tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72074492024-03-07T03:56:23.970-06:00MomhoodMotherhood, insanity and everyday life.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.comBlogger282125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-91222286299544789072009-04-03T12:39:00.003-05:002009-04-03T12:45:15.955-05:00My Kid Wrote a Book...Really!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlscxlYPF0Fl33zIpTtG5lsquVZHN5beVe3i2QJ5pToCpgKerMsEHW44ELE_Kf7w8LF5qMsRKFSDyfCeWJQ4o5E1whPFZbu55A6Xp_wZgz_BYouDZ1lvLvht_RlgzbfsKRSUT9g/s1600-h/IMG_2507.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGlscxlYPF0Fl33zIpTtG5lsquVZHN5beVe3i2QJ5pToCpgKerMsEHW44ELE_Kf7w8LF5qMsRKFSDyfCeWJQ4o5E1whPFZbu55A6Xp_wZgz_BYouDZ1lvLvht_RlgzbfsKRSUT9g/s200/IMG_2507.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320521960933545426" border="0" /></a>One of the reasons that I haven't given up on Momhood is because it's an outlet for me to shamelessly promote my children and their various ventures.<br /><br />My son, Dan, who is graduating in May from Ball State, just finished his first book. It's called "Explorer P Presents Sunflower: A Curaceus Crolium Official Report." (Or just Sunflower for short. It's AWESOME and you can buy a copy by clicking <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/6185488">HERE</a>. It's pretty cheap. He currently makes NO profit - really.<br /><br />And if you think Dan is amazing, and you want to hire him to do audio or write songs or maybe even do some writing, here's his website, along with his resume - click <a href="http://djwaldkirch.iweb.bsu.edu/495/home.html">HERE. </a>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-62252363672167920142009-03-22T08:23:00.002-05:002009-03-22T08:29:09.857-05:00Hi. Remember me?Yeah, I know. I've been a total blog slacker...a "blacker" so to speak. But actually, not really. I've been blogging my brains out, just not here. And honestly, I'm not sure what to do with Momhood. It's my baby, my first-born blog. I can't just give it up. So in the meantime, I'm going to give you links to my other blogs and hope that you come and visit me there. Please....?<br /><br />Examiner.com - My newest blog. I get PAID for this one, so <a href="http://www.examiner.com/x-5733-Milwaukee-Parenting-Teens-Examiner">click here </a>OFTEN!<br /><br /><a href="http://blogs.wauwatosanow.com/west_side_stories/archive/2009/03/22/can-restaurants-and-retail-thrive-in-tosa.aspx">West Side Stories </a>- This is my life...locally. I wish you all lived here. Many of you do. Aren't we lucky?<br /><br /><a href="http://community.milwaukeemoms.com/blogs/driving_miss_cranky/archive/2009/03/22/celebumoms-and-reality.aspx">Driving Miss Cranky </a>- Honestly, if I make it out of motherhood alive...scratch that...<em>sane, </em>then things will be good.<br /><br />Thanks for visiting here, all 4 of you. I love you to pieces...really!Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-22108570345501964472009-02-20T10:10:00.001-06:002009-02-20T10:12:20.406-06:00Students Make Music (and More) in Record TimeThere’s nothing like a deadline to get a college student going. And when the deadline is self-imposed, the most amazing things can happen. This is the idea behind Record Time IV, a project created four years ago by Ball State University Music Technology Seniors Dan Waldkirch and Mike Weber.<br /><br />Record Time IV challenges all participants to write and record an album in one week – from Monday February 23rd at 12:00 am to Sunday March 1st at 11:55 pm. The “traditional” goal for Record Time is to write record 30 minutes of new and completely original music, in one week.<br /><br />Prior Record Time challenges have yielded albums covering a wide variety of genres and themes, as well as several other interesting contributions, such as poetry, video and photography. Last year’s event resulted in 3.5 hours of unique music.<br /><br />“This goal is not for the faint of heart,” explains Waldkirch. “However, there are NO rules whatsoever. If it’s your first time participating, maybe shoot for 20 minutes, or 10 minutes, or just one song. And it doesn’t even HAVE to be original!”<br /><br />Waldkirch and Weber invite anyone and everyone to participate, primarily through a Facebook group. And participation is not limited to college students or musicians.<br /><br />“If you’re not a musician, you can still participate. Write a story, or some poetry, or make a video, or bake a cake,” says Weber. “Do whatever you want. Then we will gather it all up and drop an avalanche of artwork all over the unsuspecting internets.”<br /><br />One of the more interesting aspects about Record Time is that although it is a challenge, it is not a competition. There are no winners except for the participants who feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment upon completion.“Like I always say, it’s not about quantity OR quality, it’s about remembering what it feels like to get something done,” says Waldkirch. But don’t put it past a resourceful college student to use this extra-curricular activity to his advantage. “I’m working on a thesis about speed composition,” says Waldkirch, “and if you decide to participate in Record Time, I’ll want to interview you!”<br /><br />For those interested in recording a CD, Waldkirch and Weber ask for a few things:All tracks in MP3 format, lyrics in some kind of text file and album artwork. But they insist that recording quality is not important whatsoever. They encourage participants to work with whatever resources they have.<br /><br />Waldkirch and Weber have one final suggestion: “Invite your friends, and don’t chicken out, or you’ll regret it! People always do…”<br /><br />For further information about Record Time IV or to participate, you can contact Dan Waldkirch via e-mail at <a href="mailto:djwaldkirch@bsu.edu">djwaldkirch@bsu.edu</a>.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-44923078221126846892009-02-18T11:19:00.000-06:002009-02-18T11:21:24.405-06:00When Folding Laundry Becomes a Guilty PleasureI have a secret…shhhh….I sometimes watch crappy TV…and I love it. No, I’m not talking about “American Idol” or “House” or “Lost” or “Survivor” or “Desperate Housewives.” I’ll readily admit to viewing those.<br /><br />I’m talking about the shows that I’d be a teeny bit reluctant to share. I call these my Laundry Folding Guilty Pleasures. They are: “The Real Housewives of New York City,” “Rachel Zoe Project,” “Project Runway” and “Ugly Betty.” I feel about these the way my mom probably felt about “Days of Our Lives.”<br /><br />God bless the DVR. It allows me to record these shows in our bedroom where I fold clothes. Suddenly, laundry isn’t as tedious or boring as it used to be. In fact, I kinda look forward to it. Is that weird?