"You're not normal."

For much of my life, I've been told that I'm not normal, or some variation, such as "you're weird." Yeah, I know.

I find the topics that trigger the abnormal comments very interesting. The one that triggered this post though was being surrounded by a bunch of other alums from my alma mater for our annual basketball game watching party at a local sports bar, and it had to do with the song that my alma mater plays during its introduction at the men's basketball games - "Where the Streets Have No Name" by U2. This song has been played for years, and though the game operations people have changed it at various times over the years, the alumni feedback (read: complaints) have led to making "Streets" seemingly permanent. And the alums LOVE it.

I don't get it.

A) I don't understand how this song is a pump song, B) I don't understand how this is even an option for a basketball game in 2011. C) I don't like U2.

I know some fans have a Pavlovian response to the song because it was the intro song in the early part of the decade when the team went to the Final Four. I get that. But a lot has changed since then, including the coach of the team, not to mention the obvious change in roster. I can't imagine any of them get pumped by this song either.

Apparently this means I'm not normal.

I'm pretty sure there was some sort of law that that people my age had to pay $150 to see U2 in concert in 1997, but I don't like U2 and never really have. In fact, I remember standing up in my friend's wedding in 2003 - a friend who paid $150 to see U2 in 1997 - and she chose U2's "Elevation" as the song we walked into at the reception. The random dude I stood up with made some comment about it being the greatest song ever, and I commented that I didn't really like U2, which elicted a "what the hell is wrong with you" look and a "I don't think we can walk in together" response. That would've been fine with me.

Clearly, I'm supposed to like U2. And it's also supposed to pump me up. Since it does neither, I'm not normal.

But when I really think about it, I'm not normal compared to my fellow alums or maybe even my demographics.

My alma mater has a huge problem with binge drinking. They like to pretend they don't, but I've seen the statistics and they are waaaaaaaaay above the national average. But even if they were at the national average, popular culture tells me that I should've gotten drunk at least once in college. I've never been drunk in my life, and I don't understand why I should have been, or why others believe my college life was somehow unfulfilling.

My fellow alums often reminisce about their time at the bars and frat parties, and then discuss the local restaurant establishments they frequented after to get their greasy food fix. I also never did that. Oh, I went into the most infamous one once - a chili place where people went for the cracker throwing more than the food I think - but it was because I was babysitting drunkards and was seriously outnumbered. I can only imagine that one had to be drunk to eat there because that was the only possible way to be oblivious to the multiple health code violations and disgusting food. In fact, my alumni group has gone so far as to duplicate the chili recipe and have game watching parties where they eat that stuff voluntarily, while reminiscing about all the awesome times they had watching basketball, getting drunk, and eating chili - not necessarily in that order, though. I've insisted that we NOT do that again, largely because it's disgusting, but also because that was not my experience in college.

But you know, that's because I'm not normal.

As an adult, and as a professional, I've realized that being perceived as not normal has made me into the person that I am, and it is what makes me successful in my multiple roles in life. If I had followed my college peers, I probably wouldn't have ended up with my husband. I also wouldn't have soberly witnessed the drunken behavior of my classmates, and drawn attention to an ugly trend developing before the college administration wanted to acknowledge it was ugly - that my university has a problem with alcohol abuse. I also recognized that this trend wasn't college specific, like most in the the university community wanted to believe. Rather, research now shows that students engage in binge drinking behavior for years after they graduate from college. It's not about a "normal college experience" anymore - young adults are regularly drinking to get drunk. It's a growing trend and therefore "normal," but I am 100% confident that that behavior is not normal, nor is it healthy or safe.

My career path has certainly not followed a normal career trajectory, but in my profession, that's actually pretty normal. People tend to "fall into" what I do, rather than intentionally choose to work in student and academic affairs. I mean really, how many ten year olds think "I want to be an academic advisor when I grow up!" How many ten year olds know what an academic advisor is? Regardless of the path, the programs that I chose to work in are certainly not normal, especially considering my background. For one, I'm White. I'm sorry if that shocks you in some way - both that I am White and that I acknowledge it so bluntly - but I am. And the reality that I am White, and that I acknowledge that I am, actually means something in my profession because most of the students I serve are not White. I also grew up in a middle to upper middle class family and attended upper middle class schools. The students I serve generally come from low-income families and attend(ed) horrible schools - the kind that most in my profession don't believe exist. Thus, the perception is that I have nothing in common with my students, that I couldn't possibly understand their life experiences, and therefore there is no way I would be an effective advisor. And yet I am. I'm damn good. So maybe I'm not the "normal" advisor, but my students are successful, and that's all that matters. I choose to be abnormal and have my students graduate from college.
I've never really done what is perceived as normal. It's not because I intentionally went against the grain; I think I was largely unaware of what was happening around me. My dad used to tell me, "Be aware of your surroundings!" because I often lived in my imagination, and forgot to look out for things like traffic. Because of this fantasy land I created for myself, I didn't notice trends or patterns of behavior. I just did what seemed right for me in the world I created. And what was right for me was often different than what was right for a majority of other people. It meant that I was frequently teased and, when I did became aware that I was doing something that was not the socially-accepted "norm," I felt out of place or ostracized. Most frequently I felt misunderstood. I don't mean that in the "parents just don't understand" way, though I definitely felt that too. I mean it in the sense that I had an explanation as to why I made my choices or why I behaved in a certain way that seemed perfectly logical to me- but nobody bothered to ask me - or really, nobody bothered to listen or understand. And even though I sometimes felt like I didn't fit in, it wasn't enough for me to change who I was or what I believed in - or who I am and what I believe in. And I know that peer pressure should make me want to change, and that my resistance to doing so makes me weird, but I'm okay with it.

I guess that's just another reason I'm not normal.

Sadness wrapped in gibberish

Tonight my husband and I went with his parents and sister to the Jim Brickman Holiday Concert. It was fabulous. It was a great mix of holiday music, romantic hits, and audience interaction. At least I thought so.

I have so much I want to say about the concert, and the range of emotions I felt listening to the beautiful music and lyrics, but as I sit at the computer and type, everything is clouded by an overwhelming feeling of sadness.

I want to share why I'm feeling this way, but even as I'm sitting here thinking about it, it's only making me sadder. I feel like if I blog the details, I'm going to fixate on it. And if I ever re-read the post, I'm going to remember how awful I feel right now and I don't want to remember this feeling.

So I know this a post of gibberish and not much else, but I just felt like I needed to say ... something. Hopefully a good night's sleep will be the remedy to all that ails me.

Believe.

When did you stop believing in Santa Claus?

A few nights ago, my husband and I hunkered down on the couch to watch The Polar Express. He'd had a long week of work and I was still trying to get some sympathy for being siiiiiick. The Polar Express has become one of my favorites simply because it reminds me to always believe in the magic of Christmas.

