May 2, 2012

Moral Relativism: How I taught my son to tell a lie.

The Truth is not always clear.

Yesterday I sold myself out.

The Caboose had a concert last night, the “final exam” for his chorus class. It was at 7:00 P.M. at a church about 30 minutes from home.

My Mother-in-Law (who lives with us) has been having some medical issues this week, and my husband and I thought it best that she stay home and have her visit with the home health nurse. Knowing she’d be upset if she found out he was performing and we weren’t taking her, I did something I’ve never done before.

I told my son to lie.

I wrapped it around an explanation that, albeit true, was justification to disregard one of the standards I hold highest. At least I did until yesterday.

Since we’d be leaving the house just a few hours after getting home from school, she was bound to ask where we were going. And in his chorus uniform (dress clothes with a tie) a casual explanation wasn’t plausible. I suppose I could’ve just sneaked out the back door in stealth mode, but there would have to be an explanation of why the sitter was staying late. I felt trapped by The Truth. So I made a judgment call. And I lied.

We all tell lies. We really do. “This is the best cake I’ve ever tasted.” “I can’t make it in to work today.” “I’m sorry, I didn’t get the message.” We rationalize the lies we tell by pretending they’re harmless. We justify their use by the goal we’re trying to achieve.

As adults, we live in a world where things are not always black and white. We rely on experience and outcome to make judgment calls at times. And we sometimes lie in the process.

But at eleven years old, he doesn’t yet have that body of experience, or the understanding to make those calls. I told him that it was OK to lie because the truth would hurt her feelings. I packaged it up neatly in a way that would make it easy. Then I engaged him in the process, we told the cover story, and left.

On the way to school this morning, he was the first to bring it up. “It felt weird lying to Grandma last night.” I told him that I thought so too, and that we shouldn’t do it again. But the fact of the matter is that we will have to do it again, because she can’t do everything we do. I’ll just have to make sure I have a better plan, one that doesn’t require his participation.

And I’m now left to wonder where else he’ll apply this new standard of relativism.

“If it doesn’t hurt anyone, it’ll be OK.”

“She’ll never find out, so why not?”

“I’m only lying because I don’t want to hurt her.”

So The Truth, which I used to hold in such high regard, is now reduced to a standard I’m willing to sacrifice for a greater good in my son’s eyes. I sure wish I could get a do-over on this one.

___________________________________________

What do you think? Is it OK to tell a lie in certain situations? 

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April 16, 2012

10 Celebrity Parents who are A Lot Like Me

1  -  Like Britney Spears, I practiced Attachment Parenting. I wanted my children close to me as often as possible. And with her busy partying performing schedule, Britney had to seize every moment she could to be close to her kids. Great job, Brit! I’m sure Dr. Sears would be proud!

2  -  Kate Gosslin took her kids camping. We used to go camping a couple of times a year when my boys were Cub Scouts. Although we did it without a film crew there to document the magic we have wonderful memories of those special family times. Just like her kids have of this moment:

3  -  Alicia Silverstone is concerned about her child’s nutrition. Like her, my son ate what I ate, but I had the messy job of cleaning the food processor after preparing his meals. Pre-chewing seems so much easier, and you can do it anywhere. Great tip, Alicia.

4  -  I put a great deal of effort into making holidays special for my kids. Especially Christmas. We always take a family photo to show how much the kids have grown in the last year. Nadya Suleman started this tradition with her octuplets, too. I’m sure when they’re teenagers they’ll look back at their first Christmas photo with mommy and smile.

Source: bossip.com

5  -  Then there’s January Jones. I, too, was concerned about my post-natal recovery. I took my over-the-counter vitamins, ate a healthy diet, and tried to get plenty of rest. I wasn’t as well-informed as January, though, and I let the medical staff at the hospital take my placenta away instead of having it dehydrated and made into capsules for me to swallow later. Although had I chosen to eat my placenta, I’m sure I would’ve prepared a big celebratory meal to enjoy.

Who's old enough to remember the Placenta Helper skit on Saturday Night Live. Gilda Radner at her finest. But I digress...

6  -  On the concept of Emotional Intelligence, Alec Baldwin and I seem to be on the same wavelength. Helping children learn kindness and consideration sometimes means pointing out when their behavior isn’t appropriate. And with a young child it’s helpful to use a comparison the child can to relate to. So when Alec left his 11-year-old daughter, Ireland, a voice message calling her a “thoughtless little pig,” I’m sure he meant it in a constructive way.