<br /><br />I have no interest in becoming “A Real Housewife” and Rachel Zoe and I have nothing in common. But I can’t get enough of their lives…or at least the parts of their lives that producers want us to see. It’s escapism at its very best. And Ugly Betty? I think she’s beautiful, inside and out.<br /><br />What about you. What are your guilty pleasures?Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-27078122097243373772009-01-28T10:01:00.000-06:002009-01-28T10:03:15.299-06:00Please Pass the GeritolWhen I was a kid, the true sign of getting old was if you needed <a href="http://www.geritol.com/information.aspx">Geritol</a>. We had no idea what it did, but the commercials on TV showed old people taking it and suddenly feeling great.<br /><br />I am happy to say that I have not yet taken Geritol, although based on their website, maybe I should.<br /><br />Nowadays, there’s a new sign that you’re, well, maybe not old¸ but well on your way: You and your friends are getting a colonoscopy. Although I have a little bit of time before getting my own, today, I’m taking my husband for his colonoscopy. If this means he’s old, then I’m right behind him.<br /><br />Hopefully, this will be a boring day (for me) and an equally boring and a not too awful and uneventful experience for him.<br /><br />And if you haven’t considered getting a colonoscopy, allow me to share the <a href="http://www.miamiherald.com/548/story/427603.html">wit and wisdom </a>of the always hilarious Dave Barry on this, um, awkward subject. Yeah, sounds like fun, doesn’t it?Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-56089573852659737652009-01-21T08:37:00.001-06:002009-01-22T19:16:33.860-06:00Willard's KnockingMost days, I don’t really think about what the President is doing. Occasionally, I’ll see him on TV and think deep thoughts like: “Ooh, that was awkward.” Or, “I wonder if somebody wakes him up in the morning or if he has an alarm clock.”<br /><br />Today, we have a brand new president. I hope he can fix anything and everything, but I know he can’t. Nevertheless, here’s the daunting thought that entered my mind:<br /><br />I am older than the President of the United States. Seriously. We’re talking nine months and 19 days. Whoa.<br /><br />Who cares about the country - when did <em>I</em> get that <em>old</em>? Honestly, I’m only two steps behind the Smucker’s seniors that Willard Scott rambles on about every morning.<br /><br />It never fails to amaze me how I can take an international event and make it about me.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-86496858531364808322009-01-16T10:41:00.001-06:002009-01-16T10:43:22.530-06:00I Can't Help It!This has turned me into a totally obsessive stage mom. Can you blame me? Check out my daughter in front of more than 10,000 people:<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4pgzo90KisA&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4pgzo90KisA&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-77084185003456420772008-12-19T07:42:00.002-06:002008-12-19T07:44:26.005-06:00Peace<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMOeMU76CrAHCA8qXZePN-KN2vT6WKNrMR6MkFFhMzkcBl9Tdaskg9biceelC0h5fY7tnHeNXR05YppCLhwEJUxwoHJar8GPSVUMQ7rbLVWIDySl_o10PKfzoLk5FR5WKF5bFjzQ/s1600-h/SCAN0113.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281496519124501810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 161px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMOeMU76CrAHCA8qXZePN-KN2vT6WKNrMR6MkFFhMzkcBl9Tdaskg9biceelC0h5fY7tnHeNXR05YppCLhwEJUxwoHJar8GPSVUMQ7rbLVWIDySl_o10PKfzoLk5FR5WKF5bFjzQ/s200/SCAN0113.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I have no idea how to explain it, but when my kids are here in the house, sleeping safe and sound, all is right with the world. It’s as if any worries that I have for them just disappear. There’s only one word for it – peace. </div>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-48605234743620899692008-12-09T21:34:00.001-06:002008-12-09T21:37:37.214-06:00Attack of the 50 ft. Stage MomOK, so I have three blogs. And I try to use them judiciously. I try not to say stupid things or make fun of people (too much) or embarrass my family (too often.) But this is probably my least read blog and, so therefore, I’m going to pimp it out and use it like the total stage mom that I am.<br /><br />Click <a href="http://www.espnmilwaukee.com/poll">here </a>and vote for Maria. Why? Because she’s my daughter but mostly because I think she did a GREAT job. (And kudos to my son Dan who did the most excellent recording.) We’re having a blast with this and I hope you enjoy listening to her.<br /><br />Thanks, and if you’re so inclined, pass the word on to anyone and everyone.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-37753225862129750922008-11-25T09:31:00.001-06:002008-11-25T09:34:42.609-06:00No More Faux Ho Ho HoIf there’s one thing you can say about America, it’s that we have a penchant for taking something nice and beating it to death until it annoys the hell out of everyone. A fine example of this is Christmas.<br /><br />It’s tough to find one person in our bloated nation who is not aggravated by something about the holidays. Some hate the music, some hate getting together with their families, some hate shopping, some hate decorating, some hate cooking.<br /><br />Me? I hate fake happiness shown in advertising. I hate seeing commercial after commercial showing fake families being fake happy. I hate seeing that girl open a gift from Sears and scream like she just got a new Lexus. I hate the commercial where the wife gives the husband a Lexus. Can you imagine a scenario where you could do that? I hate the family parties with the perfect people in the perfect house.<br /><br />I hate the Christmas morning scenes of pretty people opening pretty presents – all of them perfect…and pretty. No morning breath. No bed hair. No gifts that completely missed the mark.<br /><br />I hate that all of the wives are slim, trim and smiling and that all of the men seem truly interested in talking to everyone.<br /><br />I hate the kids who seem comfortable in their too-cute clothes and their unbridled enthusiasm for every single gift.<br /><br />I hate the commercials that preach to us about how we should feel about Christmas. I think Christmas is, at best, a mixed-bag filled with presumptions and imperfections and stress and people that are trying their hardest but often fall short.<br /><br />Basically, I think we need to all lower our expectations and it should start with the commercials. Let’s put a moratorium on faux-everything. For just one year, could we show real people and if we don’t, then make them animated? I have no problem with Santa sledding on a Norelco shaver. I do have a problem with a guy handing his wife keys to a brand-new BMW.