My parents did an amazing job of  fostering my belief in Santa. Sometimes Santa came while we were at Christmas Eve Mass or at Christmas Eve parties, and his visit to our house while I was with my parents clearly meant that they couldn't be Santa, so Santa must exist. Santa also brought presents very quietly, like the time he moved an entire desk into my bedroom and wrapped it with Christmas lights. I've always been a light sleeper, so the fact that I didn't wake up indicated that some sort of Santa magic had been used (I still have no idea how they did that, and they don't remember doing it either...). And Santa often left evidence of his visit behind - a piece of his beard on the fireplace, footprints on the carpet, bells from his sleigh. There was always a little something to encourage my belief in Santa Claus.

I don't remember exactly when I stopped believing in Santa. I remember doubting for a while, and I remember asking my parents if Santa was real. They told me that Santa was based on Saint Nicholas and St. Nick had been real. They never confirmed or denied whether Santa existed, but I knew from their explanation that Santa wasn't real.

Even after I stopped believing in Santa, Santa continued to visit my house because I had younger sisters who believed. I think Santa's continued presence helped me through the tween and early teen years when so many of my friends lost their inner child and became cynical and self-centered. They didn't have to suspend reality and believe in Christmas magic and so they didn't. I continued to pretend to believe, for the sake of my sisters, and it made Christmas fun and helped me hold onto the childlike belief. But because I didn't give in to the cynicism, I was able to witness all the amazing things that were happening around me.

And then I started to believe again.

Oh, I know Santa isn't real. I believe in the spirit of Santa and the spirit of Saint Nicholas. I believe that God  gave us Jesus as a sign of unconditional love, that St. Nick emulated this act through his own form of giving, and that Santa represents yet another form of this generosity in a way that is accessible and understandable and imitable. I believe in unselfishness, kindness, and charity. I believe that dreams can come true and miracles can happen. And I think that these miracles happen because ordinary people become filled with the spirit of Santa Claus, and realize that they too can be generous and kind and charitable and loving.

Of course I believe in Santa Claus.

Anyway, I turned to my husband during the movie and asked him when he stopped believing in Santa. He responded seriously, "Stopped? Why would I stop believing in Santa?"

Just another reason my husband and I are perfect for each other.

Momma should've told me...

My mom is awesome and she's taught me a lot over the years. But as I've gotten older, I've discovered there are many things I probably should've learned or been told along the way. I decided to make a list so that I'll remember to teach my hypothetical daughter these important things and/or to learn how to do them at some point. And also so I'll have one more thing to hold against my mother. Just kidding, Mom!

1. All ingredients should be at room temperature when baking.
I don't bake often - partially because I don't have a persistent sweet tooth and partially because my skills are subpar. I used to make cookies all the time, but they always came out flat and I never understood why. Now I know it's because I used to bake with cold butter, cold eggs, and cold milk, but room temperature ingredients help make baked goods light and fluffy. Giada De Laurentiis and various other Food Network hosts taught me this. My baking skills appear to have improved after learning this useful nugget of information, but now I'm dealing with a crappy oven that doesn't hold its temperature very well. I don't think I'm meant to be a baker, but I'm glad I know the rules now.

2. The rule about room temperature ingredients does not apply to making pie crusts.
The Food Network also taught me this one. Butter needs to be ice cold when making a pie crust. Baking has too many rules and since I don't do a good job of following rules, I shouldn't be surprised I can't and don't like to bake.

3. How to sew.
Aside from an accident involving the sewing machine needle going through my finger, I've never touched a sewing machine. I have no idea how to sew or knit or do anything that would make JoAnn Fabrics a more appealing place. I learned how to cross-stitch (sort of), but my mom didn't teach me that - I learned at a birthday party. My mom knows how to sew, and at least two of my sisters took some sort of sewing or home economics class in high school (we have scrunchies and bags to prove it!) but I never learned. I wish I did because I have a list of things I want to make.

4. Boys are silly and they smell like goats.
I learned this expression on Kairos retreat in high school. After discussing all the ways that boys had disappointed us or screwed us up, one of my group members made this proclamation and it stuck. Essentially it means that boys are immature, relationships with boys are challenging, it's okay to roll your eyes and walk away when boys do things that are dumb. What I took away from it is that I don't need a boy to be happy. My mom never emphasized dating or boyfriends, but she also never explicitly told me that I didn't have to settle for a boy who wasn't worthy of me just so that I'd have a date to Homecoming. I wish she would have. If I ever have a daughter, I will want her to know that her self worth isn't measured by how boys perceive her, and that it's okay to ignore boys until they mature - or at least get more mature.

5. The right way to apply make up.
I'll take responsibility for this one because the first time I wore make up was for my senior pictures, and only wore it from time to time over the next five, no ten years... who am I kidding? I still rarely wear make up, and I think it looks goofy when I do. I had a professional make up lesson before my wedding so I know how to apply special day make up for photographs, but I still don't know really know how to put on make up for normal days.

6. It's okay to not know what you want to do with your life.
With the outrageous costs of higher education, students feel a lot of pressure to figure out a life purpose. But there's also a belief in higher education that if a student doesn't reconsider/change a major at least four times in college, the college hasn't done its job. I could go into all the developmental theory about college students and career development, but instead I'll just say that it's impossible for college students to know want to do for the rest of their lives when they are eighteen years old and only have a preliminary understanding of who they are.

7. I don't know what to do/I made a mistake.
When I was an adult, my mom acknowledged she made a lot of mistakes with me, but I wish she would've acknowledged them when they happened. Instead, I felt that I was being treated unfairly and was generally misunderstood by my mom. That's not unique to me - I know most kids, especially teenage girls, feel like their parents are unreasonable and don't understand them at some point. But for me, I know things would've been better if my mom would've told me that she didn't know how to communicate with me or motivate me or discipline me instead of pretending that mommy knows best.

Trading Spaces

Do you remember this show on TLC? I recently discovered re-runs on one of the random UVerse channels I have, and I've started watching it again. I used to watch it religiously. In fact, TLC was my Bravo before Bravo existed. I always got tons of ideas from the show about how to decorate on a budget. I learned a lot about creating my own artwork and revamping furniture to be used in new ways, and applied a lot of those ideas to my first house. I learned to embrace color and that walls can always be re-painted if necessary.

TLC and HGTV focused heavily on these types of decorating shows for a while, but then these shows disappeared and were replaced with real estate shows. Of course, TLC now features shows on "unusual" families, and after watching what is happening to the Gosselin children, I'm now longing for the days of Trading Spaces and While You Were Out.

I'm sure there are many, many reasons why Trading Spaces went off the air, but I personally believe that the primary reason is that the show started focusing on creating drama and controversy and stopped focusing on design. Sure, every Trading Spaces fan remembers the "crying Pam" episode or "I hate brown Jessie," but what made those episodes memorable was the reaction of the participants to decent-looking room makeovers. Unfortunately, the ratings from these episodes made the producers think "If we can get more people to hate their rooms, we can have even BIGGER ratings!" Designs like "White, Whoa" (a room done entirely in white) or a room inspired by an egg (black walls, yellow dining room furniture) become the norm. And then people like me, who are looking for ideas to incorporate into my own home, turn off the television.

