Conversations with a 5-year-old about God

J: Mommy, what did God look like when he was little?

Me (scrambling for what to say): Um, God didn’t grow up like you and me, honey, he was always big.

J: Mommy, how could that happen?

Me: Well, I don’t know, sweetie.

J: Does he live in a house like us?

Me: No, honey. He lives in heaven and watches over us all the time.

J: Mommy, is there a place you can go to learn about God?

Me (relieved and a little excited that she may be ready for Hebrew school): Yes, there is….

J (before I can continue): I think you should go there, Mommy.

Obviously, I don’t have all the answers.

Another conversation about God

J: Mommy, what is heaven like?

Me: Heaven is a wonderful place. You can do anything you want there, and everyone’s happy.

J: What does it look like?

Me (getting increasingly nervous and unsure about what kind of details to offer): It’s whatever your favorite place looks like, sweetie. Whatever you want it to be, wherever you're happiest, that’s what it will be.

J: I want it to be my house.

Me: OK.

J: Mommy, I’m scared to go to heaven.

Me: Don’t be scared sweetie – you won't go there for a long time and heaven is a wonderful place and there’s nothing there that will frighten you there.

J: Mommy, will you hold my hand when I go to heaven?

Me (stifling a sob): Of course I will, honey.

A Sexy Coffins Calendar for 2006

Ok, this has nothing to do with either being a mother or a career woman, but the former tabloid reporter in me just couldn't let this pass without a comment.

In my day job, one of our niche specialties happens to be serving as financial advisors to funeral directors. As our marketing director, I go to funeral trade shows (I've seen my share of coffins and shrouds and have developed an immunity - I can even snack on free food beside them), and read up on the latest news and trends affecting the industry.

Well today, I happened up on a site called underground humor and discovered that, lo and behold, there is actually a calendar featuring scantily-clad, provocatively posed young women beside a variety of coffins for 2006.

http://www.undergroundhumor.com.)


I know the Pirelli Tire folks gained some measure of fame for their calendar,
http://www.pirellical.com/thecal/calendar.html
so I guess undertakers aren't breaking any new ground here (pun intended), but I have to wonder how many of these calendars they sell each year, and to whom?

It's amazing what's out there on the 'Net.

Black Friday at Woodbury Commons

I've never been a traditional holiday shopper, and I have never ever dared to enter a retail store on the day after Thanksgiving.

But I got my bonus at work this week, and the novelty of the mega outlet mall relatively nearby opening at Midnight on Thanksigiving going on straight through Friday just sent me over the edge.

So I convinced my 20-year-old niece to sleep over, and we woke up at 4 a.m., piled into the car and drove 90 miles to the mall.

When we arrived at 5:30 a.m., the parking lot was nearing capacity and we actually had to hunt for a spot. Without so much as a cup of coffee, we then embarked on an early morning 6-hour shopping binge and I have to say...it was fun. I felt like I was on that old game show "Beat the Clock" trying to collect bargain items that I really wanted or needed before the early, early sales ended at 8 a.m. (snagged some beautiful cashmere sweaters for 35 percent off but was otherwise thwarted in my quest for the ultimate deal- my niece was luckier with a $40 gorgeous cashmere poncho from a very trendy store).

It was the thrill of the chase, the feeling that I haven't had in a long while of money to burn, and the very real need to purchase some new clothes so I can stop wearing the same suits and sweaters that I've worn for the past two years that I've had this new upscale job.

I got a pair of leather boots that made the entire trip worthwhile - great with skirts for work and my assumption that my husband would appreciate them, too, proved correct.

I never really considered myself someone who loves to shop, but I definitely discovered my "inner shopper" yesterday, and she is a force to behold. She can walk into a store and within 2 minutes know if it's worth her time to further explore, she can eyeball a leather bag from 20 paces and know it's not "the one," she can whip out her Amex card in 2 minutes flat when she knows the object of her affection is just right.

