her - that's what he does. So why can't I do that - let someone take care of me? Why can't I find that balance? And does it even exist?

What I find so funny is that some people - who don't know me well - apparently think I have it so together. Maybe that's the "control" aspect of my personality coming out. In my head, I feel very, very out of control, so maybe I just ACT like I'm in control to feel more... in control.

Sigh.

They say that when you feel out of control, the best thing to do is to accomplish one, small thing. Fold a basket of laundry. Clean out a junk drawer. Wash a window. If you've been to my house, you know it's virtually spotless most of the time. Enough said.

There has to be a happy medium with this control thing. There has to be a way to have enough of a handle on life without having to take my hands completely off the wheel. Maybe that's what I'll try to accomplish in the second half of my 40's - taking my foot off the gas and pushing the cruise control every once in awhile - and just focus on keeping my eyes on the road.

Is the grass greener or is it really just AstroTurf?

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 00:28:00 +0000

I always wonder what makes other people's grass seem so damn green.

I don't know why. For some reason, I feel the need to know how others live their lives to gauge whether I'm living mine correctly, or to the fullest, or however it is I'm "supposed" to live my life. I'm like the guy who sits on his porch and wonders why his neighbor's lawn looks like a golf course when his looks like a hayfield.

Anyway, I've always kind of had this timeline for my life. You go to college, whether you're ready or not. Then you move away from home so no one thinks you're one of those "losers" who remained in your hometown (Face it, Peorians. When you left high school, you know you felt this way.) You have a successful career. Then you meet the man of your dreams and get married. Usually a lavish wedding. Then you have two kids, a boy and a girl. Then you become a stay-at-home mom, and dad comes home every night around 5:30 and you all eat dinner together then play Scrabble until bedtime. Once a month, you get a sitter and have "date night".

As your kids grow, you become friends with all the moms of their friends. You car pool to all their sports activities. You play Bunco. You have all their friends over before school dances to take pictures. You cry when they go to college, then either go back to work or volunteer in some worthwhile organization until your husband retires, then you travel to exotic places until the grandkids are born.

That's about as far as I've gotten in that life plan. Trouble is, I got off track at about sentence two, and at this point I don't know that I'm going to make my scenario in the least bit.

But what IS normal? I did get married, but it certainly wasn't lavish. I never had the husband who was home by 5:30 every night - sometimes it was every other WEEK. I did make great friends when the kids were in grade school. But now that they're older, and I've relocated, and they're NOT in sports (in a very sports-minded community), there is no car pool. No mother camaraderie. My older son's friends don't hang out here because I don't have Halo or Gears of War (I had to ask my kids the names of these), or the latest XBox or whatever the hell is the newest idiot box.

I work because a) I love what I do and b) I have to make a living. And though I work a less than 40 hour workweek in the office and the rest at home freelancing, I'll probably be working more and more for the rest of my life, so I'm not sure how much traveling I'll be doing.

Don't get me wrong. I know it sounds like I'm complaining, but I'm not. I have a good life. I have many blessings that I've gushed about before. I choose to sacrifice a more lucrative and progressive career because I am still raising my kids, and they will be gone before I know it. My issue is the perception in my mind of how I "should" be living my life based on how I think others are doing it.

Take work. How many hours a week are you at a job? 15? 30? 40? 60? One job or two? Why do you work the hours you do? Is it because you have to? Is it because you want to? Is it because you think it's expected of you? If you work more than 40 hours a week, do you wish you didn't? And what would you do to change it if you could? And why don't you? (Cue my Pastor in last week's sermon, "You never see a U-Haul behind a hearse.")

And what do you do when you're not working? Are you home with family? If you have teens or pre-teens, do you still spend quality family time together or are they locked in their rooms listening to heavy metal or transfixed in front of the TV watching SpongeBob? And do they roll their eyes when you "demand" that they turn off their electronic devices and do something archaic like go for a bikeride? Or is that even an issue at your house? Do you even bother? Should I bother?