7  -  Were Joan Crawford alive today, I’m sure she’d be my Facebook friend, because we’d have so much to share with each other. I like to drink wine and keep my closets organized, and I get upset when my kids don’t eat their dinner (although I don’t serve liver).

This magnet appears on my fridge. For realz.

8  -  Then there’s Richard Heene, who (like me) works hard to infuse learning opportunities into everyday activities. He taught his son, Falcon (a.k.a. Balloon Boy) about aerospace principles, marketing, and the criminal justice system all in one lesson.

9  -  And Nicolas Cage, who (again, like me) wanted to give his son a legacy name. Each of my boys has a family name for either their first or middle name. Nic’s little dude is named Kal-El. (Superman’s Kryptonian name for those of you not into literary references.) Quite a legacy, dad.

10  -  And last (but never, never, least) is Woody Allen, who is so committed to maintaining strong ties with his grown children that he married his stepdaughter. (Although the term “stepdaughter” is used loosely. I would probably call her  his baby-mama’s adopted daughter.) Because once they grow up and start thinking about moving away, there are only so many things that’ll keep ‘em at home. He seems to have found one that works for him.

I’m sure you have a lot in common with celebrity parents, too.

Please, share your celebrity connection with the group!!

 http://www.northwestmommy.com/2012/monday-listicles-42

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April 13, 2012

And the winner is…

I hope the anticipation has been building for all of you, because it certainly has for me. This was my first giveaway, and I learned a lot! (So that means another one may be in the future!)

Now, I know you all came here to find out the winner, not to hear about me, so without further ado …

…

…

the winner of The Signed Copy of Deborah Bryan‘s first novel, The Monster’s Daughter is…

 

See! Signed by the author, with a fanged smiley!

Entry # 18 out of 34…

Donnell Jeansonne of A Wordsmith’s Brainworks!

Congratulations, Donnell! Email me your contact info so I can get your book delivered!

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April 5, 2012

Not Your Father’s Vampire Novel

I got reacquainted with children’s and young adult literature when my boys started reading for school and I wanted to read along with them. The fact that I have three boys, and that they attend all-boy schools means most of the reading we did together featured strong male characters. And the last vampire novel I read had protagonists name Louis and Lestat. So when I picked up The Monster’s Daughter I figured I’d find myself out of my element. But I picked it up anyway.

And, boy, am I glad I did.

Cover image used with author's permission.

Ginny Connors turned out to be my kind of heroine. Smart and sensible, she refuses to become a victim of her surroundings. Bearing the scars of a troubled life, she works through some serious issues – being raised by a widowed father, her sister’s substance abuse, and the usual angst that comes with being a 17-year old from a small town – without allowing herself to be defined by them.

When the people she loves are threatened, she comes to the realization that she alone can solve the problem that plagues them. But to do so, she must make an enormous personal sacrifice for the greater good and walk amongst the evil she loathes.

Motivated by love, she faces her choices with firm resolve.

Deborah Bryan’s first novel is an easy read, with contemporary language that flows in a comfortable, familiar style. And best of all – it’s the first installment of The Glass Ball Trilogy!

___________________________

Now for the good part. I just happen to have a SIGNED COPY of The Monster’s Daughter that I’m going to give away here!

See! Signed by the author, with a bonus vampire smiley!

Here’s how to enter:

  • Send me an email with the subject line “TMD Giveaway!”
  • Share this link on your blog and send me an email with the link to the shared page and the subject line “I blogged it!”
  • Share this link on Facebook and send me an email with the subject line “I shared it on Facebook!”
  • Tweet about this giveaway, mentioning @lpfink, and send me an email with the subject line: “I Tweeted it!”

My email address: happinessengineer (at) yahoo (dot) com.

If you’d like more than one shot at winning, do more than one of these! You’ll be entered once for each of the above actions you take.

And what better day to announce the winner than FRIDAY THE 13th!

Entries will close at 12:00 A.M. CST on Friday, April 13th, and the winner will be posted on this site by 5:00 P.M. CST that day.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

This post was linked up at Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop. Hop over and check it out!

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March 30, 2012

Full Time Daughter

My mother-in-law moved in with us.

If you’ve been following for a while now, you may remember that we don’t get along.  But circumstances are what they are, and despite our challenging relationship, moving her here was our only option. I’ll spare you the details, but here are the facts you need to follow along: her husband is in a nursing home with advanced Alzheimer’s. She broke her hip in December. She is an insulin-dependent (Type 1) diabetic. Her dementia has advanced to the point where can no longer be left unattended. Ever.

So here we are.

