Despite the fact that all of my siblings and cousins are now in their thirties and forties, we have always seen ourselves as the “kids” while all of the relatives now in their seventies and eighties are seen as the “parents.”  Our grandparents and those of their generation lived such wonderfully full, long lives that it never dawned on us that someday we would become the “parents.”  This has all changed since February, with the death of our Nanny at the age of 98.

This subtle shift in the family is undeniably complete, as evidenced by a gathering we had at our house yesterday.  There were twenty-two of us, which for us is a normal gathering number.

As the afternoon unfolded, there were discussions amongst the elders comparing walkers and medicines, procedures and doctor visits.  There were hours of reminiscing and a few bouts of not remembering what was said a few minutes before.  Some of us spent the day watching their movements; silently guarding their sides as they walked while others needed to be more overt as they half carried someone down the stairs to a safe landing.  We had to raise our voices for some to be heard, and lower our voices for others as a wave of a memory enveloped them.  There was no teasing about aches and pains as we have done for years, as these are all too real now for some.

Lest it sound as if the day was always calm, I can assure you that the air was littered with calls for “Mom” and “Dad” all day long.  There were real scrapes and invisible cuts that all required multiple Band-Aids.   A wasp stung one child and another one hit the back of his head.  Yet another child had baseball practice and the others held their own diving competition until he got back.  The kids did not seek out the grandparents yesterday, as they intuitively accept that their grandparents are available to them now for quiet conversation, warm hugs and unconditional love.  The days of piggyback rides and long walks are over.

Dinnertime arrived and for a short while, everything seemed the same as it had always been.  We set up three tables but everyone attempted to crowd around one.  There was a minimum of three conversations going on at once, yet everyone managed to be heard somehow.  The meal ended and without hesitation, four generations of women (and one husband) were crowded around the island to help clean.  I pointed out to my daughters that the reason we all love family gatherings is that the burden of entertaining is always shared and thus isn’t a burden at all.  The joy of this moment would be fleeting.

As we said goodnight, I heard tears and quickly realized that they weren’t coming from the little ones that didn’t want to go home but rather from the older ones who now fear that each good-bye may be forever.

So, it really does feel like I am part of a “sandwich” generation, layered in the middle of two generations who both need our attention and our care.  Luckily for all of us, love is one of those things that grows in every direction.

No matter which generation you celebrate with this Wednesday, have a wonderful Fourth of July!

Our youngest has his “moving up” ceremony this week and our family’s elementary school years will officially end.  They started 15 years ago when Danielle joined her reception class at Hall School Wimbledon in the UK.   I remember standing on the stairs with all of the other parents wondering if my four-year old would be able to handle the rigors of full-day school.  The friends I made that year are still dear and close.  It didn’t matter whether we were English, American, or even Japanese.  Many families in that year were sending the eldest or only to school and our shared experience bound us together.  I did not think that a last week of school could be any sadder than the one I experienced at when we left the UK.  I was wrong.

Our nine years at Increase Miller have been wonderful.  Some things have changed but the teachers’ commitment to the children has never wavered.  Each of our children was treated uniquely and gained what she or he needed to flourish.   Danielle was only there for one year but her homeroom teacher made her feel as if she was the most special child in the room.  Our second daughter was there for three years and it is not an exaggeration to say that her fifth grade teacher changed her life and showed her that the world was her theater no matter what obstacles were set in her way.  Our older son learned that kindness and academics come before sports.  Being a jock certainly has an upside on the social scene, but he continues to remember that there is much more to be gained in school.

Our youngest is in a category all his own.  He is 11 years old, almost 5’3” with 44” shoulders and a body type that best resembles a brick wall.  His personality (and his heart) is as big as his frame.  He tried out for the fifth grade musical, “Jungle Book,” and he landed the part of Baloo the bear.  I just assumed he got the part because of his size.  He participated in every costume design workshop, set design workshop and of course, rehearsals.  Along the way he said very little about his part in the play and never asked for help in learning his lines and songs.  I grew increasingly nervous, as he is normally shy and avoids drawing attention to himself at all costs. He appeared on stage and the transformation was unbelievable.  He sang, he danced and he didn’t miss a cue.  Several teachers around me had misty eyes that matched mine.  Six years of nurturing by his teachers led to our son growing wings and soaring.

The tears are running down my face as I finish this blog.  The memories don’t belong to the children alone.  Along the way the teachers, administrators, support staff and custodians have become friends.  We shared news of graduations, weddings, babies and losses.