What about your friends? Do you have a lot of friends? Does your phone ring often? Are they friends you've had since childhood? Friends you've made through your kids' schools? Friends you've made via marriage? I feel as if in this new community I've moved to the other side of the world. They all know each other and I don't know that I'll ever be able to "break in". And even if I do, I don't know if I'll "fit in". Is there a "fitting in" at my age?

And speaking of "my age" (mid 40's), are any of you comparable women or men out there wondering "is this it?" I feel like I'm at a point in my life where my parenting requirements aren't as hands-on as they used to be (which is fine). I feel like I spend half my time waiting for my kids to come home, paralyzed to do anything of my own for fear they'll need me - or fear they'll do something they're not supposed to because I'm not home. What do mid-40's working moms DO when they have time to themselves and there are no kids to parent but you still need to be there "just in case"?

I think I've convinced myself that everyone else's grass is really, really green, and if I just figure out what makes it that way, I can replace mine with the real deal. Or maybe I just need to chill out a little. OK, THEN what?

My point is this. I love life. I want to live it. I want to work, I want to parent, but I am finding that I need MORE. Is that greedy? I just feel like there's more I should be doing. I mowed the lawn. Now do I fertilize? Do I edge?

Maybe I should just fess up and admit that it's fake grass and figure that everyone else is doing the same. I somehow don't believe that's true, though.

Do you pay your kids?

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 16:39:00 +0000

My kids needs cash. Actually, only one of them does, but I have to somehow split the kitty accordingly between the two. But but before you start listing all the things that have worked for you, let me save you some time and tell you what I've already done so far.

Allowance
We tried this years ago, when they were younger. The object, of course, was to help teach them how to save for something they wanted, budget their money, etc. We gave them a set amount a week, then, if they were saving for something special, they had to wait until the end of the month to get it. (This was to alleviate the "Mom! Can we go to Wal-Mart/Toys 'R Us/Target today? Huh? Huh? Today?") I don't know what happened, but the whole allowance thing didn't work. They didn't budget; they bought candy at the checkout because I made the mistake of telling them I wouldn't get that crap for them - it was up to them if they wanted to waste their money... thinking that eventually they'd realize they were wasting it on something that only brought a moment of pleasure versus saving for something tangible that would be around to provide satisfaction for awhile.

I think too much.

Cash for (Everyday) Chores
Anyway, then I considered paying them for chores. I'll tell you I considered it. Because I don't think you should get paid for chores - at least the normal ones that you should be doing to assist in keeping your living conditions liveable. Picking up your room, making your bed, putting your dishes in the sink, mowing the lawn... no, you don't get paid for that stuff. Sorry. I know some people pay their kids for mowing, but I do not. If you want to make money, I'll let you use MY mower and MY gas and go mow a neighbor's lawn and they can pay YOU. That's doable. And I encourage that.

"Extra" Chores for Cash
Let's face it, I need some serious help around the house. So, let's say I pay for things they normally wouldn't do, like folding and putting away the laundry ($3 per basket), emptying the dishwasher and doing the dinner dishes ($2 per occurrence), even meal planning (thanks for the idea, Steph), where they will come up with meals for the week (entree, veggie and fruit) and then cook at least one of them ($5 per occurrence). If they do those three things alone every week, there's their $10 - EARNED!

I guess up until now, my kids haven't really NEEDED any money. I'm not one to buy stuff for them "just because" - if they say they want an item, I tell them that they can raise the money for it by doing "extra" chores for me or by helping out someone else (i.e. mowing, watering plants, raking leaves, shoveling snow). But that's not really on a regular basis. Most of the time the things I buy for them are for birthday and Christmas - I also throw in Valentine's Day, the first day of school, the last day of school, and maybe a "I'm sorry you're sick" gift. (Yeah, I'm kind of a sucker, too.)