The decision was a hard one to make. My husband and I both knew what we had to do, but because of our past, I don’t think he felt like he could ask that of me. So I let him off the hook, and I posed the question. The answer was an immediate “yes,” and we set about preparations immediately, before either of us had a chance to really think about what we were doing, and change our mind.

We cleared out a room, converted it to a bedroom for her, and moved her in to our house.

I was angry. For years I watched her deal with her husband’s dementia without an ounce of patience, belittling and demeaning him in front of others (even my children), and now I was rolling out the red carpet for her. She was given beautiful accommodations, home cooked meals delivered to her at the table, and was spoken to with kindness and respect. It didn’t seem fair. It wasn’t fair.

I tried, I really tried, to open my heart and put my feelings aside, but I just couldn’t. When she asked the same questions over and over, I flashed back to the way she treated him, and even though the words I spoke were calm and non-confrontational, they were filled with bitterness. Karma hadn’t gotten it right.

(Thanks, Enlightenment Ain't for Sissies, for the Karma Wheel.)

Then one Sunday, the story of Jesus and the lepers was read in Mass, and the homily centered on Jesus loving the Unloveables. “Who are the Unloveables in today’s world?” the priest asked. He talked about loving, in an active way, those who are hard to love. He pointed out the obvious – the homeless, AIDS patients, those who are different from you, those who scare you. Then he challenged us to think about our own world, and who our Unloveables are. And to reach out to them. To love them anyway.

I tried. I tried to be more patient. I tried to speak more gently. But I just wasn’t there yet.

I was still waiting for her to love me back.

As days turned into weeks, I knew I needed an internal reconciliation. Something had to change, and the change had to be within me. I prayed. I sought counsel from friends. I wrote thousands of words, trying to put them in the right order to get me where I needed to be.

I knew I was getting closer, but I still wasn’t there yet. I continued to search the archives of my mind and my heart for some reference to give me what I needed.

Along the way I thought about an old blog post from my friend Mike. (Mike, send me the URL so I can link it here!) He wrote of Sacrificial Love, and his reflections mirrored that homily a few weeks prior, that we as Christians are called to love beyond what’s easy, to love sacrificially.

And then it flashed through my mind. I thought about the Golden Rule, the philosophy so universal it exists in Christianity, Judaism, Confucianism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, Taoism, and Zoroastrianism. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

And the Truth I had been searching for hit me. I was still waiting to receive. And that had held me back from giving. Whether or not it was ‘fair’ was not for me to consider. My duty – to God, to my husband, and to myself – was to treat her the way I wanted her to treat me, not the way she actually did treat me.

For twenty-six years I had shown her love, and had been waiting for her to return it. On that day I accepted the fact that it wasn’t going to come. The time for that had passed. In her condition, she was no longer capable of opening up to anything new. It was all about me now, and how I behaved towards her.

It was time for me to give love in its purest form, in sacrifice, expecting nothing in return.

For only then could I turn to God and say that I’d done my best. Only then could I ask Him to do unto me as I had done unto others.

_____________________________________________________

This post was submitted for the Yeah Write #51 link up.

http://yeahwrite.me/51-open/

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March 20, 2012

Today just might be mynewfavoriteday.

Thanks, Microsoft, for the royalty-free image.

When Shannon over at mynewfavoriteday asked me to do an interview for her Inspiration Series, I was quite surprised.

I was flattered by the idea that she wanted me to be part of a series that has included the likes of Deborah Bryan of The Monster in your Closet, blogger and social media guru Nina Badzin, and the subject of my internet fling Renée Shuls-Jacobson. I was humbled by the thought that she (and others) regard my philosophy, advice, and wisdom with such esteem.

And I must admit, I was quite nervous about the idea of an interview. Because talking about myself is not something I’m very comfortable with.

But I agreed, and the post with my interview went live in the wee hours of this beautiful morning.

So hop on over to mynewfavoriteday, and take a peek. Click lots of links while you’re there, so the blog will get lots of attention, and I’ll feel validated. ;-)

http://mynewfavoriteday.com/2012/03/20/reminded-by-mynewfavoriteweekly-inspiration-that-being-a-lucky-mom-is-not-all-luck/

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March 10, 2012

Waking Early

I tiptoe down

Thanks, Microsoft, for the royalty-free image.

avoiding the creaky step,

feeling the presence

of the ones I love

still in slumber.

I watch the birds

flitting about

and the squirrels

making plans.

As the sun rises

I make my own,

embracing the promise

of another day.