The demise of Trading Spaces represents what I hate most about reality television. I hate the drama, but I really hate when situations are manipulated for the sake of creating drama. I feel uncomfortable and then I change the channel. I know a lot of people love all the juicy conflicts shown on reality television, but I think those shows become predictable and boring after a while.

Don't get me wrong, I like to watch reality television, but I'm becoming turned off by the cattiness and overall bad behavior. I'm concerned that so many shows glorify and reward people who have no real talent (or intelligence), and in many cases, engage in manipulative, abusive, and destructive behavior. I miss the days when the only reality drama was whether to take down a ceiling fan.

My partner

I met my husband through the girl that lived next door to me my freshman year of college. I'd seen my future husband a few times during the first few weeks of school, but I didn't officially meet him until the day he took my neighbor out on a date. The girls on my floor had signed up for an outing sponsored by my residence hall that night, so my future husband and my neighbor went out to an early dinner and then went back to her room to hang out until it was time for all of the girls to leave. It was during their hang out time that I officially met him.

I was getting ready to go out and had accidentally smudged my eyeliner and mascara all over my eye. I needed a Q-tip to clean it up without having to start over completely. I went next door to my neighbor to see if she had one and was surprised to see my future husband there, hanging out. We were introduced and we talked for a few minutes. We were very comfortable with each other and our interaction felt completely natural, like we'd known each other for years. I left my neighbor's room knowing that I had just met the boy I was going to marry.

I fully expected that my future husband and I would become friends, and maybe a few years down the road we'd start dating. Because I knew in my heart that he was my soulmate, I wasn't in a hurry to enter a romantic relationship with him, but I did want to have him in my life. His relationship with my neighbor was over in just a few weeks, but my future husband and I became friends - very close friends. In just a couple of months, our feelings of love developed naturally from this friendship and we started dating.

It's been more than fourteen years since that day I met my future husband, but I still remember that feeling when I knew he was the one I was going to marry. It wasn't like a romance novel, movie, or television show - I didn't see a heart appear around his face, hear music play, or feel some sort of insane physical chemistry. Rather, it was a feeling of peace and calm and comfort. I had found my partner.

I was only eighteen when I met my husband, and I still had a lot of maturing to do to really understand how to be a partner to someone. I'm still learning. But we learned it together, and we're still learning it together, and we'll continue to learn together.

Whenever I feel frustration about where I am in my life, I remind myself of what it was like to meet my husband all those years ago, and how I felt to know that I had found my partner in life. I remind myself that it's not just about me and doing what is best for me in my career, for my happiness, or for my life, just as it's not just about him and his career, his happiness, or his life. It's about us - not both of us individually, but us as a single partnership. We, he, and I need to do what is best for us.

The sum of our marriage is definitely greater than its parts.

Because I'm bored, that's why

You may have noticed an increased frequency in my postings lately, and perhaps the new layout. Or maybe you've noticed that all my posts now have labels. Wanna know why?

I'm bored.

But this is the good kind of bored. Oh, you didn't know there are multiple kinds of boredom? Well, there are. Because I said so.

This kind of boredom is the kind when my ADHD brain is working overtime and I have 8 million thoughts flying through my head, but they are flying through my head slow enough that I can actually process a few of them, but there are still 7,999,997 that I can't process and those keep me from doing anything that is actually productive, but I have still have enough hyperfocus to write about the few thoughts that I can process and it just seems like I'm creative and insightful and have a lot to say.

See how rambly that sentence was? That's my ADHD brain, but multiple it by 8 million. It's understandable if you read slowly, but it really could use some punctuation to make it coherent. You know, the kind of punctuation made by pharmaceutical companies that allows me to follow the "rules of grammar."

But anyway...

I've also had a lot more to write about lately. I haven't done anything that is more housewifey than before, but I have noticed when I've done these housewifey things and made a note to write about them. That's part of the reason I started this blog in the first place - to encourage personal reflection on my new life in my new town.


Charlotte is a cool city, and I like exploring all that the area has to offer. I like having visitors because I have an excuse to visit different places in Charlotte that I would probably never go to on my own, and each time I learn more about this awesome place that I call home. And selfishly, I like to show off how cool Charlotte is so that my family and friends understand why I like Charlotte so much, and why I'm not eager to return to the Midwest to be closer to them.

You know, besides the obvious that it's the end of October and I'm still wearing shorts. And we've got 70s and 80s in the forecast for the next week.

My new role in life, however, is proving to be more challenging. For one, I am a housewife but I don't have children, and I find it hard to relate to housewives with kids. It's not that I don't empathize with those housewives, it's just not my experience. My day doesn't revolve around my children's schedules or meeting their needs or stimulating their minds. I have to fill my day with my own stuff, and that's not something that most housewives relate to. I often hear from friends that they're jealous of my life, and how much they would love to have an entire day to themselves, hanging out at the country club. I understand that. But my life as a housewife has been day after day to myself, with little interaction with others who share similar interests or experiences. It's not that I haven't met people, but the women who are home during the day generally have kids, and the women who don't have kids aren't home during the day, or they're single and looking for Mr. Right (Now). Or they have grandchildren my age (Hi friends from water aerobics!). There aren't a lot of social groups for trailing spouses without kids in their early 30s.

I sometimes wonder if I'm experiencing more of an empty-nest syndrome than a childless housewife dilemma. My life has revolved around kids for the last ten years. Granted, they weren't my kids, but I was still largely responsible for their schedules, meeting their needs, and stimulating their minds. And in turn, they dictated my schedule and stimulated my mind. I don't have them around me anymore, and I miss them terribly. I keep up with many of my former students on Facebook, but it's definitely not the same as working with them every day.

That's why things like volunteering for college fairs and issues like bullying prompt me to post. I can draw upon my personal and professional experience to hopefully write something informative or provocative that hopefully entertains my readers as much as blogging about these topics intellectually stimulates me. Blogging has provided me a forum and an outlet to connect with others and share some of my thoughts and sometimes my expertise. I know it's not modest to say, but I was a pretty darn good social worker/higher educator, and I really enjoy sharing what I know with others. Yes, I am aware that higher educator is not a real term, but higher education professional or student affairs professional is lame. We need to come up with a better name for our profession, fellow higher educators.

Yes, I know, I could get all this if I had a job. I'm trying!

Until that time comes, I have a blog to keep me entertained and keep me intellectually stimulated. I may be a housewife in Charlotte, but I'm still ME - an intelligent social worker/higher educator who is called to help at-risk students get their college degrees, who likes to cook but hates to clean, who sometimes struggles with ADHD, who misses her family and friends, but loves her husband and the life we've created very much.
And I hope this post is proof that there is a good kind of boredom - the kind when there's nothing much going on in my life, so I actually have the opportunity to just think and write and get to know myself a little better and share these things with you.

Yeah, sometimes being a real housewife isn't so bad.