But now my teenager is starting to ask me for money. "Mom, I want to get a drink at school." "Mom, I need money to get into the football game." "Mom, I want to buy this t-shirt." Honestly, I'm not really sure what he's spending my money on, but I'm tired of giving it to him. But I'm not ready to hand him a weekly allowance that I suspect will be spent on bike rides to the gas station for candy. And it's not like he asks for money every single week, so I'm also not down with handing him a little $10 "gift" for doing nothing.

So as I see it, here are my options:

1) Give him a weekly allowance; no strings attached. Tell him that is to cover any snacks he wants to get at school as well as weekend activities such as football games, etc.
2) Give him a weekly allowance based on "chores completed". For instance, if you make your bed every morning, pick up your clothes and towel, put your dishes in the sink and keep the lawn mowed, you get your allowance. (I'm not a big fan of this one, because what if he only makes his bed 4 out of the 7 days? Do I dock his pay? Do I remind him? Ugh.)
3) Go the "Chores for Cash" route and put the power of the cash in THEIR hands - as long as I can maintain this extra little exercise and remember to pay up.

That last idea, though a bit anal-retentive, seems the most plausible to me. I can't stand giving them money just to give them money. I figure, I buy most of their stuff anyway, both needed and wanted, so now that they're getting into that more independent stage, it's time for Mom the Moneybank to step aside. And yes, I know I've been horribly negligent in teaching them how to manage their money, i.e. giving them a small allowance when they were young and making them give "x" amount to the church, "x" amount to savings and "x" amount for spending. I know I should have done that. Apparently I'm an unorganized, anal retentive parent.

So I guess what I'm looking for here are some ideas - things that have worked for you, things that haven't. Paths that I may have overlooked in this "Welcome to Having to Budget Your Money to Buy Stuff You Want" exercise. Suggestions as to how to assist my children in learning to budget without handing them money that they only sees as "stuff to buy candy with". And if at the end of the week my son is out of money for the football game, how do I stay strong enough not to cave and give it to him because I want so badly for him to have a social life? Finally, am I over thinking this to the point that my child is going to grow up with a completely twisted sense of money management because his mother is such an over-analyzing freak?

Don't answer that. Just give me some feedback. Thanks.

Running - Just (Don't) Do It

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 16:34:00 +0000

I absolutely hate to run.

I want to love to run. I want to become as obsessed as those people you see running in the pouring rain, or the driving snow, or when it's 95 degrees, or below zero. I would love to experience that "runner's high" that you apparently get once you run a certain distance, subsequently feeling as if you could run forever. I would love to have the legs of a runner and be able to jog down a public street wearing one of those sports bra crop tops because my abs are so freakin' awesome.

Ain't gonna happen.

Every couple of years, I attempt to run. I make sure I have good shoes. I stretch. I start out slow, doing that whole "walk/run" thing. I have low expectations. I find a point that is my goal - and believe me, it's not a lofty one.

The minute my soles hit that pavement, I hate it. I feel like a lead weight - it's almost as if my feet have suddenly become so tiny that they can't support these calves/cows and speed skater thighs that live above them. After a few hundred yards, I start to try to get into a breathing rhythm, which is more of a desperate pant. But soon, it's drowned out by my knees creaking and screaming in pain. I think to myself, "This is the 'no pain, no gain' part. Work through it. You're a runner."

I'm not a runner. To me, running is like hitting yourself repeatedly on your thumb with a hammer. It feels so good when you stop.

But it didn't. After I got home, my left knee HURT. BAD. I mean, I'm almost 45, and my knees have never really been my strong point. But this wasn't good. Then it swelled. Then it felt hot to the touch. Really? I ran/walked two miles and THIS is what happens? Good Lord, a half-marathon would put me in my grave.

I applied ice to it and waited for the pain/swelling to subside. Finally, when the cold was too much to handle, I removed the ice pack only to find that my knee had broken out in hives. (Oh, did I mention I also have this thing called exercise-induced anaphylaxis?) I wasn't worried that it was going to spread, because if it was, it would have already. So I figured I didn't need the epi pen and waited for that to go away. I was more concerned with the fact that my fat knees were just one knee fatter.