<br /><br />Just for this Christmas, let’s be real.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-33300147065210147182008-11-18T08:33:00.003-06:002008-11-18T08:41:18.878-06:00For Good<em><span style="font-size:85%;">I've heard it said </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">That people come into our lives for a reason </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Bringing something we must learn </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">And we are led </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">To those who help us most to grow </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">If we let them </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">And we help them in return </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Well, I don't know if I believe that's true </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">But I know I'm who I am today </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Because I knew you... </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Like a comet pulled from orbit </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">As it passes a sun </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Like a stream that meets a boulder </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Halfway through the wood </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Who can say if I've been changed for the better? </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">But because I knew you </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">I have been changed for good</span></em><br /><em></em><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>"For Good" from the musical <em>Wicked</em></strong></span><br /><br />Twenty-two years ago, we became parents. On that day, <a href="http://momhood.blogspot.com/search?q=Andrew%27s+Story">Andrew came into our life</a>. At the time, it was certainly devastating – not at all what we were expecting. Things like that happen to other people, right. Nevertheless, it did happen to us.<br /><br />But today, looking back, I feel at peace. Because I firmly believe that Andrew is at peace. I believe he came into our lives for a reason. Some of the reasons I know. Some, I will probably never know. What’s important is that Andrew touched all of us in some way and we are forever changed…for good.<br /><br />Happy birthday, buddy. Watch over us. We love you.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-26470972248014104822008-11-14T10:47:00.001-06:002008-11-14T10:49:07.412-06:00Love-Hate CellI have a love-hate relationship with cell phones. I love the fact that I no longer have to use germ-infested public phones. I hate the fact that my kids can reach me anywhere with annoying questions like: “Mom, did you wash that special sweater that I told you I needed to wear to the Pulitzer Prize ceremony tonight?”<br /><br />I love texting, but I hate getting texted when I’m driving because then I’m tempted to text and drive which is about the same as downing a bottle of Scotch before driving. I have, very responsibly, pulled to the side of the road and texted. But I admit that I have texted while driving, but only while personally vowing never to do it again.<br /><br />Anyway, what I hate about cell phones is people that talk on them…A LOT. I would almost guarantee that I have never had more than a 20 minute cell phone conversation. Part of this is because I hate talking on the phone and part of it is because I hate talking on the phone in public places. Apparently, most people don’t feel the same way that I do. Apparently, most people suck.<br /><br />Today, I’m sitting in the waiting room of my friendly car dealer. I have about 90 minutes to kill. I managed to tune out the annoying morning show blasting on the television. (Am I the only person that has no interest in dressing my children like Madonna’s daughter Lourdes?) What I cannot tune out, however, is annoying cell phone bitch. We’ll call her ACPB.<br /><br />So, ACPB dials up her friend and says she’s so excited to get the party invitation and she’s been such a bad friend not staying in touch and she will be able to attend the party. I’m thinking: “Good, RSVP done. Hang up now.” No, then we all have to hear about her friend’s dire kidney issues. “That kidney fought the good fight!” And, “So are you eligible for a transplant?” And, my favorite: “You should celebrate! You’re 40 and you’re still here!” Un-freaking-believable.<br /><br />Then, we hear about ACPB’s daughter who is in and out of rehab. Honestly, is this information you want an entire waiting room to hear?! She wonders to her friend why the daughter has a crappy boyfriend and a crappy life. Could it be because the mother is a crappy example of having no boundaries or social etiquette?<br /><br />This went on and on and on and on for at least 30 minutes. I finally turned on my iPod to try and drown her out. (I really wanted to just drown her.)<br /><br />Seriously, WTF?! There was a giant showroom into which ACPB could have wandered to chat about kidneys and rehab. No, that would have been far too considerate. And here’s a nice wrinkle: She’s a nurse…apparently a neonatal nurse. Yes, this dope works with tiny, frail babies who need intensive care. That’s scary. She can barely raise her own daughter.<br /><br />Anyway, here’s my word to the wise…and the unwise: DO NOT TALK LOUDLY ON YOUR CELL PHONE. I really shouldn’t have to tell anyone that, but I will. There…I feel better.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-72839724744913155932008-11-13T10:03:00.003-06:002008-11-13T10:17:10.007-06:00Can You Feel A Brand New Blog?Wow, it's kinda pink, isn't it?! Yeah, well I was bored. And, admit it, you were too. I haven't been here in like six weeks and this poor little old blog was getting more stale than the leftovers in my fridge.<br /><br />You see, I've created this triumverate of blogs. I have a <a href="http://blogs.wauwatosanow.com/west_side_stories/">community blog </a>and a <a href="http://community.milwaukeemoms.com/blogs/driving_miss_cranky/">blog on a local "mom" site </a>and then I have this blog. This used to be my one and only outlet for writing. Then the others came along. <em>Momhood</em> is sort of like the oldest child. Once adored and now often ignored. Along the way, I started getting stumped on how to fill each blog. Most of the time, I did nothing. Lazy and pathetic, I know.<br /><br />And I do understand that my "readership" has fallen off. There are so few of you - perhaps even fewer. I think I can count on Tom, Mary Ann, Dan and Judy. That's probably it. Thank you to all of you. I appreciate every nice thing you've ever said and every critical thing you've kept to yourself. You're all the best.