As a child leaves his elementary years behind he brings his memories forward and leaps to the next adventures.  I will join our youngest soon, but for now, I look behind me and mourn the passing of these years.   It is certain that I will miss them most of all.

You are all nice enough to read my blog every Monday and here I am paying you back by releasing one on a Tuesday. I offer an apology and an explanation.

The explanation is that yesterday I forgot that I was the adult and that the kids’ lives should not rule mine. I’ve always thought I was doing a good job of preserving my adult identity but sometimes I seem to lose the plot. It is not the fault of the children. We are the adults, after all.

My parents taught us that a couple should go out without the children at least once, if not twice, a week. Brian and I pulled this off for seventeen years until Danielle started high school. Five years later, we often find ourselves at games and other child-centered events on weekend evenings. Somewhere along the way, we adults forgot that children should see their parents going out with other adults and making being an adult a priority. It is our fault that we have allowed events to take place after 6 pm on weekends for our younger children. I even lost the battle for Sunday mornings during football season, a time that was seen as sacrosanct until this generation.

Meals have become another disaster. No one seems to be home at the same time, so a fresh meal is only fresh for a chosen one or two, depending on the night. Last night the three older kids did their best to put dinner on the table before I arrived home from the baseball field at 8:30. Things went awry and we ended up eating after 9 pm. I both congratulate my kids on their self-sufficiency and secretly mourn that I am not able to be in the kitchen on a regular basis to cook (which I love) for the people I love.

Education comes before all in our house, even sports. I completely respect that coaches, like Brian, volunteer many hours for our kids but I have always made it clear that if a child misbehaves, disrespects or does poorly in school, I will pull him or her from a game. Harsh? Maybe. Negotiable. No.

Our schools have “e-chalk”, a site where a student and his parents are able to see all homework assignments and scheduled tests and quizzes. I joke about never having been on the site, as I never bothered to receive a username and password. It is not that I don’t care, but rather the complete opposite. My job is to be a mom and a wife and a volunteer and a business owner. The children’s job is to be a student and a person of good moral character. I will spend hours helping them review for a test if asked, but otherwise, I expect them to do what is asked of them.

I drink soda, you kids may not. You have Facebook when you are 14 and I must be your first friend. You act inappropriately on the Internet and you will only be allowed to use your computer for schoolwork, in my presence. You want to keep your door closed at all times. Tough.

You forgot to tell me that you need a new white shirt for your concert. I will get you one ASAP. You lost your homework, your calculator, and your earrings. I may not replace those, but I will respect that you are having a bad day. You need help with a teacher. I will set up a meeting for the three of us. Someone hurt your feelings. I will say nice things while I secretly want to hurt that someone back.

This whole parenting thing is really just another type of dance. Some days we get all of the steps right and we leave the dance floor with unblemished feet. Other days, we don’t.

Yesterday, I danced a polka even though the music demanded a waltz. Today is another day.

Have a wonderful week.

Our older son turned 13 last week. We now officially have three teenagers in the house, at least for the summer. All of a sudden, it seems that I am answering more questions than I am asking, a clear shift in my parenting experience. Usually I ask, no one answers, I ask again and then I yell. This pattern has suited us all fine for 19 years. In an effort to spare many of you the angst of coming up with answers to teenage questions, here are some of the ones I have used recently, followed by what I really wanted to say, i.e. the truth.

Q: Why don’t you ever make anything I like for dinner?
A: If you let me know at the beginning of the week what you would like, I will
happily make it for you.
T: I hope your wife is a lousy cook.

Q: Why does he (the youngest) get better treatment all of the time?
A: I respond nicely to him because he treats me nicely.
T: I like him better, so there.

Q: Where are my clothes?
A: I put them in your room.
T: They are the only garments actually on a hanger.

Q: Where is my cup (you know, that kind of cup)?
A: I put it in your room.
T: Why do I have to know where that thing is all the time? I obviously don’t wear
one.

Q: Where is my homework?
A: I put it on your desk.
T: Are you people lazy or just stupid?

Q: How long do I have to help you?
A: An hour or so would be great.
T: Until one of your limbs falls off.

Q: Why do you always say things to embarrass us?
A: I am not purposely trying to embarrass you.
T: Hee-hee-hee.

Q: Why don’t you like this outfit?
A: You’re so pretty that I want to see you in something that flatters you.
T: Because it is ugly and makes you look like a tart.

Q: Why doesn’t he like me?
A: Because he doesn’t know a great person when he meets one.
T: Thank God.

Q: Why won’t you let me stay out late/go to that party/hang out with him?
A: I don’t think it is the best choice.
T: Because I love you more than you will ever know.