The next day, it felt a little better, but playing volleyball that night didn't exactly help things. But I love volleyball. And I get to wear these cool pads that protect my knees and hide their fatness.

Tonight, my son wants to ride bikes to the park and throw the football. I love riding bikes. I love throwing the football, especially since my son taught me how to throw a spiral.

What is my problem? I'm active. Why do I feel as if I need to run? Is my envy of all of my friends who can run for miles and post pictures of themselves competing in half marathons and marathons and triathlons and cross-country tournaments making me feel less of an athlete?

Perhaps.

I'm an athletic non-runner. I suck at running. To all of you who do run? Kudos to you. But honestly? It may be good for your heart, as I feel my own pumping nearly out of my chest. But there is no way it's good for your joints. Your knees. Your feet. And even if you can prove me wrong, it's not good for MY joints. MY fat knees. MY unsupportive feet.

I'm officially hanging up my running shoes. Next time I get the urge to run, I'm going to read this blog, put my volleyball pads over my fat, healthy knees, and walk to the nearest volleyball court. Or maybe just hit my thumb with a hammer.

Advice for Parents of Teens and Tweens - What's your take on this?

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 13:53:00 +0000

I'm interested in hearing reactions to the following article that appeared in my inbox several days ago - an excerpt from the book "The Rules of Parenting" by Richard Templar.

Being on the cusp of entering what I am bracing to be some tough parenting years with my teen (if the past few are any indication), I was intrigued by this writer's "advice". I'm not sure I agree with all of it, but I do think he brings up some valid points that may help me from completely alienating myself from my teen (and he from me) in the near future.

Advice for Parents of Teens and Tweens - FamilyEducation.com

My thoughts:
1) I DON'T think I can talk to him like an adult (yet), but agree that I need to start letting him make more decisions and in turn face the consequences, good and bad.
2) I WILL look under the mattress.
3) I NEED to teach him how to do the laundry.
4) I MUST stop bitching about his music, which he proclaims is "his life".
5) I'm NOT ready for Page 5.

I encourage you to read the article link above and share your thoughts, either by name or anonymously. Help a mother out.

In appreciation of friends

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 02:16:00 +0000

I was never the kind of person to have a bunch of friends.

Growing up in a small town, I had my childhood friends that I would hang out with on a regular basis - and their parents and my parents were friends as well. In high school, I had a few close girlfriends who were part of a "group", ironically comprised mostly of guys (who were all like brothers to me). I think that was my way around what I may have considered the "cliquiness" of girls - how there could always be two, but never three - three meant one was always on the outside, and of course I thought that "one" was me.

I apparently have a lot of self-esteem issues.

The college years, when most people were singing with sorority sisters and getting drunk with dorm-mates that would be their alumni compadres for life, I hopped from college to college, never really making those life-long memories and friends. (Shoutout here to the few I did make - Nadine and Carol, you know who you are.)

After college, the friends became a little jumbled. There were work friends - those who I spent eight or more hours a day with and would get together for an occasional happy hour; then there were the "couple friends" I made when I was in a relationship and married and doing all those fun, pre-kid things like volleyball, wine tastings and road trips. Then there were the post-baby friends - those who you clung to because they were in the same situation as you were and you held this incredible common bond and were sure that your babies were going to grow up and go to prom together.

As I got older, it seemed like the whole friend dynamic changed. We were all so busy; so transient. If we were the same ages we were somehow in different stages of our lives. Some were still single, which made it tougher to hang out with the married friends. Some were pregnant or had little kids at home and rarely got out of the house. Some went through divorces and sides would be picked. I felt as if I really should have appreciated having the friends I had when I was younger because we were all in the same place in our lives. Having friends in my 30s and 40s was hard work. And I think because of that, I kind of pushed them down my priority list - below kids, career, husband, housework, errands... you get the picture.

Stupid, stupid me.