Another joy of this trip is that it was one of those days where money, time and effort was spent solely on me. As a mother, wife and busy career woman, there's precious little of anything I spend just on myself - and the shopping really did relax me and make me feel good. I deserve to have nice things and spend time on just myself (and as a nice byproduct, got to spend some quality time with my niece - something just the two of us haven't been able to do in many years).

So to paraphrase Gordon Gekko from the movie "Wall Street," "Shopping is Good."

Random Thoughts on a Tuesday Evening

I walked past a Bennetton store in a New Jersey mall the other day and it took me back to a place and time, long before I ever imagined that I’d make a career in marketing, when I got a firsthand taste of how NOT to treat a customer.

I was a teenager and a Bennetton store had just opened in my local mall. Çurious, I walked inside (wearing tattered jeans and my long curly hair probably wild – it was the 70s, after all). The moment I reached my hand out to touch a carefully folded sweater on a shelf, an imperious saleswoman walked up to me, effectively blocked my path and said “Can I help you with something?”

I understood from her tone that I was not welcome to touch the merchandise, and I mumbled something incomprehensible, shrank from her in embarrassment and quickly exited the store.

That was more than 30 years ago…and I have NEVER stepped inside a Bennetton store since.

Since that time, Benetton has gained national attention as a socially responsible company, and pushed the envelope with provocative advertising campaigns featuring a person with AIDS at the moment of his death, and a black baby nursing at a white woman's breast.

But they never swayed me.

Today, Bloomberg News ran a story about how an Indian tribe in Patagonia is accusing the company of trying to buy the tribe's gratitude and allegiance with 30 acres of land for 40,000 Indians.

http://quote.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=10000086&sid=a_hYZMzfhZd8&refer=news_index


I don't know what the real story is there, but I do know that today I am the kind of executive woman with disposable income that Benetton would love to have shop in their stores, and I was tempted the other day by an attractive children’s clothing display, but I just couldn’t walk in. That one bad experience cost Benetton this customer back in 1977 and they’ll never get her back.

Why I never really liked Madonna

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/11/13/fashion/sundaystyles/13MADONNA.html
Two stories in the NY Times today pay homage to Madonna, and it got me thinking about the effect the original material girl had on my life.

I was a sophomore in college when Madonna's "Like a Virgin" record came out, and although I danced to it in the sorry excuse we had for a disco in upstate Binghamton, New York, and enjoyed watching her videos on the newly-created MTV, I just never idolized her the way so many other women have - and still do today.

She's only a few years older than me, and I even worked out for a short time at a health club in Greenwich Village that she was said to frequent, but I never really envied her fame or her life.

I admire her ambition and her drive to keep pace with the latest movements (techno, Kabbalah), but even at 19, I felt kind of sorry for her. She always seemed to me to be a little bit out of her element, and her constant reinventions over the years and bids for attention laid bare (I think) a deep insecurity that she has never quite been able to shake, despites millions of adoring fans, scads of cash, and even a steady husband and two beautiful children.

As an insecure teen and young adult, I recognized in her what I didn't like about myself at the time - the burning need to please, to even scandalize myself in order to get others to take notice of me. And it wasn't a pretty sight. The confidence she showed in "Express Yourself," for example, belies the lyrics. What was she doing with a man who couldn't express himself in the first place? Probably what I was doing with all those unavailable, unexpressive men in my life - hanging out in the hardware store looking for apples.

Later on, in interviews on television, she always seemed to be performing, and at the same time, not really present in the moment. Nothing ever seemed unscripted about her, as if she were afraid of what might come out of her mouth if she dared to just be herself.

And dare I say it - for someone who's managed to reach a pinnacle of success that few people achieve, she has never struck me as a very smart, or very interesting person.

Much has been said and written about Warren Beatty's comment during her documentary (something to the effect) that she doesn't really exist without a camera following her every move. I don't know if that's true, but I can honestly say that I've never gotten the sense, from everything I've read about her or seen in her interviews, that there is a real live, intense human being in there.