I met a great guy the other day, Sam Lewis. He just wrote a book called “Don’t Be an Idiot,” a relationship book of sorts for men. You can find it online at: don’tbeanidiot.com. It would make a great Father’s Day gift!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Memorial Day was first established by General John Logan, national commander of the Grand Army of the Republic on May 5, 1868.   It was first observed on May 30, 1868 when flowers were placed on the graves of the Union and Confederate soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery.  The desire for a national day of remembrance was born of the grief of the many casualties of the Civil War.   Many towns had already created ways to decorate the graves of the fallen soldiers and the movement was catching on across the nation.

New York State was the first to officially recognize Memorial Day on May 30, 1873.  Other northern states followed, while the southern states continued to choose their own days of remembrance.  Memorial Day became a national day of remembrance after World War I and the sentiment was changed to honor all fallen soldiers from any war.   Congress moved the observance of Memorial Day from May 30th to the last Monday in May in 1971, in order to create a three-day federal holiday weekend.

During the course of the weekend you will see many veterans selling a red poppy to raise money for disabled veterans.  Inspired by the poem, In Flanders Fields, by John McCrae, Moina Michael wrote her own verse:

We cherish too, the Poppy red

That grows on fields where valor led,

It seems to signal to the skies

That blood of heroes never dies.

 Ms. Michael wore the first red poppy as a way to honor the fallen soldiers.    Another tradition was born.

As we enjoy the unofficial start to summer today, let’s please take a moment to pause and remember that the breaths we take are still filled with the scent of freedom and the aroma of hope, thanks to those whose breaths were silenced in service to our country.  May they rest in peace with the knowledge that today is not about division or politics.   It is about unity and reconciliation.  We owe them at least that much.

Happy Memorial Day to all.

The luckiest children have parents who allow them to dream big. In our extended family we have kids who want to be astrophysicists, famous baseball players, stunt doubles, rock stars and even President of the United States. I came up with five life goals when I was about 15 and all but one have remained unchanged.

The one goal I abandoned was to be President of the United States. Politics is still one of my passions but I decided a long time ago that the job of President really wasn’t worth the aggravation. I know, I know. How selfish of me. I denied our children the privilege of meeting Derek Jeter and The Jonas Brothers. Sadly, into life a little rain must fall.

Here are the other four, in no particular order.

1 – I will never break the seal on the annual tax booklet. Now taxes can be done paperless but back in the day we all received those sealed booklets that included the forms and the instructions. When I first started working I handed the booklet and my W2 form to my dad and his wonderful accountant did my taxes. I then married an accountant and the problem was permanently solved. There was also a Plan C in that my brother married an accountant as well so if the marriage thing didn’t work out I was covered.

2. – I will speak Italian. I studied Spanish and French in high school but Italian wasn’t offered. I speak Spanish now and I can handle French enough to get by but I REALLY want to learn Italian. It is the language of my ancestors and I honestly believe it is the most beautiful language on earth. I will start working with Rosetta Stone this summer and if all goes well, I will start taking classes in the fall. Sono cosi excitatta! Auguretemi buona fortuna.

3. – I will never go camping. Despite being married to an Eagle Scout, camping is out of the question for me. The two boys love scouting and both hope to be Eagle Scouts as well some day. When the youngest was eight or nine he begged me to go on a campout with him. He is the one who can almost always convince me to do something, but this time the answer was different. In fact, I told him that I would throw myself in front of a moving bus to save his life but I don’t love anyone enough to go camping. The therapy was expensive, but he is OK now.

4. – I will play the piano. As evidenced by last week’s blog, I continue to play the piano in spite of the piano recital. Last week was the first time that I almost came to blows with my piano teacher. He was being very supportive of my recital panic and was trying to give me tips to overcome it. As a response, I was having a tantrum. I did take on one piece of advice. Instead of worrying about every note, I really tried to become one with the music. It paid off. The night before the recital I was able to play “Somewhere My Love” with no mistakes. It doesn’t matter that the version I played at the recital only resembled the actual piece. After five years of lessons, I am a pianist.

Thank you, Peter.

On a completely different note, the kitchen is essentially finished and we couldn’t be more pleased. Every single person helping us with the job is top-notch and professional. My last shout out is to King Top in where the granite was cut. Ask for Jay to help you finalize the cuts and ask for Francisco to install it. King Top may be reached at: 41 Drexel Drive, Bay Shore, NY, (631) 231 1025.
 