The other night, I had four girlfriends over. Four. I think that's a record for me. One of them just had a baby not too long ago. Another is recovering from a double mastectomy and about to start chemo. Another has endured major medical issues with her children. And the fourth - she'll kill me for this but she's like the matriarch that seems to hold everyone together, simply because I believe that she knows the power of friendship and has made it a priority in her life.

I learned a lot from these women in just that one evening. I learned what I already knew - that everyone has their "shit", and that what you perceive to be someone's "awesome life" isn't always how it is. I admired these women before, but after hearing some of their life stories, I had a new-found respect for them, and it made me realize that their strength and their support of me and of each other was what was truly getting me through life.

I don't know what I would do without my friends. And the thing is, it's not like it was before. Yes, there are a few that have been around me the longest - we've been through some great ups and horrible downs together and they're the ones you let see that bad side of you and you know they'll still love you. But these people I used to think of as "peripheral" have now become an integral part of my life; a very appreciated and honored part of my life.

There's this message that I'm sure you've heard or gotten some chain email about that you have to "forward to 11 friends in the next seven minutes or everyone will leave you". Anyway, though I hate those things, it in itself is incredibly poignant and true:

"People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime. When you figure out which one it is, you will know what to do for each person.

When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally, or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend, and they are! They are there for the reason you need them to be. Then, without any wrongdoing on your part, or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away. Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand. What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled, their work is done. The prayer you sent up has been answered. And now it is time to move on.

Then people come into your life for a SEASON, because your turn has come to share, grow, or learn. They bring you an experience of peace, or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it! It is real! But, only for a season.

LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons: things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person, and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life."

No matter why my friends are in my life, whether they are old, new, rekindled or even cyberbuddies, I have a new respect and appreciation for them all. So I ask of you: cherish, nurture and cultivate your friendships, whether they are close or fair weather. Be there in some capacity when you see a friend in need, and know that when you are in the same position, you will realize who your friends truly are - and it may in fact surprise you. Never think that you aren't "close enough" to someone to reach out to them in friendship. Again, you may be surprised. And amazed. And grateful. And blessed.

As I am.

I need an adventure

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Sat, 03 Sep 2011 05:34:00 +0000

You would think since I'm a writer that I read all the time.

Nope.

I rarely read. I mean, I read articles on Yahoo. I read other people's blogs. I peruse marketing magazines to keep up to date on my profession. But rarely if ever do I sit down and get lost in a book like I used to. I should; it's just that every time I think about it, I bump it down my list of priorities that I'll get to "when I'm done with this, that and the other thing."

But I love books. When I was younger, I lived for books. I was a regular at the Decatur Bookmobile. I checked out the maximum number, read them all, and returned them promptly the next week. I was - a bookworm. And what I liked best about reading was that I was transported. I was able to have adventures in my mind. As a "level-headed", practical woman, I never took the time to actually make adventures. Those were for risk takers - for the spontaneous. The courageous. Not me.

My favorite book as a child was "The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles". In this book, the Whangdoodle is a "fanciful creature of undefined nature," and also once the wisest, kindest, most fun-loving living thing in the world--until people stopped believing in it. When that lack of faith became widespread, the last of the really great Whangdoodles created a special land full of extraordinary creatures: furry Flukes, the sly High-Behind Splintercat, and the wonderful Whiffle Bird. But when an open-minded professor--the one adult who still believes in the Whangdoodle--joins forces with three children with active imaginations, they become an unstoppable team on a fantastic and sometimes terrifying journey to Whangdoodleland.

I remember my dismay when I realized that the adventures of these kids to Whangdoodleland were really all a product of their imagination. I was hoping it really existed - that it was a place somewhere on the map that I could mark with a thumbtack and vow to visit someday.

The other night, I read to my son one of our favorite books - Roxaboxen. This is a true story about a treasured place: a child's imaginary town named Roxaboxen. All the children created this "town" made of rocks, glass and desert plants. The rules of the town were simple: you make them up as you go along according to the whim of the day or the personality of the residents. In Roxaboxen, "Marian was mayor, of course; that was just the way she was. Nobody minded." Each child created their own "house", and the town was complete with a bakery, a cemetery (for the dead lizard), a police force and a jail (where you went if you were caught speeding). What a way to spend your summers.