<br /><br />OK, now for the good news. I'm changing things up. <em>Momhood</em> will always be here and will always be called <em>Momhood</em>. But I'm changing the direction. There will be, hopefully, more posts. But they'll be short and maybe a little bit out there. This will be the depository for the endless stream of odd thoughts that pass through my head. Why? Because I'm about more than just children and motherhood. Although both have defined me, I'm still a babe with a brain, if you will, and if you visit here, you get to find out what's going on in mine. Are you ready? OK. Here goes:<br /><br />Exactly how old do you have to be to die of natural causes? As I've mentioned before, I'm a little bit fascinated by obituaries lately. I read them daily. I love reading strange ones and, for some reason, I always want to know what happened. Often I run into the phrase: "He died of natural causes." When it's an older person, I completely understand. But when somebody is, say, 55, isn't that a little bit young to be dying of natural causes? Isn't every death natural unless machinery is involved?Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-88215811061906930872008-09-26T14:50:00.003-05:002008-09-26T14:56:00.802-05:00Facing the ChangeI’m kind of relieved. I thought it was me. And per usual, I took a side trip down Worst Case Scenario Road. Turns out, I’m not the only one. I’m also not the worst person in the world, nor am I insane, nor am I going to forget where I live in the near future. The answer, my friends, is perimenopause.<br /><br />Look, I’m only on the cusp of 48. I think I’m pretty young, very healthy and fairly fit. Thanks to an addiction to tennis, I exercise regularly. But there was no denying that something was up. The times, and my body, were a-changing.<br /><br />I’ll spare you the gory details, but suffice it to say that until I read <a href="http://www.more.com/health/conditions/menopause/perimenopause-facts/">this article </a>in More Magazine, I had visions of a bleak future. One where family holidays would consist of me sitting in a room alone and my kids and husband in another room, having this discussion:<br /><br />“I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I think it has to do with 8th grade.”<br /><br />“Yeah, well, she called me by <em>your</em> name today. We’re not even the same sex!”<br /><br />“You think that’s bad? I forgot to rinse my dishes this morning and you’d think I’d thrown away her new People Magazine.”<br /><br />“Yeah, well it doesn’t matter what you say to her, she can’t hear it and she’ll never remember it. She’s turned into a human black hole.”<br /><br />Ugh, you get the picture. Memory loss, irritability and a whole host of unpleasant odds and ends are making day to day life with me rather, um, challenging. According to the article, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. A journey, which I’ve only just embarked upon.<br /><br />Wish me, and more importantly, my family, the best of luck. We’re going to need it.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-59559538630400252502008-09-14T16:56:00.003-05:002008-09-15T08:07:47.447-05:00Junk Drawer<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8qfaV9KSgDuEfe25KPaoxCAfsZRkbqp06KRrK4Ouao-oruRrbnxdUHmhyYBLdiMiSmBRIXpjuio1zzeehAfhmiZIVwqRFrFFeSBdwUPpinXnW3BQTtkESdIC_Aul5YBsXTOJIA/s1600-h/JunkDrawer.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245999713120218626" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8qfaV9KSgDuEfe25KPaoxCAfsZRkbqp06KRrK4Ouao-oruRrbnxdUHmhyYBLdiMiSmBRIXpjuio1zzeehAfhmiZIVwqRFrFFeSBdwUPpinXnW3BQTtkESdIC_Aul5YBsXTOJIA/s200/JunkDrawer.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>One of the reasons I wrote this blog is to, once in a while, strike a chord with other women. Perhaps say something that they had long been thinking but couldn’t quite put into words. Sometimes, I can do it. Other times, well, it’s not for lack of trying.<br /><br />So I’m going out on a limb. I’m sharing with you one of my deeply rooted embarrassments. There it is.<br /><br />That, my friends, is the family junk drawer. Do you have one? Seems like most people do. At least they <em>say</em> they do, but who knows. Sometimes thin people say: “Oh, I ate like a pig last night,” really having no idea what that means.<br /><br />Last night my daughter had an impromptu party. It wasn’t a big deal, but suffice it to say that I had high school juniors wandering around my house a bit. At one point, for some reason, they needed some string. “Sure,” I said. And I opened the junk drawer. My daughter’s friend was nearby. The minute I opened it, I regretted it.<br /><br />For some reason, I was feeling all house-warm-ey and open and, you know, ”mi casa es su casa.” But really. There’s no way anybody’s going in that drawer. Until last night. When I opened it and looked for string…in front of another human. Gulp.<br /><br />Here’s a random list of just a few of the items you’ll find in my junk drawer:<br /><br />Deck of cards<br />Flashlight<br />Allen wrench<br />Two calculators<br />Hands-free earpiece for telephone<br />Wrist rest for computer<br />Rosary (I’ll probably go to hell for that)<br />Phone jack cord<br />Rope (not string)<br />Expired Pizza Hut coupons<br />Church contribution envelopes<br />At least 4 pads of paper<br />More return address labels than I will ever need in my lifetime<br />Half-empty packet of purse Kleenex<br /><br />Needless to say, if I lost it in a flood, none of this would even be missed for a nanosecond. It’s one of those great, black holes, where things in my kitchen that don’t belong anywhere, go forever. You know, the keychain that somebody won. I throw it in the drawer where it will languish for years.<br /><br />So, why don’t I just clean it out? Because, honestly, if I said that I cleaned out the junk drawer, it would take me an hour or two, but I wouldn’t feel any more productive than before I did it. It’s a mild annoyance – like a mosquito bite on your finger.<br /><br />What about you? Do you have a junk drawer? Why? Do you ever clean it? Why not? Seriously, I think we’ll all feel better if we open up about this. Oh, ok, fine. <em>I’ll</em> feel better if you open up about this.<br /><br /></div>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-64600114801339448292008-08-30T15:06:00.001-05:002008-08-30T15:08:28.137-05:00Empty Nest TestAlright. It’s 2:50 <strong>pm</strong> on a Saturday. Our son is at college and our daughter is gone for the weekend with a friend and her family. For the next 48 hours or so, we have an empty nest. How do I feel? Well, frankly, this is <em>REALLY</em> weird.<br /><br />Sure, when our kids were toddlers, I dreamed about this. I used to sit in the rocking chair at 2:50 <strong>am</strong> and imagine the days when I wouldn’t have to wake up at that hour and when I could leave the house whenever I damn-well pleased. Ahh…sweet freedom.