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March 4, 2012

I hope there’s wine in hell.

Yesterday The Caboose pinched his middle finger in his closet door. Not the whole finger, just the fleshy tip. It made a purple blister at the pinch site, and the tip of his finger was all swollen and throbbing. We applied ice and elevated the injury. To protect it, he curled the other fingers protectively, extending the middle finger full and straight. You get the picture.

He was making a hand gesture similar to this one. Only with one less finger. (Thanks, Microsoft, for the royalty-free image.)

This morning, it was hurting a bit, so I gave some ibuprofen. Then we got ready for church.

Mass was lovely. Sitting around us were friends, neighbors, and a nun. As the “peace be with you” moment approached, I look over at the boy and see that he has resumed the protective hand position, with the other fingers curled tightly and the injured middle finger fully extended.

I wanted to die.

“Peace be with you.” he sweetly said to the nun.

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February 21, 2012

Happy Mardi Gras!

Today, I took one for the team. I stayed home on Mardi Gras.

If you don’t already know this, today is Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras Day, the culmination of our weeks-long celebration leading up to the somber season of Lent here in Catholic New Orleans.

If you’ve never been to Mardi Gras or to New Orleans, you should definitely put it on your bucket list. I know there are other Mardi Gras and Carnival celebrations around the world, but ours is unique for many reasons. But I digress…

This story is about my family.

My family loves Mardi Gras. But we love it in different ways.

Uptown parade via Nola.com

Uptown parade via Nola.com

My idea of a great Mardi Gras is having a base camp at the beginning of the route with chairs and ladders and food and potty passes somewhere. My preferred location is on Napoleon Avenue, at the beginning of the parade route, nestled under a lacy canopy of live oaks, with actual grass beneath my feet. Because it the beginning of the route, you have to arrive early, while most of the city is still pondering their second cup of coffee. Or second Bloody Mary.

For Slick and The Trailblazer, a great Mardi Gras experience means being further up St. Charles Avenue, where throngs of high school and college students flock. (Mardi Gras is the new Spring Break.) The scene up there is a bit intense for me, and the thick crowds give me the heebie-jeebies, so I prefer to leave them with their own kind while I stay with mine.

For Mr. Wonderful, being in the thick of the action, not tied down to chairs and a home base, drifting with the crowd chasing an elusive Zulu coconut and eating from street vendors is Utopia. Before we had children, we schlepped through the French Quarter, caught the drag queen costume contest, roamed through the city in search of fun. It was never my thing, but he loved it so much I went along with it. Don’t get me wrong, I had a good time, but I’m definitely a fair-weather fan of this season.

Once the kids came, we settled down a bit, hunkering in a hotel on St. Charles Avenue for the long weekend, partying til someone dropped. The kids slept on the floor of the old mansion-turned-hotel and ate pub food for days.

But as they got older, the family became divided. The teenagers tired of hanging with mom and dad for days on end. After three kids my bladder could no longer go all day with limited potty stops. But Mr. Wonderful’s lust for the party never ceased.

The kids and I were holding him back.

Then last week, Mr. Wonderful and I found ourselves downtown on a parade night with only The Caboose in tow. As we approached the parade route, the boy ran ahead to get there first. Mr. Wonderful glanced back at me, looking for permission to follow. I nodded my consent and he took off after the little dude. I caught up a few minutes later to hear them shouting and having fun, with an armload of beads and a giant stuffed fish. Two peas in their Mardi Gras pod.

So Sunday, when Mr. Wonderful commented about last year’s Mardi Gras Day rain out, and how upset he was when the rain clouds passed and he saw the TV broadcast of the people on the streets reveling without him, I knew I had to throw him a bone. I convinced The Caboose that he and dad would have a great time on the man-prowl. No one to tether them to a bathroom, no one to make them stay put in mom’s happy place. They could travel light, work their through the crowd, go where the wind would take them.

I sent them off without me, so they could have their kind of fun.

My theory was validated at 9:25 this morning, when the first photo came via dad’s Blackberry of a smiling boy.

Shortly after that came another photo of The Caboose holding his Zulu coconut. More followed, all chronicling the day exactly as I hoped it would go. Father and son, having fun together, making special memories at on Carnival Day.

The Mardi Gras prize: A Zulu coconut. (Photo credit: Mr. Wonderful.)

King Zulu. (Photo credit: Mr. Wonderful.)

Hail Rex. (Photo credit: Mr. Wonderful.)

I’m sure (OK, I hope) when they return home this afternoon, they’ll both say I should have come. But the truth is it couldn’t be both ways. Their kind of fun is different from my kind. And today I wanted them to have their kind.