Where exactly CAN I buy toilet paper?

Shortly after I wrote this post singing the praises of Target, Target made the news for two not so great reasons - its donation to the a group backing a conservative gubernatorial candidate and the "college essentials" beer pong display. I immediately felt like I should discuss these issues on my blog, but wasn't exactly sure what to say. However, because today is Spirit Day, I feel like I should at least address the issue.

A couple of years ago, one of the professional associations I belong to booked a conference at a hotel and later found out that the owner of that hotel (a major chain, but independently owned) had made a campaign contribution to the group that supported Prop 8 in California. They wanted to move the conference in protest, but in doing so, would break the contract made with hotel and cost the group a lot of money. A major debate ensued, the subtext of the discussion being whether the professional association, and its elected leaders, represented the beliefs of its members.

My stance on political donations has always been that the story becomes what somebody wants it to be. I noticed this during the 2000 election, when I read a story about the largest corporate donors to the presidential candidates/political parties and noticed my boyfriend's company at the time was listed as donors to both. I could be angry that they had donated to the "wrong" campaign or political party, but realistically I understood why - it was business.

I don't fault companies for making decisions based on what makes the most sense from a business rather than a social perspective. Businesses are designed to make money and are fiscally responsible to their shareholders, so businesses support politicians that can help their businesses. I often wish that weren't true, but considering I invest money in the stock market and not in an envelope under my mattress, it would be hypocritical of me to suggest that business must change.

As the article about the Target donation states, Target donates to both political parties. Maybe it's true and maybe it isn't, but it's hard for me to imagine a big corporation like Target, with business interests across state lines, would put all its political eggs in one basket. Sadly, one donation was to a group supporting a politically-polarizing candidate, and I'm very sad that Target wasn't more careful with their donations. But I understand it.

The second reason - the beer pong displays - demonstrates Target's astute but insensitive marketing. Binge drinking and drinking games in college are huge problems in this country, and marketing beer pong supplies as an "essential" captures the image of beer pong and drinking as an important part of college life. It may be an accurage image, but that doesn't mean it should be marketed as such. Students die from alcohol-related incidents every year, and treating alcohol consumption so cavalierly sends the wrong message to current and future college students that beer pong is the norm. At the same time, it is a norm for a lot of college students so should Target be punished for capturing and capitalizing on that trend? It's a business.

I considered whether I should boycott Target and then asked myself - where would I shop otherwise? In fact, I found an article telling me where I should shop otherwise and burst out laughing. Sam's Club? Really? Aren't I supposed to boycott Walmart too? Oh, and Costco too - there's a whole list of reasons to boycott them. And wasn't I supposed to boycott Kmart too because of... something. I don't remember what - guns maybe? Discrimination against customers? Or maybe it was discrimination against employees? I'm not sure what it was, but I'm pretty sure there's a good reason why I'm boycotting them too. Heck, I'm even supposed to boycott Whole Foods, and they're generally seen as one of the good guys.

The reality is that we want our businesses to be socially conscious, and we want them to be socially conscious about our own ideals, but our own ideals often clash with the ideals of others. Gay marriage isn't allowed in most states - why? College students continue to binge drink despite the national attention on student deaths - why? To oversimplify the issue, people have different values. So do businesses. So do business owners.

I'm not happy with Target. I'm not happy with Walmart. But I'm really not happy being overcharged for toilet paper. In times like these, my practicality often overshadows my ideals. Call me weak-minded. Call me financially responsible.

Today is Spirit Day and I don't want to minimize the importance of remembering Tyler Clementi, the college student who committed suicide after his roommate outed him online, and the other five teenagers who killed themselves after being taunted for their sexuality. That is six people too many, and it doesn't begin to capture the depth of the issue.

We can argue that Target has a role in the homophobia and anti-GLBTQ environments - that the opposition to gay marriage by politicians who are being supported by Target's donations further perpetuates the idea that GLBTQ individuals are somehow second-class citizens who aren't deserving of equal rights, and that Target's actions are a contributing factor to these tragic suicides. If that's the case, by all means, boycott Target. But if we do that, shouldn't we look at the practices of every business we frequent and decide if their actions align with our values, if their actions perpetuate any injustice in the world and not simply jump on a latest political bandwagon? It's not easy to align all of our beliefs, thoughts, and actions. In my case, I suspect I'd have very few places to shop or eat. Maybe that's okay.

What I really don't want is to overshadow that broadcasting what happens in the privacy of a someone's own bedroom - whether gay or straight - without his consent is wrong. Shaming others for an aspect of their identity - whether sex, sexuality, race, religion, country of origin, hair color, or eye color - is wrong. Mocking others for their personal preferences - whether it's choice in music, books, television shows, or comic books; or playing or not playing sports, musical instruments, or video games - is wrong.

We don't just need to raise the awareness of anti-gay bullying. We need to raise the awareness of bullying. And we can't stop with awareness. We need to move toward prevention.

And much as their actions made me angry, I'm not convinced that boycotting Target is going to prevent a teen from committing suicide. Nor do I think that getting rid of beer pong kits will prevent binge drinking. But perhaps ensuring that that teen's privacy is respected might prevent suicide. Perhaps teaching others to respect differences, regardless of how uncomfortable or scared these differences make us, might prevent suicide. Or maybe changing the culture so that binge drinking or hate or homophobia or bullying isn't perceived as "the norm" or that suicide isn't viewed as the only solution to these problems might make a bigger difference. Maybe providing more mental health services, more crisis services, and more professionals trained to deal with these issues might make a bigger difference.

And then maybe, MAYBE, there won't be any financial OR voter support for polarizing political candidates.

Talk, listen, act

Bullying has received a lot of attention in the news lately, and October is National Bully Prevention Month. This issue sickens me, and the fact that it has been a factor in suicides and suicide attempts makes me angry.

Bullying is generally talked about as a child and adolescent issue, but I see it in adulthood as well. I've watched parents bully other parents, parents bully their own children and others' children, and parents bully coaches, and coaches bully parents and players at sporting events. I've experienced bullying by a work supervisor, and I've seen co-workers bully each other in a quest to establish dominance or favoritism in the workplace. It's an issue that never goes away because it's an issue that we as a society still don't recognize and don't know how to address properly.

I was teased mercilessly in junior high. I was smart, I was a tomboy, and I never really fit in among my classmates. Even within my group of friends, I always felt like an outsider because I had very different interests - sports (swimming in particular) and playing the violin - and I dedicated a lot of my free time to participating in these activities. I was interested in boys, but not in changing myself or my appearance so boys would like me. I'm naturally shy, but I became more quiet and withdrawn as the bullying continued.

Bullying affects each person differently, but I became acutely aware of its affects when a friend of mine attempted suicide and another developed an eating disorder. I watched as my friends believed and internalized the messages sent by bullies, but we rarely talked about it. Instead, we tried to be tough in the face of bullies, changed ourselves so that others wouldn't pick on us, and generally hid the pain we felt.