<br /><br />What’s that annoying thing that people say? Be careful what you ask for?<br /><br />Like I said, it’s weird. It’s also pretty scary. Hubby and I will celebrate our 25th anniversary in December. Are we really prepared to spend the next 25 years without kids? Can anyone possibly put up with that much ME?!<br /><br />Technically, we have 6 years before our nest is really empty, but this weekend almost feels like the end of college. Remember those days when you had no clue what your future held? The one thing about being a parent is that it’s so engrossing, so all-encompassing that the idea that your kids will be gone one day is simply preposterous. And yet inevitable.<br /><br />It’s a good thing this is only a test. If this had been an actual empty nest, someone would have to point me in some direction. Because honestly, for the second time in my life, I’m a little lost.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-26110467885216934932008-08-21T16:23:00.002-05:002008-08-21T16:28:39.120-05:00When You Go<em>Only a moment ago we had nothing but time </em><br /><em>Everything lasted forever and you were all mine </em><br /><em>Only a dream I know </em><br /><em>Thinking you'd never go </em><br /><em>Tearing off pieces of myself </em><br /><em>Just for the time it buys me </em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Fold my heart up small </em><br /><em>Or break it into pieces </em><br /><em>Find somewhere and keep it there </em><br /><em>Take it when you go<br /></em><br /><strong><em>“<a href="http://www.jonathancoulton.com/songdetails/When%20You%20Go">When You Go</a>” – Jonathan Coulton<br /></em></strong><br />Here we are again, saying goodbye. It’s not the end of the world, but as you begin your final year of college, I find myself panicking to remember everything I should have thought about long ago.<br /><br />Have I made enough of our time together? I wish I could say yes. Have I said all that a mother should say to her child? Of course not. Have I taught you everything? No, but have I taught you <em>enough</em>? Again, probably not.<br /><br />How can I even begin to prepare you for where you will be at the end of this school year? I try and remember what my senior year was like. Truthfully, it was far more focused on on socializing than planning the rest of my life. And when graduation rolled around, I was terrified. Somehow, improbably, I landed on my feet. I think God and your Dad are totally responsible for that.<br /><br />Three years ago, you left here a boy. I remember that day we dropped you off at that gigantic campus filled with nothing but strangers. You looked like were you going to your execution. But you stayed the course and, in time, found your niche, your friends and so many gifts.<br /><br />Today, you’re a man. How the heck did that happen? There’s absolutely nothing in any parenting manuals to prepare you for the day that you look up at your child and realize that he is an adult.<br /><br />I think you know that we’re proud of you, but you probably don’t realize that we embarrass ourselves sometimes at social events by talking about you to excess. Perhaps we’re living vicariously through you or perhaps it’s just hard to believe that we’re related to someone so talented and so humble. Either way, we feel blessed and we hope you do too.<br /><br />So here’s what I really need to say: Forgive me if I hold on too tight, if I “over-mother” at a point when I should start loosening my grip. As with every other parenting challenge, I’m just making it up as I go along. It worked pretty well for the first 21 years. I’m hoping it will work for the next 21.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-52775763126845953122008-08-15T10:36:00.003-05:002008-08-16T07:10:40.892-05:00ShamelessYou know what? Dina Lohan's got NOTHIN' on me! Watch me shamelessly promote my kid and his project!<br /><br />So, here's the dealio. My son wrote a song called "I Want To Talk To You On The Internet." His friends spent this summer creating a music video for the song. It's amazing. Seriously. I really think you'll love it. Click <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihxyTy_Bypw">here </a>to see it.<br /><br />That song is from his album <em>Love Songs To My Future Girlfriend: A Music Request For A Female Companion</em>. You can watch another music video from that album, "Be My Girlfriend," by clicking <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5HD4g3-ras&feature=related">here</a>.<br /><br />Enjoy!<br /><br />(Oh, and no, that's not my son in the video...in case you were wondering.)Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-61642299028624878342008-07-27T18:51:00.002-05:002008-07-27T18:56:02.552-05:00Girl!Have you ever seen the Bud Light ad campaign called “<a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&ie=ISO-8859-1&q=bud+light+dude+commercial">Dude</a>”? Basically, it’s a peek inside a guy’s world. But what is fascinating is that it’s a guy calling a guy when he’s doing something that is SO not cool. All he says is: “Dude!”<br /><br />I was thinking about this concept and I think that we moms need something like this to call each other when we’re over the top or totally missing a mom moment. What do we call it? “Chick!” Or…”Mom!” Or, better yet - “Girl!”<br /><br />Here’s a scenario: You’re in a grocery store and you’re standing in line like everyone else. There’s a mom next to you. She’s on the cell phone, talking incessantly. Her kids have completely lost it and she’s not noticing. They’re whining incessantly and bugging everyone around them. You look at her and say: “Girl!”<br /><br />Or, you’re in Target and you see a mom with one of her kids. They do what every kid in the universe does – they ask for something they neither need nor deserve. The mom snaps. She starts screaming at the child and drudging every last transgression this kid has ever committed. You look at her and say: “Girl!”<br /><br />Or, you’re at a restaurant. It’s a sports bar. You’re kind of dressy casual. A woman walks in with her kids in tow. She’s trying hard to look younger. She’s working the 4 inch heels and wearing a completely inappropriate Hooters’ t-shirt. You eye her apparel and just say: “Girl!”<br /><br />Or, you stop in at your kid’s school before the school day starts. There’s a mom there who is convinced that her child is a bonafide genius. She’s cornered the teacher and is listing all the reasons why her kid should be treated differently than the other kids. You look at her and just say: “Girl!”<br /><br />Or, you're waiting for the school play to begin. There's a mom who absolutely cannot stop "styling" her kid, who is obviously totally annoyed by it all. The mom's primping isn't even helping the kid look even better. You lean in and say: "Girl!"