As I grew older and matured, I grabbed for the kinds of female heros that had what I desperately wanted - confidence to be themselves. My number one hero of all time is Katherine Hepburn. Forget Madonna. Here's a woman who defied the conventions of her times in ways Madonna couldn't even begin to fathom. A daredevil from birth with a healthy ego and a knack for meeting the right man at the wrong time, she nonethless pursued her life her way, mannish pants and all. And I loved, and still love her for it. She survived a bad first marriage, her brother's suicide, and the ignominy of hiding her love for Spencer Tracy from the public spotlight for many decades. And she did it with true grit, a searing love for life and for movies and the theater. She lived her life passionately and supremely confident that she could -- and should -- get what she wanted out of life.

For me, Madonna could just never measure up.

Ode to 'No More Tangles'

Until you become a parent, there are some things in the world you just never imagined would play such a pivotal role in your life.

Lately, I’ve been musing about these modern-day conveniences and how they’ve smoothed the path of working motherhood for me.

In no particular order, herewith my ode to the products/services that have made, or currently make my life easier:

1. No More Tangles. For once, marketers have named a product that tells you exactly what it does, and furthermore, it really works. Beware of imitations – they do not detangle, they merely coat your child’s hair with a greasy substance that does not in any way, shape or form get out those really difficult, rat’s nest-type knots. I love this product so much, I’d do a commercial for them.

2. Velcro. Nuff said.

3. Juice boxes. Yeah, I know I shouldn’t let my daughters drink too much of it, but you gotta love the kind of packaging that even 5-year-olds can manage on their own.

4. Adjustable waist pants. It amazes me that it took The Gap and other stores until last year to figure out that not all children fit perfectly into cookie cutter sizes.

5. Twistable, rainbow-colored, washable, fluorescent pens, pencils and markers. Although I’m sure my daughters could still create grade school masterpieces if they only had at their disposal the 64 Crayola crayons I used while growing up, these new tools fuel their creativity and get them so pumped up about drawing that it’s worth every penny it costs to replace them on an almost weekly basis.

6. The new Pampers Kandoo wipes. I have never smelled something so heavenly in all my life that was destined to be swiped across a toddler’s butt. I’d like to bottle it and wear it as perfume. Hats off to whatever genius realized that toilet-trained children are still not wipe-their-own-butts-trained children. My rash-free daughters thank you.

7. Paz on “Ready, Set, Learn” on TLC. Although I limit my daughters’ TV watching these days, I am truly entranced by this little penguin who channels so well the thoughts and feelings of a small child. The show has helped one of my daughters better understand death in a gentle, loving way, and truly teaches them both so many great lessons about working together and sharing and dealing with uncomfortable feelings. And it’s pretty funny, too.

8. Nori. This humble piece of pressed and flavored seaweed has probably been around for hundreds of years in Asian cultures, but not until sushi became a national pastime over the past decade did Asian grocery stores pop up in my neighborhood, making this Vitamin-A rich delicacy readily available in the burbs. It is the only vegetable that Jessica will eat, and it’s pretty funny to see the two of them fighting over who gets the last piece in the jar.

9. Cellphones, of course. I got a call from Lily tonight while I was on the train home. She told my father she urgently needed to speak to me to let me know that someone from school had apparently gone home with her red wool coat. Instant gratification can be a good thing, for both of us.

10. Digital photography. Ever since the girls were born, I’ve been able to keep an updated, indestructible photo library of their little lives online at ofoto.com (now kodakgallery.com). Their grandmother, especially, loves being able to check in every now and then to see the latest shots of her little girls via a computer and modem.

The dangers of blogging

Another confession - I crave attention. I guess anyone who goes to the trouble of writing a blog must harbor a deep desire for applause, approval, commiseration, whatever. A therapist might say it stems from my childhood, where I frequently got lost in a family of five children.

One time, I got lost for real. The entire family was headed out to an amusement park, but I was busy washing my doll's hair in the bathroom sink and didn't come when my mother called. I couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 years old.

When I was finally finished with my doll's hair, the house seemed eerily quiet. When I went downstairs, I realized that everybody was gone. I ran outside, and sure enough, the stationwagon was gone, and I was alone.