Kind of reminds me of my old neighborhood, my kids' "Roxaboxen", and the adventures I had in the old farmhouse in Decatur where I grew up.

I'm wistful for adventure. I never went on Spring Break. I never took a trip to a foreign land with my high school. I never took any time off to backpack across Europe like my brother did. Probably the biggest adventure I've ever had was going to Mexico, where I zip lined, rappelled, captained a catamaran and snorkeled in some underground caves. I felt empowered, and amazed - like I was really living.

And I have a bucket list of adventures I'd love to have in my life. I wish I had more already in my back pocket, and not sitting at the bottom of a bucket waiting for me to have time to reach in. I still want to learn to rock climb, then venture out to the Rocky Mountains with a backpack and gear and see what I'm made of. I want to go to French-speaking Canada and see if my six years of French really ever paid off. I want to visit my niece in Denmark and get just a glimpse of the amazing sights and sounds and smells she has experienced since living there.

Then there are adventures closer to home. I'd like to become a part of a volunteer organization - to really somehow make a difference. I'd like to start riding my bike more and explore places around Illinois and see if I can do one of these 60-mile bikerides that some of my friends have done. It seems as if many of my friends have had their own adventures over the past few years. Running marathons. I'm envious of them, but this is not my bag. It's just not going to happen. Triathlons. I can swim forever, and I could probably muster the bike part, but again, running is NOT my thing. The most adventurous I've been of late is starting up a volleyball team.

I feel lame.

I know I've been busy. I raise my kids. I work to provide for them. Those are my priorities right now. But I need to make time to have some adventures of my own - even now at my busiest - and stop waiting until there is "time". Stop waiting until I can muster up the courage and JUST DO IT.

Maybe the first step is to start reading again. Read about those who have had adventures. Not like Everest or dogsledding or heliskiing. I'm not that extreme. Maybe I need to find a book about a mom just like me who got tired of waiting and decided to take some baby steps in her life just to make sure she was still breathing... still living.

Any recommendations? Let me know.

Jung's Chaos Theory - with a Kennard twist

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 21:44:00 +0000

The older I get and the more experiences I, well, experience, the more I am completely amazed at the human psyche.

Before I go any further, I have to admit I just looked up “human psyche” to make sure I was utilizing the right term. What happened then is what usually happens – I get a little sidetracked.

So here’s what I found. Let me just tell you first of all, I’m no rocket scientist. But I know who Carl Jung is. His name pops up when you look up “human psyche”, but of course I’m going to put my little twist on it.

According to Jung, the psyche is “a complex, self-regulating system, and the psyche functions in our causal space-time continuum via the conscious ego, but also functions in a psychic continuum that is wholly unconscious to the ego.” The psychic region of complexity that bridges the gap between these two egos is said to be the “edge of chaos”.

Now, I could get into the Chaos Theory and the Butterfly Effect but honestly, I know enough about each of them to nod in agreement at a cocktail party but not enough to debate it with a professor, other than mentioning that Ashton Kutcher was really good in that movie.

But I do find it fascinating that Jung considered the Chaos Theory applicable to “the holistic unity of the mind, brain, behavior and environment, and none should be examined as a separate entity.”

When I manipulate that statement and squeeze it and apply it to my own "Kennard Chaos Theory", I come up with, “This explains why you can keep your mind occupied at work during the day, play nice with your friends and family, enjoy the outdoors and be thankful for the material and non-material things you have, but still feel empty inside when you go to sleep at night.”

I think I’m a perfect example of the Chaos Theory. I am convinced that I have an equal percentage of these “entities” in my brain, and when one isn’t firing on all cylinders, it throws me into chaos until I can self-regulate.

For instance, you can be in love and have healthy, happy kids and be in good health and not have a job. Chaos.

You can have a great spouse, tons of money and supportive friends, but a sick child. Chaos.