<br /><br />Or, you’re at a kids’ soccer game. One of the other moms thinks she’s Mia Hamm. She’s coaching from the sidelines, even though she is NOT a coach. She’s yelling at her kid and the other kids on the team and trying to tell them where to go and what to do. You yell back at her: “Girl!”<br /><br />So, would you do it? Would you call a mom who’s being a crappy mom for acting badly? I can’t help but wonder: Wouldn’t we all be better if we did? Have you ever "called" a mom for acting badly?Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-18251773402820827172008-06-30T07:59:00.005-05:002008-06-30T08:07:04.626-05:00Extreme Teen Makeover<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAibicovOpVFavIHYBmSJLmP2rAqLgzYCT6vnUDnJrRh4351RKrTPuk_b14-QpfLJm8eld4YQUOVCq2Si9i0SiQBg7CI_oO411sOJG74lVc_kNjXYjXa_jszmyUFeLR4BQ0f3qlQ/s1600-h/ASP.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217659789520502466" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAibicovOpVFavIHYBmSJLmP2rAqLgzYCT6vnUDnJrRh4351RKrTPuk_b14-QpfLJm8eld4YQUOVCq2Si9i0SiQBg7CI_oO411sOJG74lVc_kNjXYjXa_jszmyUFeLR4BQ0f3qlQ/s200/ASP.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div>In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t imagine my daughter associated with the items in this picture. She is the girl who screams, I mean SCREAMS when a fly buzzes near her head. She and the outdoors are like oil and water. Getting her to clean her room is a lesson in futility. But these boots, hammer, work gloves and measuring tape belong to her. And she earned them.<br /><br />My sweet 16 year-old just returned from a trip to Kentucky where she and a bunch of other local teens built and rehabbed homes for the underprivileged. She signed up, but I’m not sure she really understood what she was getting into. She reluctantly surrendered her cell phone and a week of her time to help others.<br /><br />I’m not sure what I expected upon her return. To be honest, not much. And the change is subtle. But it’s there, buried underneath the tired eyes and the farmer tan. She’s done some things and it’s made her a better person.<br /><br />The story that sticks in my head is one that started as her explaining to her fellow teens that the word is “wheelbarrow” not “wheel<em>barrel</em>.”<br /><br />“But we didn’t have a wheelbarrow so we pretty much had to lie on the ground and mix the cement with our arms in the foundation holes,” she said.<br /><br />“Didn’t it dry on you?!” I asked.<br /><br />“Nah, it won’t dry instantly and besides, that’s all we could do,” she replied.<br /><br />Huh. This cannot be my daughter. This isn’t the person we dropped off a week ago who kinda, sorta didn’t want to go. That girl is gone. I like this new girl. She’s got spunk. I hope she stays.<br /></div></div></div></div>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-4257228741685892592008-06-23T09:38:00.001-05:002008-06-23T09:40:40.166-05:00The Book of Love“<em>You marry the cover, but you live with the book</em>.”<br /><br />My husband and I heard this a couple days before a big family wedding. My brother got married for the second time – to a lovely girl, I might add.<br /><br />But this philosophy, so to speak, made we think….as did the wedding. I can’t help it. When I go to a family wedding, I pull out my scorecard. I start taking mental notes. Their family versus our family. Of course I know it’s not a contest, but I can’t help comparing my family with all of its quirkiness to the other family with all of its shiny newness. They’re pretty and perky and seem to do everything right. We’re awkward and shy and keep tripping over our own feet.<br /><br />Sound familiar? You bet it does. A family wedding is like a mini version of a high school prom. There are insiders and outsiders. Populars and unpopulars. Prom king and queen (groom and bride) and the rest of us. Some will embarrass themselves. Most others will be wallflowers.<br /><br />But back to the book, which is, essentially, what a family is. We’re the book inside the couple’s cover. Sure, they, and the world, look amazing for that one day, maybe longer. And there are several chapters in this book, each representing part of the family. Each chapter grows as life goes on and I’d even say that sometimes you have to re-read a chapter or two because your impression has changed based on other events.<br /><br />And that is exactly why a wedding is a terrible time to judge a family. There are speeches of gratitude and love and support for and from the couple. Funny stories are shared. Some people meet and some get reacquainted. It’s easy to compare family dynamics and find one side or the other lacking in some quality.<br /><br />But for me, looking back on 24 ½ years of marriage, the real story is when things go south. And I’m not talking about vacation. When the chips are down and sad and bad things happen. When life and people get really, really messy (and they will), <em>that’s</em> the worth of a family. That’s when somebody proves their love - when they are willing to step up as others need to step away.<br /><br />I wish my brother and my new sister-in-law a lifetime of happiness. I hope their newlywed glow continues as long as possible. But when it fades, and it will, and the pages of their book get dark or scary, I hope that both sides of the family do their part…whatever that is. To, me, that will be a happy ending. And I’m a sucker for happy endings.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-85390546616095319422008-06-06T16:45:00.001-05:002008-06-06T16:47:51.950-05:00The Summer of My DiscontentSo, it’s summer time again. And don’t get me wrong, I LOVE me some summer…especially after the winter we had. But I feel like I’m having a really tough time adjusting.<br /><br />On a positive note, I’ve finally figured out how to keep up with the extra laundry that another body (a.k.a. College Kid) brings. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how that woman with 17+ children is doing it, but that’s her problem, not mine. (And I just want to ask her: “Have you ever uttered the word NO?” A restraining order might be appropriate. I’m just sayin’.)<br /><br />But my first challenge is that I’m not much of a cook, so for me to put forth any effort in the kitchen is a big deal. And nothing rains on my Rachael Ray parade faster than College Kid or High School Kid deciding at the last minute to opt out of dinner. I understand that their plans are, how shall we say, <em>fluid?</em> But I have absolutely no idea how to run our house. I feel a combination of guilt and annoyance. I should be cooking memorable semi-home-cooked meals. But it seems like whenever I do, nobody is home. Whenever I don’t, they look at me like the orphans in “Oliver.”