Guilt swept over me. They left me on purpose, I was sure, because I didn't come when my mother called, and were teaching me a lesson.

Meanwhile, the story I hear is that inside the car, one of my sisters finally realized I was missing. "Where's Tracey?" she asked. "Very funny," my mother snapped. "She'd hiding underneath the seat (this was pre-car seat or seatbelt days)."

"No, Mom, she's not," my sister answered.

A few minutes after this exchange, the phone rang in my house. It was my frantic mother. She assured me that they left me by mistake, and I assured her I was all right, and all turned out fine in the end, and I was treated like a pretty special person for a day or two.

Back to my point, however. That kind of attention was scant throughout my childhood, and I craved it even more as I grew up. I started keeping a diary after reading "The Diary of Anne Frank" and "Go Ask Alice" and secretly hoped that my writings would some day be as famous as theirs (although I preferred that, unlike them, I'd be alive to reap the benefits).

Anyway, getting back to blogging. In an effort to increase my viewership beyond the 20 or so friends and relatives who've been reading this since April, I sent out some emails a while back to news reporters who deal with family/work issues in the hopes that one of them would write about my blog and make me just a little bit famous (or at least inspire someone other than spammers to comment on a post).

One very nice columnist for a major newspaper finally called this week, interviewed me for about 20 minutes about the blog and asked me to send her my picture, too. I was ecstatic - finally I would be recognized for the brilliant writer, mother, and writer that I am, and I'd soon be on my way to fame and untold riches with a syndicated column, a spot on the "Today" show and a six-figure book deal.

Today, however, she called to say they couldn't include the URL to my blog or any of my comments because one of my posts (since deleted) pretty much defamed the character of a non-public official. While I didn't name the person, if the paper had given my name and other identifying characteristics, it wouldn't have taken too much sleuthing to figure it out.

Needless to say, I was deflated and disappointed. But the reporter made me look at my blog in a new light. I've been so careful not to write anything specific about my job (I've read too many stories lately about people getting fired for indiscretions about work in their blogs), but it didn't occur to me until today that if my readership ever does spike, anything I write will be open for scrutiny by my neighbors, the guys at the bagel shop, and anyone else with a Web browser.

And in re-reading the post, I realized that no private person deserves to be forever branded by someone with a pen and a point of view. It's one thing to let off steam with my friends and confidantes, but quite another to publish it for the world to view. Even if I still do feel a bit like ripping out her heart and stomping on it in public. Yeah, I wrote that.

So I deleted the post. It was cathartic to write it, and it came from the heart, but especially in such a public forum, I need to be more careful about what I write. Yeah, it (selfishly) makes it easier for another reporter down the road to link to my blog without fear of lawsuits or other reprisals, but I also know it was the right thing to do.

As the reporter and I agreed, blogging is still such a new form of communication that it's hard to get a handle out how to, well, handle it. And not publishing my URL was the only choice she and her editor could make.

I may need to wait for another few months or years to get the attention I crave, but I guess it just gives me more time to refine my writing and my point of view. The 'Today Show' will just have to wait.

Confession time.

Confession time. This is not a linear, check in today to get the update on what I wrote about yesterday, or last week kind of blog. I don’t link to other blogs, and I imagine some bloggers might claim this isn’t really a blog at all, just a series of self-published columns touching on whatever I feel like musing about that day. Fair enough.

But as a working mother, I literally have no time to update my blog on a daily, or even weekly basis – much less peruse the thousands of blogs out there to see which ones I like. I’m too busy just trying to get my work budget in on time, my children off to school with their hair slightly brushed and their homework done, the groceries packed away, and often fall into bed exhausted at 9:30 p.m. without even speaking 10 words to my husband.

I’m not complaining – I love my life, but I’ve learned, as time goes on, that some things have to give. I accepted a while ago that I will never be the perfect mother, worker, wife, and now, blogger. And I’m OK wth that. Just thought I’d get that straight.