The top fears for humans, according to the science of Wikipedia, are as follows: ghosts, the existence of evil powers, cockroaches, spiders, snakes, heights, water, enclosed spaces, tunnels, bridges, needles, social rejection, failure, examinations and public speaking.

I imagine that she who shares these fears reacts in a similar fashion when faced with them. Her adrenaline starts flowing causing her blood pressure to soar. This causes extreme panic that then causes rapid breathing that then lowers the blood pressure and then makes her feel faint and possibly, about to puke. The low blood pressure also empties the brain of any knowledge of how you got in the situation in the first place.

I know firsthand about this sensation, as I own a fear so powerful that I can only be grateful that I must face it only once a year. My fear? The annual piano recital. You see, the four children in this house started taking piano lessons at the age of five and will be allowed to stop when they leave for college. Danielle already tested this approach and it is now clear to the others that I am not kidding. After nine years of yelling at them when they missed a daily practice, the kids dared me to start piano lessons. Faithful readers know that I am a sucker for dares.

So, four years ago I started lessons with our wonderful, patient piano teacher. Leading up the first recital, I was entirely relaxed, confident that I knew my song. Upon arrival of recital day, the aforementioned warning signs kicked in with full force. By the time I reached the piano, I had no idea what my name was so forget about the song. At the end of the recital our teacher asked if any of his students wanted to play his song again while the others were having refreshments. Yes, folks, that was for me. I was supposed to play a Disney song and it came out sounding somewhere between a polka and a funeral march.

This annual exercise in fear has been quite humbling for me. I am not crazy about enclosed spaces, but other than that, the common human fears don’t phase me. I think of all ghosts as being as gentle as Casper and evil forces have nothing on some of my relatives. I am a very experienced talker so public speaking is a joy for me.

This year’s recital is on Saturday and I am already nauseous. The one saving grace? I don’t have one. I will let you know next Monday.

Our piano teacher, Peter Chiusano, is a very talented musician, and obviously super patient, as I am still his student. Peter has been with us for eight years and with other friends for almost as long. He works in Northern Westchester, Putnam, Carmel and Ridgefield, CT and he comes to your house.
Peter may be reached at 845-228-KEYS.
 
 
 
 
 

I am on a mission to save paper…from extinction. Before the comments start flying, I assert that I respect the environment as much as the next person. As a family we work hard to keep packaging and paper waste to a minimum, recycling every last scrap.

Yet, in the combined rush to save the world and save time, many have forgotten that our goal should be to live in a way that moves the human race forward. I contest that it is impossible to move ourselves to a kinder, gentler time when the only way we communicate is through a screen.

E-vite, e-mail, Facebook and Twitter help us to connect with many whom we wouldn’t otherwise be able to do. I also love that commerce and information may take place in cyberspace at lightning speed. On the minus side is the fact that most of our personal interactions never resemble the personal.

Our children know that a written thank you note must be sent to acknowledge every kind act and gift. At the age of five the note may have read, “Thank you for my gift. From, XXXX”. Later the note takes on a life of its own, filled with the child’s personal statements and unique way of expressing thanks. Danielle may write something funny in her notes and our other daughter will write something very deep. One son will comment on sports and the other will tell you exactly how he is going to use his gift.

The paper calendar is another dinosaur with which I refuse to part. Mine is big enough for me to print in large letters and it may always be found in the same location. This way, no one here can say he or she didn’t know of an upcoming appointment due to a technological snafu.

My mother, like her mother, buys a card for every occasion for each one of us children and grandchildren, 17 people in all. My mom and my aunt send weekly cards to Danielle in while at university, a gentle reminder that she is missed. These cards are a welcome expression of love.

Every handwritten card or invitation sends a message that the recipient is special, that someone took the time to find the paper, the pen, the stamps and the mailbox. It is graciousness in its simplest form.

Those of us living in Northern Westchester are fortunate to have Fine Lines, located at 141 Katonah Avenue, Katonah, NY, (914) 232-4856. The owners, Laura and Barry, carry greeting cards and note cards for every taste and occasion. They are experts in creating the perfect invitation and announcement and have a wide array of paper styles from which to choose. So go ahead, send a card and make someone’s day!
 
 
 

In a perfect world everyone would not only have a passion, but also it would be one that he could pursue unfettered by limitations of funds or geography. Each of our four children have favorite activities but only our 7th grade son has a passion for something that is unmatched by everyone. That passion is baseball.

I remember calling Brian when our son was two years old, complaining that he was repeatedly hitting a pound sterling coin with a plastic recorder all over the house. Rather than being annoyed with him, Brian was thrilled at the kid’s eye-hand coordination.