<br /><br />The other thing that I’m struggling with is not just seasonal. It’s the beginning of the end. High School Kid drives herself…everywhere. This is great in so many ways. No longer do I have to haul her to and from lessons, appointments, etc. I’m free to do my own thing….which is very liberating…but again, somewhat guilt-ridden. I feel like I should be there parenting her. She, of course, resists any and all of my attempts to do so.<br /><br />It’s a slippery slope where I am. I’m drifting between hanging on for dear life and reluctantly letting go. I chide myself for not putting forth an effort but wonder if it would be worth it anyway. And so, I’m reduced to latching onto family dinner opportunities wherever and whenever possible. Sure, I get plenty of time to play tennis and enjoy the warm weather, but not a day goes by without me worrying that I’m going about this all wrong.<br /><br />I think what I really need is some Prozac with my sunscreen.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-80731978128291039652008-05-15T07:25:00.003-05:002008-05-15T10:35:25.467-05:00Totally Pimpin' and Shillin'OK, so like many people, I started blogging because of my intense need to write...anything. It’s been very cathartic and has opened up a wealth of opportunities for me. Along the way, people who have read my blog have said: “Oh, you should write a book.” Except the thing is, I’m not a novelist. And that’s OK. But now I can say I know someone who is…and her first novel comes out on May 20th. (OK, truth be told, I don’t really know her, but she seems so sweet that I feel like I do!)<br /><br />I don’t have a blogroll (I can’t figure out how…), but if I did, <a href="http://www.mkeonline.com/story.asp?id=1403702">Jess Riley </a>would be at the top of it. Her blog, <a href="http://jessriley.blogspot.com/">Riley’s Ramblings </a>is hilarious and often causes me to laugh hysterically. And now, she’s written a book, <strong><em>Driving Sideways</em></strong>, and it looks good…really good. You can read a chapter <a href="http://www.randomhouse.com/catalog/display.pperl?isbn=9780345507440&view=excerpt">here</a>.<br /><br />So, head over to Barnes & Noble or your local bookstore or Target and pick up <strong><em>Driving Sideways</em></strong> on May 20th. Why? Because I said so, that’s why. You should always do what a mom tells you to do, right?<br /><br />While I’m standing on my pimp box, I think you should visit <a href="http://inondazione.blogspot.com/">this site</a>…every day…for the next 40 days. There’s this kid. He’s in college. But he’s home for the summer. And when he’s not carrying giant containers of pool chemicals to people’s cars, he’s writing a musical. And you can get a front row seat to his theatrics. It could be horrible, it could be wonderful. Either way, you’re with him for the ride. Kinda cool, huh? What’s that you say? I’m shillin’ for my own chillun’? WhatEVS!<br /><br />OK, I must stop now. Buy the book and visit the musical blog. You’ll thank me later.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-60778152595570943682008-04-27T07:58:00.003-05:002008-04-29T05:50:06.291-05:00Don't Fade AwayThe other day I was out walking the dog.<br /><br />Actually, here’s how that sentence should read in “mother-ese”: The other day, while a load of laundry was spinning in the old front-loader, I was walking the dog that our daughter begged us to get, promising that she’d feed, walk, and never neglect this animal which she has long-since done. (Never underestimate a mother’s ability to inject guilt into the most unlikely places.)<br /><br />Anyhoo…poor sentence structure aside, I was walking the dog that I now refer to as mine. We were approaching a church near our house and I noticed an elderly woman sitting on the side stoop in front of the church. She looked perfectly happy. She started saying something to me. I ripped my ear buds out and politely said: “I’m sorry, what?”<br /><br />“Is today Sunday?” she asked.<br /><br />“No. Today is Wednesday, April 23rd,” I replied.<br /><br />“I did it again,” she said in a disgusted tone. “I guess I’ll go back home.”<br /><br />She didn’t seem frail or fragile, so I really wasn’t worried about her getting home, so the dog and I continued our walk. But of course, I started thinking about her and how she ended up sitting in front of a church awaiting a service that wouldn’t start for five more days. I figured that she probably lives alone and that time escapes all of us. We jokingly ask each other what day it is and talk about losing track of days. But who’s to say that one day I won’t end up sitting in front of my church?<br /><br />There, but for the grace of God, go I. And nearly a week later, I can’t get that lady out of my head. How did she get there? What was her prior life like? Did her kids forget about her? Did she age quickly because she constantly had to walk and clean up after her child’s dog?<br /><br />Welcome, my friends, to my mid-life crisis. Some people long for and/or purchase sports cars. Others have extra-marital affairs. Many opt for cosmetic surgery. I obsess over death and aging.<br /><br />This new stage of my life has snuck up on me. I didn’t think I’d fall prey to it. I don’t color my hair - I highlight with grey. I have no plans to nip and tuck. (Although trust me, somebody could make a killing on this body.) I consider myself younger than I am and try to act accordingly…within reason.<br /><br />I do, however, think about aging. I think about attacking it head-on. I make comments to my husband about how and where I’d like to live when I am less than ambulatory. I give him suggestions for my funeral. When issues come up with our own aging parents, I boldly tell him that we won’t be caught in that situation.<br /><br />And it goes further than that. I read the death notices…every day. I love the notices with photos. I’m particularly fascinated with the trend toward choosing a photo from a younger and more attractive time in life. (Note to self: Do not use school photo from 8th grade.) I read these mini biographies and feel ashamed that mine will seem so short and unimpressive in comparison.<br /><br />I’m especially perplexed by the memorials that appear on a daily basis. They always have a photo of the deceased, usually on a birthday or death anniversary, followed by a poem or short missive…to the deceased. They’re touching, but really, really sad. It’s people publicly not letting go. That’s what confuses me. No matter what we think about death, is that really the only way that we can stay in touch with our long-gone loved ones? The newspaper? <em>Really</em>? I want my family to know they can save the cash and send me an e-mail. I promise to read it, although I likely won’t respond…except in perhaps a somewhat mystical way like hiding the TV remote just to piss them all off!