I also remember being told numerous times by teachers that if we were being bullied that we should "tell someone." I also remember being told "don't be a tattletale." Kids receive this mixed message all the time, and don't have sophisticated reasoning skills to know the difference between tattling and seeking help. And frankly, telling someone often resulted in more teasing, more bullying, and in my case, more feelings of isolation. The people who were supposed to help me couldn't or wouldn't, and I often felt helpless and hopeless.

I divide my teachers from 5th through 8th grade into the teachers who couldn't help and the teachers who wouldn't help. The teachers who couldn't were often being bullied themselves - by parents, by administrators, and by the student bullies themselves. I attended a Catholic school and one the worst bullies was the son of the church's business manager. The son got in trouble sometimes, but he should've been expelled many times - like when he told my friend he was going to rape her. She told on him and he got detention - one afternoon cleaning erasers and washing chalkboards - and she was threatened with rape daily by multiple boys in our class from that day on. I was aware that his dad's authority kept him in school and he also knew he was untouchable.

Worse were the teachers who wouldn't help. These teachers seemed more interested in being liked or showing they were "in control" than teaching and helping. Even at 12 or 13, I recognized them as enablers of bullying and therefore bullies themselves. These teachers were the ones who would tell us not to tattle, who would reward the bullies with candy and other treats when they acted as a 7th or 8th grader should act, who sat the good kids and bullying victims next to the bullies in hopes that the good behavior would rub off on the bad kids. Instead, the victims were bullied mercilessly in the classroom too, a place that should've been safe.

I distinctly remember the day that I had enough, and it wasn't on a day I was being teased. We were in science class, and my classmates were acting like children. They were throwing things at me, at each other, across the room, and at the teacher, and jiggling their feet so that the floor shook and the glass display cases rattled. My science teacher had enough and walked out, and then my homeroom teacher (one of the enablers) entered and yelled at us and brought us back to our homeroom class. I apologized to our science teacher on the way out, and I distinctly remember her saying, "You don't need to apologize." At that moment I realized that I didn't need to apologize for my class and their behavior, and I didn't deserve to be yelled at and be punished for their behavior either. It was time I started doing something about it.

Our enabling teacher decided to hold an airing of the grievances instead of directly addressing the immature and inappropriate behavior. Classmate after classmate complained about our science teacher, claiming she was a bad teacher, that she wasn't as cool or understanding as our homeroom teacher, and that she had no control over our class.

And that was when I raised my hand, voice shaking and tears in my eyes and said, "I know I don't talk much, and that's usually because I get shouted over, but you need to hear me. It is not [our science teacher]'s fault that you can't control yourself. She didn't make you shake the floor. She didn't make you throw the paper. She shouldn't have to bribe us to behave. I have two little sisters at home, and if I want to hear whining, I can go home and listen to them, but even they know how to behave in a classroom. You owe [science teacher] an apology and you owe me an apology for having to deal with you. I can't wait to graduate and get out of this hell hole."

The class went silent.

A few minutes later, the whole school gathered in the gym for some assembly. I sat away from everyone because I was still shaking a little, but mostly because I didn't want to be bullied and teased for having the courage to stand up to them. My enabling teacher came up to me and said, "I think they heard you that time." And I don't where the sass or the courage came from, but I replied, "I hope you heard me too. I'm tired of all of this, and I'm not going to take it anymore."

My friends in the other class told me that my classmates were saying I snapped or I'd gone crazy, but nobody dared mess with me again. I ended my 8th grade year with a lot of bad memories, painful psychological scars, and very few friends, but I regained my voice and my strength. I wasn't scared somebody was going to throw things at me, tell me I was ugly or fat or a nerd, or grab my breasts and claim it was an accident. I wasn't going to let the teachers pretend they didn't see or hear these things either. I was going to hold everyone accountable for their actions. I would not be a victim.

Bullies thrive on a victim's silence. Just as a bully's words are powerful to the victim, the victim's words are also powerful. If you are a victim of bullying, tell someone. If that person dismisses you, tell someone else, and keep telling someone until somebody does something about it. Find someone who will be your voice until you can find your own, and be the voice for someone who needs it.

And adults and friends, talk about your own experiences with bullying. Talk with other parents and teachers about what is happening in the classroom. Talk to your kids about how to handle difficult situations. Tell them that you love them. And listen. Listen to what you are being told. Listen for what is NOT being said. Listen for the sadness. Listen to the pleas for help. Listen for the silence.

But most importantly, ACT. Stop the bullying.

Grocery store musings

I've been mulling over this idea since my trip to the grocery store a few weeks ago to buy organic spinach leaves.

I had a very specific purpose for the spinach leaves - spinach pesto. I love pesto and don't mind buying the prepared stuff, but I like to customize mine when possible to boost the nutritional value. A few years ago, I made a spinach, parmesan cheese, and garlic bread for Halloween, a recipe I got from an episode of 30 Minute Meals, and the color and flavor reminded me of pesto. Then, I read about adding kale to pesto to boost the nutritional value, and I was reminded of the spinach mixture I spread on the bread. Thus, spinach pesto was born. I made a batch and made some sandwiches and tossed it with two different pasta dishes, then froze the rest in ice cube trays so I can defrost and use it whenever I'm in a pesto mood.

(I'd post a recipe, but I don't really have one - it was a container of spinach, 2 cloves of garlic [too much], a lot of basil, a handful of parmesan, zest and juice from one lemon, and olive oil blended in the food processor. No pine nuts - I have a fear that my husband, who is allergic to some nuts but has never had a reaction to prepared pesto, will die if I put them in and I'll get arrested for murdering my husband - but technically they should be in the recipe too. You figure it out.).

As I shopped for my organic spinach leaves, I found myself questioning why I had to buy organic spinach leaves. I knew from experience that the frozen spinach didn't work as well in the pesto (too much water, even if it's squeezed out really well). And because the spinach would remain raw, I knew I needed to be especially aware of the chemicals and pesticides. So I shelled out an extra two bucks for the organic spinach.

It struck me as silly that I was buying spinach leaves, let alone organic spinach leaves, to make pesto when I could so easily buy a container of pesto that would probably be cheaper. Sure, it may not be as nutritious, but I could easily cook some extra vegetables to go with my meal and still come out ahead money-wise. I was also bothered by the price of the organic spinach compared to the pesticide-laden variety. If the chemicals and pesticides are really as bad as we're told, shouldn't they be banned?

As I tooled around the grocery store picking up a few other items, I felt like I was being ripped off. Organic milk costs twice as much as regular? Whole wheat bread is 50 cents more? Generic cereal is a dollar less but has more sugar in it?

I hear and read news reports about how American, and children in particular, are injesting too many chemicals, eating too many empty calories, and not eating enough greens or whole grains. In those same articles, I hear calls for the end of convenience foods, the end of hormone injections, the end of processed sugars! We must save the children!!!

