Blog Posts

'The time has come' or End-of-Life

6/19/2019

Right as I was getting ready for bed it happened - BRRRRRRR!!!! My first thought was “something is wrong with the Air Conditioner.” I hoped maybe Tim had moved some large piece of furniture outside. But, as always, I was right it. It was the AC unit. I knew this was coming, so I had emotionally prepared for the anguish of not having air conditioning during the hot summer days and also the extraordinary expense that comes with AC repair.
You know you are a grown-up when you understand things like “end-of-life cycle.” End-of-life is this phenomenon where everything comes to an end and there’s specific timelines for how long things last. Your food has an expiration date. Your water heater has an EOL.
For example your phone has a two to three-year before it stops working, becomes obsolete, or you crash it into a million little pieces. Currently the lifecycle of humans in the US is about 85 years according to recent mortality figures. But when referring to people and not object you call it a lifespan. It's much more dignified.
Regardless most things are built to last for a finite amount of time. (Unless you’re a nuclear waste, but eventually it hits its half-life too.)
The house we currently live in was built in 2006. Meaning, in 2006 everything was shiny and new. Since Richard was born we have replaced: the refrigerator, the dishwasher (twice), the microwave (twice - ask my mom how she exploded our last one), the water heater (preventatively) and different components of our pool. As I look around and see what’s left to replace - it’s the big one. It’s the AC unit. According to the Internet sources the AC unit in Arizona should last anywhere from 10 to 14 years. And our unit is straight at 13 years.

The time has come," the Linskeys said,
"To talk of other things
Of shoes and ships and sealing wax
Of cabagges and kings
And while the house is boiling hot
And whatever Oso thinks
Kaloo Kalay no work today
We're hot cabbages ... waiting for the AC repair guy to arrive"

Self Identification starts ... at Kindergarten?

5/28/2019

In an era where political pundits talk about “race politics” or “gender politics” it’s important to ask about the genesis of these identities . When do these identifications start? To me, the answer seems obvious —school registration forms.

A friend calls me up: 1.) Ecstatic because her child has gotten early acceptance into kindergarten. 2.) She is thoroughly confused by the registration form. She is stumped on the question of her kid’s ethnicity and race.

A little background information about my friend. She comes from a country that was formerly part of the USSR block. I will refrain from naming it to protect her identity and to avoid Borat jokes. Her husband is US born with parents from Latin America.

So how do these parents label their child’s identity? Having to place the child in a neat little box, when their background is so rich and complex. The conversation devolves into a game of attrition, figuring out which boxes the child does not fit into and then picking the best option from what’s left.

But having to go through this exercise can be confusing, especially to somebody who is not from a country that so adamantly tracks race. Why this obsession with classification? It’s a discussion I am always interested in having because even in the Hispanic community, there is no homogenous consensus. I also enjoy using information acquired during my African American studies class to discuss such notions as the “one drop rule.” One drop of African American ancestry makes you Black in this country. If you follow the logic, then if my children marry white girls and my grandkids marry white girls, their kids should still be labeled Hispanic because of this one drop rule. (Assuming we still have the current race-ethnicity boxes in the future.)

It’s bewildering that in an age where a new generation seeks to redefine their sexual identities and political identities and quite possibly their racial identities, they are still being forced to start by checking one of a very limited list of choices.

Which leads me to state Richard’s box for race is White his ethnicity is Hispanic. And this is my way of announcing Richard is an official kindergartner. He passed his early entrance exam entrance exam. He will be joining his brother at our neighborhood public school come July.

Apocalypse D O G

2/21/2019

I don’t do marathons. I don’t do 5Ks. I don’t even do “fun runs.” It’s just not in my nature, but I’m happy to donate towards your campaign. Go ahead, have a good time walking. I’ll be enjoying my hammock.

But the other day my family and I participated in the Boxer Luv Rescue Fun Run. It is the organization’s biggest fundraiser and we adopted our dog, Oso, from them... so exceptions were made.

It was the capstone of a year’s worth of really, really hard work training our dog. Saturday classes, in-home training, trainer supervised walks, and training the kids on how to train Oso. We could finally take our jerk-of-a-dog out in public. We also wanted to show him off to his former foster families. He was in excellent shape, with a bright shiny coat. (Footnote: I felt vindicated in our struggle when I learned his previous foster family called him LB for “little bastard,” but I digress.)

Oso was a spectacular walker. He really is in great shape.

I came home and realized Oso could have walked a 5k! a 10K! Oso would be happy to just keep walking and walking and walking.

I have concluded my dog would be the perfect Apocalypse Dog! You know, how when the apocalypse comes, it’s just going to be people walking around, looking like Will Smith. Scavenging around with their dogs. That could be our dog! Oso, you could be apocalypse dog! He would be fine walking through the rubble of civilization non-stop. He’s already very adapt at rummaging through trash. And, as the boys would say “he can rip bad guys up like a ham.”