Next year I’ll probably go with them, and we’ll figure out a compromise that covers us all.

But I’m certain that someday I’ll hear them telling stories about this day – the year they went out by themselves – and the adventures they had. And I’ll smile.

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February 15, 2012

My Internet Dream Date with Renee Schuls-Jacobson

This post is about my Real-Life Dream Date with Renee Schuls-Jacobson of RAS Jacobson’s Lessons from Teachers and Twits.

You can be jealous that I got to meet her.  ;-)

 *  *  *  *  *   *  *  *  *  *

“Do you actually know this person? Are you even sure she’s a woman? You better hope she’s not a psycho.”

My husband’s sentiments were bouncing around in my head as I approached the hotel. I know quite a few stories about people meeting online, and then traveling across the country to meet in person. (Well, she was actually tagging along on a business trip with her husband – not a trek JUST to meet me – but all the other criteria were the same as one of those weird internet-friendships-gone-bad stories.) I had to admit, on paper it did sound a little strange.

But I was drawn to her anyway.

Her text said she was at the corner of Canal and Camp, and that she was wearing an orange coat. As I looked down at the orange sleeves keeping me warm I thought “psychos don’t wear orange coats.” And I pulled over.

That’s when a bundle of energy named Renee Schuls-Jacobson jumped into my car.

She squeed. We giggled. We shared our thoughts that this was a little crazy. (Her husband suggested to her that I might be a psycho. Imagine that.) Then the adventure began.

For the next seven hours, hardly a breath was taken. We had so much to say. Having “met” online, we knew the cursory information about one another. But I had no idea I was meeting a kindred. Someone who – although from the other side of the country – felt as familiar as my next-door neighbor.

We traipsed through the French Quarter in search of a hat. (It was record-setting cold in New Orleans last week.)

We shopped for souvenirs in the Market. (I like this voodoo doll better than that voodoo doll.)

We sat on the banks of the Mississippi River talking about blogging and writing and social networking, and asked a stranger to take our picture. (Yes, we need you to use both cameras. We don’t actually know each other.)

Clinging for warmth on the banks of the Mighty Mississippi.

We drove around the city on the ‘Tragedy Tour’ to see the Katrina damage, even hopping out of the car a couple of times to view things up close. (“Really, officer. We’re not trespassing, we were just looking. My friend’s not from here.”)

It was one of those intense bonding experiences like finding a BFF at summer camp. You just can’t squeeze enough in in the time you have together.

Hour after hour peeled away, and we still had so much to do and say. I kept thinking ‘I don’t want it to end.’ I was definitely smitten.

I wondered if our paths would ever cross again. She lived here once, many years ago. Perhaps I could convince her to move back… I mean, who wouldn’t want ME for a neighbor? Or perhaps ours was a relationship not meant to last, like a Tiger Lily that blooms only for a day.

My girl-crush was obvious.

I watched the clock and saw our time together dwindling down, and I started feeling a little anxious. But then I remembered our roots, that if the internet had brought us together, the internet could keep us together.

Relief. My girl-crush didn’t have to end that day.

By mid-afternoon I had to return to Real Life, and my new BFF had other friends to see (ones she actually knew before she got here). I had to give her back to her loved ones, and return to mine.

But the memories of our day together will always be special to me. And if our paths never cross again, if was only meant to be that once, I’ll have to come to terms with that. If there are no more memories to be made, I’ll cherish the ones I have.

Renee, we’ll always have NOLA.

Our last moments together. She showed me how to use the rear-view mirror to take a phone picture.

Five fabulous things about Renee:

When she casts her eyes down to read a menu, she looks like Barbara Streisand. The restaurant was dimly lit, but her crystal eyes sparkled through her glasses. (I nearly swooned.)

She’s not as tall as I expected. Her online presence is BIG. I expected her to be taller. Turns out she’s a wisp-of-a-woman. And her hair is FABULOUS. (Is my crush showing?)

Her energy is contagious. When walking with her, my step had more spring than usual. My voice was a little more animated. Even strangers picked up on it.

She speaks about every one of her students like they are her favorite. Story after story unfolded about them, both past and present. I hope someday my boys have a teacher as committed to her students as she is.

Her novel is going to be fantastic. I’m hoping our bonding time here earned me a little shout-out when she’s doing the talk show circuit. Or at least a signed copy with little XOXOs under her name.

I (heart) you, Renee.

Click HERE to read Renee’s post about our day!

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