I'm very fortunate to be married to someone who makes a good salary, but I don't have amnesia. That is to say, I remember 10 years ago when I was in grad school and I had to buy books at the beginning of each semester, so I ate ramen noodles for three weeks because they were 10/$1. I'm thankful I'm not in that position at this point in my life, but I'll also never forget those days either. Some might call that experience "character-building." I call it being broke and doing what it took to get by.

The thing about that time in my life is that I was extraordinarily busy. I was taking 14 credits each semester, which is full time for an undergrad and super full time for a grad student, and working 20 hours at a graduate assistantship that covered 9 credits of tuition each semester. I also had an unpaid internship as part of my schooling that was supposed to be 16 hours each week (it was always more). I left my apartment at 7:30am and arrived home around 9pm Monday-Thursday, studied into the wee hours, and worked all day Friday as well.

Ramen not only fit my budget, it fit my lifestyle. I was busy, I was broke, and I didn't have time to grocery shop or cook. In retrospect, I was pretty much eating salt and getting no nutrition except the calories I needed to function on a daily basis. But, bad for me food was better than no food at all and that was a decision I had to make. I got by.

I made my schedule like that out of necessity. I had to work, I had to take my classes, and I had to pay for it. I empathize with people who have to live and work this way. In this economy, it seems more people are working just to make ends meet and everyone seems to be looking for ways to save money. At the same time, everyone is looking for something quick and convenient because they just don't have time to cook. Everybody is working more, running from one commitment to the next, and doing more with less.

And as I wandered around the grocery store with my organic spinach, something just clicked in my head.

We eat based on our lifestyle. We buy foods we can afford, and we buy foods we can prepare in our given schedule. We don't eat organically because it is expensive. We don't buy fresh fruit and vegetables because they go bad. We buy prepackaged food that is loaded with sodium and fat and preservatives because we only have ten minutes to make and eat dinner. We live in urban and suburban areas where houses are built on top of each otherwith no room to grown our own gardens, and where farmers markets are run on Wednesday mornings while we're at work or Saturdays when we're running kids to soccer games (and don't forget about the lack of parking!). We get fast food because it's all of the things we need - fast, convenient, and (usually) cheap.

I've read all sorts of articles, blogs, and comments about how we need to change our behaviors and change our mindsets in order to be healthy Americans. But as I think about how I ended up as a real housewife of Charlotte - essentially out of economic necessity- I wonder if we really can change. Sure, I'm a housewife who has the luxury to buy organic spinach so I can spend the time to make spinach pesto - but could my friends? Could I do this if I was a single girl, living on a social worker or teacher salary?

And frankly, if I was a single girl, living on a social worker or teacher salary, would making organic spinach pesto even be a concern of mine?

Happy Anniversary, Charlotte!

Today marks our one year anniversary of living in Charlotte. When I think about where I was in my life a year ago compared to where I am now, I marvel at how much life has changed and how much I've personally changed.

There are geographic adjustments, of course, between Michigan and North Carolina. I fly a lot more now than I have in the past, simply because flying is necessary to visit most family and friends. I've visited places I'd never thought of visiting before, like Charleston, SC simply because it's convenient now. I find myself more concerned about hurricanes (though Charlotte is far from the ocean and hasn't been hit in more than 20 years) than snowstorms, and I've had to adjust my time line for seasonality of produce. When I shop for clothes, I invest in lightweight pants and short-sleeved shirts rather than heavy sweaters and sweatshirts. I found it necessary to invest in prescription sunglasses because I need to wear them year-round. These have been slight adjustments, but adjustments nonetheless.

Then there are actual changes I've made in my life. I exercise four to five times each week, and this is a major change for me. I exercised when I lived in Michigan, but it was inconsistent and always at the bottom of my priority list even though I wanted to do it more often. Here, I fit it into my day naturally. I started tennis lessons because it's fun, and because it's what the women do around here. I cook more often, though I admittedly use Dream Dinners to help me (I'm completely okay with that, and my husband does not care), and have greatly reduced the amount of junk that I eat. I've lost 30 pounds since moving to Charlotte which is the product of
the exercise and cooking, rather than a conscious effort to lose weight. My hair is lighter and my skin is darker from the sun, which is again natural and a product of being outside more often, and I generally look healthier than I did when I lived in Michigan.

My priorities have shifted. I've always considered my husband the primary breadwinner in our family, but I've also always considered myself a contributor to household income. I felt that because I also made money, my career was just as important as his. In the past, we've made moves in order to benefit my career and we've made moves to benefit my husband's career. After this move to Charlotte, I don't think I'd consider moving to another city to benefit my own career unless I was absolutely certain my husband was going to benefit too - as in, he also had a job opportunity that ensured greater professional and financial benefits in hand. I've always known he was smart and good at his job, but this year has shown me that he is truly remarkable at what he does, and he deserves every opportunity to develop professionally. I know, I know, I deserve the same opportunity. Except I don't. I'm good at what I do, but he is truly extraordinary. And frankly, I'll never make close to what he will and in these tough economic times, that is a very real and important factor.

Because of the realization, I've accepted more responsibility for the household tasks. I cook, I clean, and I launder (is that I word? If not, it should be and that should be the correct use for it). I'm not great at these tasks, and I doubt I ever will be. I still grumble as I do them, but I also never think "it's [husband]'s turn to do the dishes" as I unload the dishwasher. These jobs are just ways that I can contribute, and even though I feel like I'm not doing enough sometimes, I know my husband appreciates that he doesn't have to worry about them when he gets home from work.

And as I already learned, I'm happy. A year ago, if I had a crystal ball and saw what my life would be on September 15, 2010, I would've predicted I would be miserable because smart, independent, and career-driven women aren't supposed to be satisfied with life as a housewife. But I am, and it doesn't make me a less smart, independent, or career-driven woman - but perhaps now I'm a bit less selfish. I'm still trying to figure that out.

I sometimes wonder if I would've gotten to this point if we hadn't moved, and I really don't think I would have. My life would be different than it was a year ago regardless, but I'm not sure about how my priorities or my feelings or my body or my relationship with my husband would've changed, if at all. I've moved many times in my life, and I've always learned and changed as a result, but I think this is the first move in which I can say it's been nothing like I'd hoped but I wouldn't change a thing.

Happy Anniversary, Charlotte! Here's to many more!

I'm Happy. Who knew?

Today I was told that I appear to be the happiest I've been in years. I had to ask myself - am I that happy or was I really that miserable?

The honest answer - I was that miserable. I hated my life in Michigan. I loved my little hockey boys and really enjoyed working with them, and I made some good friends, but that was about it. I hated school, I hated my job, I hated the weather. I missed Wisconsin and I missed my life there. I knew I had outgrown my job and was frustrated by that, but I still enjoyed it for the most part. I constantly questioned why I left, and generally felt like I'd made a huge mistake when I decided to pursue my PhD in Michigan.

I'm not the only one who was miserable - my husband hated it too. He also made some great friends, and he loved coaching soccer, but he had his share of frustrations with work and other stuff. Neither one of us wanted to admit how much we disliked living there because we knew we had a reason for being there, but we really hated it.