You can have a wonderful house, a good job, and supportive friends and family, but no one to share your life with. Chaos.

And maybe “chaos” isn’t the right word, exactly. Maybe “unbalanced” is better. The thing is, all of us are somewhat in chaos. All of us are unbalanced. Very few of us have it all, depending on what our definition of having it all is. That’s why we look at each other at times and say, “I wish I were them. They have (insert big house, great job, amazing spouse, perfect kids…).”

Here’s my second point, and I go back to Jung for this one, too. I am learning that though all of us have chaos, some of us are more cognizant of it than others. Specifically, men vs. women. Now, I’m speaking in general terms, but it seems that many women, (I have to be careful here), because of their causal space-time continuum via the conscious ego versus the psychic continuum that is wholly unconscious, coupled by the fact that they are inherent multi-taskers and seem to have more of that “psychic region of complexity”, are pretty much virtually always on the edge of chaos. I think many women struggle with keeping their lives and the lives of those around them “balanced”. It's kind of what we do.

Men, on the other hand (and I’ll say it again – generally speaking), have more of a compartmentalized approach to life. They may have chaos, sure, but it seems more orderly with less overlapping as far as the number and variety of issues. In addition, I think some men try to avoid chaos at all costs. When they see that they may be on the edge of a crisis, or an unbalanced moment, they attempt to “fix” it, even if they don’t understand it. And if they don’t understand it, many get frustrated in an attempt not to “feel” it.

Here’s an example. It’s the end of a long day, and the woman is crying. She’s frustrated because she had a fight with her son and isn’t proud of how she handled it. That begets feeling guilty for not being home for him more and having to work. That begets her financial responsibility, worries about budgets and bills. That begets wondering if she spent too much on groceries, which begets beating herself up for burning dinner, and wishing her husband would have been home on time because then maybe they could have gone out to eat since she didn’t feel like cooking anyway. Now she feels inadequate as a wife, mother, and career woman. Dramatic? Uh, yeah. It is. But it happens. Women? Agreed?

So here’s the kicker. The man comes home, sees the wife crying. I don’t even know what he’s thinking. What happened? Are the kids OK? Crap, what’d I do? God, I just had a long day at work and now I have to deal with a weepy wife? Why is she always so unhappy? And where’s my dinner?

I don’t mean to make the man sound like an ass. My point is, the woman almost embraces the chaos sometimes. Which isn’t necessarily a good thing, obviously. Men, I think, on the other hand, run from it. Not because they’re weak – in fact, I wish sometimes I could do the same thing. Choose not to feel. Choose not to embrace the chaos. Their psyches are somehow wired to push the chaos down and get on with the tasks at hand.

Women know that chaos comes with their territory. Their chaotic moments are usually not the product of one specific thing – an issue at work, a problem with the car, a fight with a son or daughter or spouse. Their chaos seems to come when one of the balls they’re juggling is dropped, causing the audience – and themselves – to go, “Awwwwww.”

So how does this all tie together? Well, back to my first sentence: “The older I get and the more experiences I, well, experience, the more I am completely amazed at the human psyche.” I think I have experienced the Chaos Theory, as has everyone else in the world, some to much more of a degree than others. But upon closer examination on how different people react to their own chaos, I am incredibly amazed and sometimes perplexed. But in the end, I try to learn a little bit. I try to learn from the man who refuses to let any chaos rile him and stays on an even keel, yet feel a bit sorry for him and wonder if he’s somehow missing out on the human element by not experiencing some of these “extreme” emotions. I feel for the woman who is so overwhelmed with so much chaos that she is literally debilitated and doesn’t know how to restore order. I sympathize with the person that feels guilty that “most” things in his or her life are balanced, but the one thing that is not has created so much chaos that she can’t see the forest for the trees (that would be me).

I watch, and I learn. And I marvel at the human psyche, and the chaos we all have – of all levels – within. In the immortal words of Mr. Jung, “In all chaos there is a cosmos; in all disorder a secret order.”