Over time I refused to allow the girls to play any sport with the word “travel” attached to it. The summers were all about visiting friends in the UK or spending it with relatives. You know the expression, “never say never?” Our son became eligible for travel baseball the summer after fourth grade and we have never looked back.

When he was little, I watched a little boy walk onto the field, fully aware of everything going on around him. He would leap into the air with all of his might and sometimes the ball might even meet the mitt. When he struck out he never blamed the pitcher, the coach or the weather. He knew that he was the only one holding the bat at that moment and that even Jeter has an off day.

Now I see a young man, tall and strong, who walks on the field with a determination that is so opposite to his normally reserved self. These days his fearlessness in catching the ball often makes me nervous as he dives with abandon or leaps backward. It has always been easy for me to tell his sisters and brother how proud I am of them when the situation arises but this guy is not looking for compliments. He just wants me to be at all of his games, to give him a knowing nod when things go well and a silent squeeze when they don’t.

He and I talk often about the reality of sports in America in that very few get to play in college and even fewer in the big leagues. He knows my job is to keep him from pushing his body too far, and he respects that. My goal is that he can still play softball when he’s 55 because he didn’t do too much damage as a kid.

When he is playing baseball, though, the dreams take wings. Is it possible that this passion for baseball will take him farther than we can dare imagine? I have no idea. What I do know now is that his unbridled joy for the game is contagious. When I am in those stands, that joy is like a soft breeze that rises from the field to touch my face and remind me that these are the days to cherish.

My friends, Jon Goldman (Jon@), Adam Kern (AK@) and Jordan Kern (Jordan@), are the managing partners at My Sports Dreams in Bedford Hills, NY. They specialize in helping your child’s team raise funds for anything they need. I know they will also help your child’s school raise funds if asked. They are really good guys and always eager to help. They can be reached at:
My Sports Dreams
800-376-5988
914-241-0204
258 Route 117 Bypass Road
Bedford Hills, NY 10507
All emails end in “@MySportsDreams.com”

We moved to northern Westchester almost nine years ago, at which time I did not work outside the home.   Over these past few months, many have asked me why I decided to go back to work and why did I choose network marketing for my new career path.

My generation grew up with the idea that network marketing was synonymous with pyramid schemes.  These schemes, where many pay a fee to join a company and only a few at the top profit, are illegal in all 50 states and most countries.  Network marketing is actually the same as direct selling, which simply means that one distributes products or services directly to the consumer from the manufacturer or supplier.  The revenue normally spent by a corporation on marketing and advertising is spent on compensation.  Multi-level marketing refers to the different levels of compensation available to the distributors.    Examples of network marketing companies include Arbonne and Ambit, as well as Avon, Mary Kay, Silpada, Stella & Dot, Tupperware and Pampered Chef.

Within the ranks of corporations, there are some companies that shine in how their management takes care of their employees and others that do not.  This is the same amongst direct selling companies.  In my opinion, the best direct selling companies are those whose products or services are completely guaranteed, competitively priced, whose compensation plans are fair and attainable and upon which staking one’s reputation is worthy.  When studying a direct selling company, look at the compensation plan very carefully.  There must be a sensible relationship between how much time is spent on one’s business and how one is compensated.

The fact that many direct selling companies are looking towards or are already global is very appealing.  Thanks to the use of technology, I am able to hold a training session anywhere in the world.  This week our daughter, Danielle, will launch her new business in Scotland, alongside many of her friends.  The nice people who invented Skype made this possible.

Finally, the direct selling model allows me to build businesses with infinite growth potential while helping others do the same thing.  There is no fear that someone’s efforts or ambition will cost me a job.   As long as I behave as a leader should and continue to work on moving my business forward, the entire team will benefit.  If someone works more consistently than I do, he or she will simply earn more than I do, and that is fair.

Our children will live in a world where, according to the experts, direct sales will outpace retail sales by 2050.

I now have the opportunity to set my own hours and work with people I enjoy.  Like many women, I chose to put the needs of others before mine for too long.  I am now able to choose my own career path and build a legacy of residual income that may be bequeathed to my children and my grandchildren.  Most importantly, this is the happiest I have been in a long, long time.

Thanks to Aviva Goldfarb and her website, The Six O’Clock Scramble, my family may survive the kitchen renovation. There are a multitude of quick, nutritional recipes in their database, including those for the crockpot and the toaster oven! The best part is being able to create a weekly menu and have the shopping list created on the spot. Brilliant.