In some ways, the fact that I'm happier here is counterintuitive - I'm farther away from my family, I don't have my sporting events to attend or teams that I root for, I don't have any friends, and I don't have a job. Despite all this, I'm happier.

I immediately liked Charlotte. It felt like a much better fit than Michigan ever did. I have my challenges, of course, and I'm frustrated that I don't have a job, but I still like Charlotte. I'm not sure what it is exactly - maybe it's the weather, maybe it's the lifestyle, maybe it's just that it's not Michigan. I certainly love the sunshine, and the fact that I have a noticeable tan makes me happy (spare me the skin cancer talk, I wear SPF 70 sunscreen daily and Vitamin D is good for physical and mental health). I also love having access to the pool, and my water aerobics and tennis classes. I really enjoy being able to walk to the grocery store or Walmart without it completely disrupting my day. But these are little things, and really shouldn't make that much of a noticeable difference in my happiness.

Maybe I actually like being a housewife. Huh.

Hockey mom

I was a "hockey mom" before it had a political connotation. I'm not actually a mom of a hockey player, but I was once told by a college hockey player that I was like his mom so I think that's close enough.

The comment that I was like his mom wasn't because I cooked for him or did his laundry or nagged him relentlessly. Well, maybe it was because I nagged him relentlessly. I prefer to think it's because I cheered for him, cared for him, and generally supported him while he adjusted to college. I was president of his fan club, so to speak, and I believed in him when a lot of other people had given up on him. I referred to him as "my little hockey boy" even though he was anything but little. It was an affectionate term for how I felt about him. I thought of him as my little boy, my pseudo-son who I was responsible for taking care of throughout his college career.

I met my little hockey boy when I was assigned to work with him on his academics. He came to college seriously underprepared academically and had significant learning disabilities, both of which went undetected during his recruitment. Actually, his parents were very forthright that he had learning disabilities, but his transcripts and test scores didn't reveal the extent of these challenges. A month into the first semester of his freshman year of college, he was re-tested and diagnosed, and I was hired to work with him one-on-one.

I was tough on him. I pushed him to take school seriously and made him stay longer than he was required to in order to complete his work. He rewrote more papers than he probably needed to because I knew he could do better. I encouraged him to register for classes that he found interesting, even if they were going to challenge him academically more than he'd even been challenged in his school career. I made him a student-athlete.

As much as I pushed him, he also knew how much I cared for him. One of my favorite little hockey boy moments came after I had been working with him for over a year, and happened on a day when he needed both a butt kicking and a hug. I was on my way home from Milwaukee and got caught in a snowstorm. The interstate closed and I had to take an alternate route home so I was late to study table. I had a partner who supervised the other hockey guys so this normally wouldn't be a problem, but on this particular night, my little hockey boy didn't want to be there. He threatened to leave, saying that he didn't need to be there if I wasn't there. My partner and I exchanged text messages and I assured her I would be there soon, and she convinced him to stay. By the time I arrived, he was sulking and refusing to do any work.

I took him aside and said something like, "What is going on with you? You're acting like a butthead and that's not like you at all. You've never talked back to me or [my partner], you've never refused to do your work, and you've never been disrespectful to me, but this week you've done all of those things and that's not like you. What is going on with you?"

And my 6'2", 215-lb. hockey player, who was known to be an enforcer on the ice, teared up.

He shared how frustrated he was with his lack of playing time- he had essentially been benched- and how he felt like if he wasn't playing hockey, he didn't know if he should stay at this school because it was so academically difficult. I told him that I would support him in whatever he decided to do, but as far as I was concerned, he wasn't going to leave the university because he couldn't hack it academically. I also reminded him that he could talk to me whenever he needed to and that I would always be there for him.

Was I professional in how I handled the situation? Not really. I did confront the behavior, which is absolutely the right thing to do professionally, but it's also the way I would hope a parent would address a child who was acting out of character. Should I have said he was acting like a butthead? No. Would a mom tell her son he was acting like a butthead? Eh, maybe. The thing is, I never, EVER talked to him like that and so the fact that I called it like I saw it completely grabbed his attention. It's also the way I knew he had to be addressed - directly and without any bullshit - and this was because he'd always been talked to this way as hockey player. Hockey coaches don't do subtle.

Because I was not just a tutor but also a pseudo hockey mom, I grew very attached to these boys. I wanted what was best for them, and I wanted them to be successful in school, in hockey, and in life. I was just as happy when they did well in school as when they won games, but I was happier when I saw them make good decisions and act maturely, and I was happiest when I saw them achieve their goals that I knew they worked so hard to accomplish.

Last May, my little hockey boy graduated. This was a major accomplishment for him, and I couldn't be prouder of him. Because he persevered through school, he was able to keep playing hockey. And because he was able to develop as a player and a person over four years, he not only graduated in May, but also signed a professional contract to play hockey. This was his dream, and even though it was a difficult journey, he accomplished his goal.

I think back to all that was happening with my little hockey boy on that day when I confronted him, and I feel like it was a turning point for him. I don't know that I really had anything to do with turning it around both in school and in hockey, but I do know that his attitude changed after that day. I don't think I motivated him in anyway - he had to put in a lot of work on and off the ice to get back in the coaches' good graces and that was all his doing - but I think it helped him to know that he had someone in his corner.

The Charlotte Checkers schedule came out today, and I'm thrilled that they have two home games against the team that my little hockey boy will be playing for this year. I'm going to be at those games, cheering loudly, like the proud hockey mom I am.

Minuet, Govotte, and Concerto

I've been playing the violin since I was five, but I haven't really played since college. However, every now and then I get the urge to play and so I take my violin out of its case and play.

I learned to play via the Suzuki method for the first five years which means I learned to play by ear before I learned to sight-read music. To this day, I'm an average sight-reader and can fumble through music with a little practice, but I can actually play the music the first time I read it if I've heard it first. When I was asked to play last-minute in the pit orchestra for Hello, Dolly! in high school, instead of asking for the sheet music to review I asked for soundtrack on CD. The conductor looked at me strangely, shook his head, and said, "Suzuki, right?"


Learning via the Suzuki method also means that I memorized every song I learned. This serves me well when I get the urge to play. I don't need my books or sheet music - my brain tells my fingers what to do and I'm barely conscious of them as the press the strings against the fingerboard. In fact, when I do try to slow down and think about what I'm doing, I tend to fumble a bit so I've learned to just trust the muscle memory of my hands and enjoy how easy it is to play the songs I learned when I was five or eight or ten.

The Suzuki method also encourages immersion in music and the musical community. We had regular group lessons and concerts from the beginning. One of my teachers took me to see an opera, Amahl and the Night Visitors, when I was eight or nine years old. Because of these early experiences, I've always felt a sense of community around my own violin playing and felt the most enthusiastic about playing when I was performing with others - the school orchestra, the pit for musicals, the church choirs, etc.