<br /><br />Anyway, I have no idea how to really do it. Age gracefully, that is. I’m quite hung up on several things: 1) When I am old, I do not want to constantly talk about my medical issues. 2) I have told my friends that I will not be caught dead in a red hat and an ugly polyester purple shirt. Never. 3) I pray fervently that I won’t tell pointless, endless stories unless I’m sharing those stories with people that were there who can fill in the details and laugh stupidly along with me. 4) I don’t want my kids or my husband wiping my butt. Seriously. There are professionals who do that and I’d like to find the very best. 5) I hope to say outrageous things that will make my kids blush and make my grandkids want to hang around me…at least a little bit.<br /><br />And I guess that’s the secret. To be remembered. Somehow. To make an impact and to never just fade into the wallpaper. To go out in a blaze of glory, whether it’s organizing wheelchair races at the nursing home or drinking beer and cheering on the Packers, long after I’m too old to attend games. I just want to be remembered.<br /><br />And I don’t want to sit outside church on a Wednesday. But if I do. Here’s what I’ll say: “Oh, shit! I did it again.” Mission accomplished.Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7207449.post-42618347377654627472008-03-30T08:43:00.001-05:002008-03-30T08:45:09.460-05:00College Road Trip 1.0<p>We started early. She’s only a sophomore in high school. But with college boy, we started late. And because being a mom is all about over-compensating, it’s what we did. Plus, the girl teen and the hubby were up for it. So it was off to the Twin Cities for us to visit 4 colleges.<br /><br />I have to say, this was a rather entertaining and revealing trip. Here are just a few of the things I learned:<br /><br />Holiday Inns still suck. I held out hope that they upgraded. Apparently not.<br /><br />There is a sameness about all college students. It’s sort of an unkempt-meets-don’t-try-too-hard look. At least with the girls. And some of the boys, but very few. Oh and the girls are WAY better looking than when I was in school. The guys look the same.<br /><br />It’s possible to make grand assumptions about a school in a moment or two. It’s not possible to make correct assumptions. But still, you try. It’s why you do these trips.<br /><br />College costs a buttload of money. Serious cash. I’ve heard that the economy isn’t doing well. If that’s the case, how is it that 5,000+ kids and/or their families are paying private tuition that exceeds $25,000 a year? (That’s not even mentioning the schools that cost $48,000+!) There just aren’t enough scholarships to cover that kind of debt.<br /><br />If you have infants or toddlers, START SAVING NOW. See above.<br /><br />There is nothing quite as entertaining as making fun of people/students/tour guides as when you are on a college tour. Making up names adds to the enjoyment. Angry Girl, meet Stoner Boy. Yeah, we’re like that.<br /><br />It is possible to oversell the school. If you use “quirky” multiple times during a tour, then perhaps your school isn’t as quirky as you think it is.<br /><br />Every single school boasts a small student to teacher ratio. When I was in school, I didn’t want to know the teacher. They might find out I wasn’t smart.<br /><br />Explain the point of walking in an empty classroom. College classrooms look exactly the same as high school classrooms, just more worn out.<br /><br />College students still leave their laundry in the dryer, only to be tossed on top of the dryer, never to be claimed. Who has that many clothes that they’re not missing? Oh, right. The kids paying today’s astronomical tuition.<br /><br />Here’s my old person rant: Today’s college kids have it TOO easy. They have giant libraries with lots of books but who cares when you have the internet?! They have way too many choices in cafeterias and they don’t have to wait for letters from home or friends to hear a familiar voice. Hell, they don’t even need dorm phones! They have more security than the President of the United States. These kids are coddled, I tell you. Coddled!<br /><br />Apparently the next great frontier to conquer is to make your school “gender blind.” That’s right. When you sign up for housing, you may get a guy or a girl for a roommate…or perhaps a third option? I have no clue why that’s important, but it was a big selling point on the campus filled with angry young women. Maybe that’s why they’re angry.<br /><br />There is no such thing as a “freshman” anymore. Now they are called “first years.” Where are we, Hogwarts? Was it because the phrase “freshman” wasn’t gender blind enough? Ugh.<br /><br />Apparently college students are actually concerned about studying, interning, doing service and doing things that you are supposed to do in college. Wow. At least some things have improved over the years.<br /><br />They still talk about good food on college campuses. Every college says their food is good. Is there someone out there, other than a culinary arts major, who chooses their college based upon the food? Really?<br /><br />All colleges should be required to have a photo in their brochures of their school in terrible weather. Not fall. Seriously, the lovely fall photo of the campus is getting stale. There are leaves everywhere in the Midwest. Perhaps this impresses the kids from the west coast.<br /><br />There is an unspoken law in which colleges must choose students who are from 1000+ miles away to appear in their promotional brochures and videos. Resist the urge to be impressed by this. Every Midwest campus will have a handful of kids from far away. Big deal.<br /><br />If you are going to be a college tour guide, you must cultivate the ability to walk backwards and talk at the same time. Done well, it’s rather impressive. Especially if you manage to get through an entire tour without tripping.<br /><br />“First years” should not be college tour guides. Once they tell you that they are a freshman (ha! I said it!), everything after that loses credibility. They know nothing about college. Nothing.<br /><br />I know I’m not the one going back to college, but I can’t help creating this bizarre scenario in my head where I redo everything wrong that I did in college. I’m smarter, more savvy, actually study and GET INVOLVED. I wonder what middle-aged-me would be like if I actually did that.<br /><br />Despite all of the “resources” available, I think choosing a college today is much more difficult. There is such a thing as too many choices. We’re still two years away from making that fateful decision, and I’m already overwhelmed. </p>Karenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08377271954635491241noreply@blogger.com3