The problem with this type of learning is that I struggled to learn or play individually. I thrived in the group setting, but I never engaged with unfamiliar music that I had to learn on my own. When I stopped playing Suzuki, I felt uncomfortable because I was expected to sight-read and I wasn't very good at it. I wasn't required to memorize the music either, which meant that my fingers never developed muscle memory and my brain would interfere and cause me to fumble around as I processed how the note on the page translated to fingering on the strings. The music itself didn't get more difficult, but playing the music seemed more challenging, and I simply didn't enjoy it as much.

My struggles with playing didn't diminish my love of music or the music community - Quite the opposite, actually. I have a deep love and appreciation of musicals that I am lucky enough to be able to share with my husband. (How many couples are equally happy at both a Broadway show and the Big East basketball tournament on vacation?) I also love classical music and find myself fingering along whenever I hear my favorites - Pachelbel's Canon in D, Bach's Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring, and Bach's Air on the G String. Music is meant to be shared and experienced with others.

I picked up my violin a few weeks ago to play for fun. Even after all these years, my fingers knew just what to do. There's something very comforting in knowing that no matter how many years pass, or how many other things I learn and forget, I'll always know how to play Bach's Govotte in G Minor.

I wonder if there are any adult Suzuki group lessons out there.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

A few years ago, my husband and I decided that we wanted to visit all the MLB stadiums. Many people have written blogs, articles, and even books about planning a MLB stadium trip and the experience of road tripping. Authors have developed various rating systems to rank the ball parks in an effort to determine which is "the best." Much like others who have attempted to visit the stadiums, we have our own system which essentially that it is a non-system. But it works for us.

I'm don't remember exactly how we decided we were going to see all the stadiums, but I believe it began with a trip to San Francisco. We were living in Milwaukee, and my husband was sent to San Luis Obispo, California for a business trip. We decided to make a vacation out of it. After he finished the business portion of his trip, we drove up Highway 1 to San Francisco. We planned to be tourists and visit with one of my friends who was in grad school at UC-Berkeley. Somehow we decided being a tourist involved going to see a San Francisco Giants game at what was then called PacBell Park (now AT&T Park). Barry Bonds was in the midst of his chase for the home run title, and we'd seen the park and the famous splash hits into McCovey Cove on television so we thought we should see it for ourselves. I believe it was either during this game or during a discussion of this game that we decided we should see all the ball parks.

At this point, we had been to Miller Park (Milwaukee Brewers), Wrigley Field (Chicago Cubs), and Comiskey Park (or the US Cellular Field as the Chicago White Sox field is known now), and we added PacBell to the list. We had no rating system in place, and didn't try to create one, and we had no specific time line to complete our visits. We just wanted to see them all!

When we moved to Michigan, we had the opportunity to visit a few more stadiums. My husband became an instructor for the continuing education program at his accounting firm, and he was sent all over the country to teach. I also traveled for conferences, so we tagged along on trips whenever we could and tried to visit ball parks whenever possible. Often times we had poor timing and the home team was on a road trip (three trips to the Bay area and Oakland has never been in town!) or it was the off-season so we couldn't take in a game. Sometimes we made plans to visit a park and the business trip was canceled which was frustrating and disappointing.


However, a few times we said "Let's go to a game this weekend!" and we'd take off for whichever city we decided to visit. This was the case last weekend when we decided to drive to Atlanta to check Turner Field off the list. We had a free weekend, we had an excuse to go (our favorite team, the Milwaukee Brewers, were the Braves' opponent), and it was convenient so off we went!

The game was enjoyable and Turner Field is nice. Getting to Turner Field and into the game, however, was an exercise in patience that we both failed. They really need to be taught how to direct traffic and parking. Atlanta traffic is bad enough, but add in a 40,000 people heading to a Braves game and the result can only be described in one word: clusterfuck. Service at the concession stands was slow, but the people were nice and I suppose that's important too. Overall rating: Not as nice as PNC Park, Camden Yards, or PETCO Park, but better than Comerica Park. This rating system doesn't even include all the parks we've seen. I told you, we're scientific.


Whenever I tell people that we're doing this, I get one of three responses. 1) That's cool, I've heard of people doing that, or 2) I've always wanted to do that (for MLB or other professional sport), or 3) Why? Visiting the ball parks isn't just about visiting the ball parks. We love sports and we enjoy baseball so we do like the experience of being at the ball game.

However, it's also a way for us to travel and to see the country. It's an excuse to spend time together, to be spontaneous, and to just get away from our daily lives. We both have professional and personal goals, and though we support each other, we accomplish these tasks individually. We have family goals as well, but they generally involve money, retirement, housing, and the like. The stadium tour is our common goal, something we both want to achieve, but more importantly, something we want to achieve together.

And as we visit the stadiums, we make memories that we can share for years to come. I may not remember every Easter I've spent with my husband, but I do remember the Easter we spent in San Diego, watching the Padres play the Giants from the all you can eat seats at PETCO Park. It was 75 and sunny, and I enjoyed every ray of sun on my face after a long Michigan winter, and the sip of every Diet Coke after giving up soda for Lent. I also remember my husband looking completely happy and relaxed after a draining few months dealing with the bankruptcy of General Motors. We've visited about half of the stadiums thus far, and are eager to see the rest. We've tentatively planned for one more this season, and hopefully we'll sneak a few more in there as well. With each ball park, it's not only a step closer to our goal, but it's also a shared experience that I can cherish every day, even if/when the time comes that my husband can no longer take me out to the ball game.

Just one of those days

I've had a couple of bad days recently and I'm not exactly sure why. I've been feeling a bit... useless is the word coming to mind. That's not the right word but it's the only word that seems to fully capture how I've been feeling the last few days. Let me back up and explain.

I think this is the part of being a housewife that I struggle with the most: I don't contribute. My husband works incredibly hard and makes money, and I do nothing but spend his money. That's not entirely true, but that's how it feels. This message isn't coming from my husband, it's the voice inside my head that tells me I'm not doing my part. I try to compensate by cleaning (blech), cooking, and entertaining, but I still don't feel like I'm doing my part. Maybe if I had a child I could justify being at home, but I don't, so I really don't feel like an equal partner while my husband works so hard.

Yes, I have a job and I get paid for it. However, my job involves writing a lot and I have a serious case of writer's block, at least when it comes to the topic I'm supposed to be writing about for my job. So I'm not really doing my job right now either. I am, but not well, and that contributes to my feeling of uselessness.

So here I am, a useless housewife in Charlotte.

It's days like these that make me remember that I once felt useful and that my daily life once mattered, that I was needed even. I miss those days. I liked feeling like others depended on me, that I made a difference in the lives of others, that I somehow contributed to others' well-being. I was rewarded for this contribution both spiritually and monetarily. My role as a housewife brings me neither spiritual nor monetary fulfillment and without anything to fill me up, I just have this feeling of emptiness... and uselessness.

Like I said, it's just one of those days.