Hopefully, the apocalypse won’t be here anytime soon. At least, I don’t think it will. I am concerned about Oso stockpiling jugs of water and barely wheat … aren’t dog’s suppose to have a sixth-sense about these things?

It's OK to fail

2/1/2019

Recently, I read an article highlighting the epidemic of stress on teenagers. With modern technology and high expectations, teens are becoming anxious and developing mental health disorders. It said in our society failure is no longer accepted.

It used to be. We valued failure because it helped us learn from our mistakes. But now, it seems, failure is no longer allowed. A failing grade in math means you will forever be doomed to a mediocre life, possibly even homelessness. (Footnote: I once was on the cusp of failing Honors Algebra One. I hope I am an example that you can triumph after a D. And I would also like the record to show: I dropped honors algebra for regular algebra which was a whole lot easier.)
As with anything else, I blame this phenomenon on “The Facebook.” Social media allows us to share every triumph and witness every failure. We are the curators of our own social media story. Therefore, we tend to show the successes and not necessarily the epic fails.
Everyone is more apt to post a picture of their last vacation than a picture of their gross sink… that hasn’t been cleaned in six weeks because, com' on, let’s face it, when you have a job, two kids, a dog and a 45 minute commute one way each day, the last thing on your priority list is a spotless bathroom. Now, let me be clear: I am not advocating for more pictures of dirty clothes hampers looking like Mt. Clothesmore. I don’t want to see that; nobody wants to see that. There really is no reason to share any sort of dirty laundry on social media.

But sharing a failure is valuable, every now and then. Especially when other people can learn from it. It’s important to remember on Facebook, people are mostly showing you their good side with none of their bad baggage. The Facebook is ultimately the longest first date ever.

So it’s in the spirit of learning from failure that I present to you my chicken and dumplings. It’s important to learn from failure. It’s also important to turn the crockpot off before you go to bed.

To keep or not to keep, that is the question with college text books

11/25/2018

I just got done packing up the books in my bookcase, because I need to move my bookcase, because I am finally getting new carpet, because I needed new carpeting, because I have two little boys, and that’s why I can never have nice things.

The task of disassembling and then reassembling the “walk-in filing cabinet” that is my office was daunting. Then I started looking at it as an opportunity. An opportunity to declutter. Anyone who knows me, knows I am partial to nicknacks. My friend has described my decorating style as “old lady,” which is apt when you start counting the doilies.

I am also biased towards to books. There’s my favorite authors - Wharton, Steinbeck, Palahniuk - who’s books get reread and boast underlines and notes in the margins. There’s the books I only read once, but liked enough to keep. There’s the books I only read once but can’t seem to resale because the author signed it. There’s the books gifted to me, which I haven’t read yet. And, let’s be honest, there’s the books I never intend to read, like the complete works of William Wordsworth. It has been on my shelf since my formative years as an attempt at intellectualism.

But most of the bookshelf real estate hogs are the reference books and anthologies. Anyone with a liberal education may remember Norton Anthologies. Do college students still have to buy those books? If you took a course on English lit, or feminist lit, or post-emancipation African American lit .... your professor put a Norton Anthology on the reading list. Then selected specific poems, shorts stories or plays as part of the syllabus.
In my educational travels, I managed to collect a few of these. I never sold them because I was told it was important to keep them as a reference. If you want to be a writer, you have to be a reader. Books are part of your craft, you don’t sell your foundation back to the bookstore for pennies on the dollar.

My professors’ words keep ringing in my ear as I held up the anthologies and debated between the keep and donate pile. Timothy was on a step stool, getting annoyed I was taking too long to make a decision and ask for the next book. Maybe I should keep them for him …. Maybe one day he would appreciate these anthologies when he is older....

What am I talking about! He has the internet!
Sure there was an Information Super Highway when I was in college, but it was mostly there for IRC and figuring out the lyrics to Cure songs. The interwebs has come a long way baby. Sure there’s a lot of junk and memes, but hidden in there are obscure poems from Langston Hughes, short stories by Kate Chopin, even Lord Byron.

The anthologies are going in the donate pile, with the hopes they will inspire and entertain the next reader. When my bookshelf gets put back together, it will have more real estate for new books and the future clay pot my kids will undoubtedly present me for Mother’s Day.
Because at the root of letting go, is the opportunity to make space for the future you.

Facebook Messenger meet 'mom jeans'

11/7/2018

My mom said, “Nice jeans.”

Of course, she likes them. I’m wearing ‘mom jeans.’ High waisted and loose. They camouflage the car wreck that is my stomach after consecutive pregnancies. Yup. I wear mom jeans now. Put me in the uncool column. But because of my mom jeans, I feel I have a platform to complain about Facebook Messenger.

I’ve never really been “hip with it.” The fact I use the word ‘hip’ should be a hint. I joined Facebook, not because I’m cutting edge, but out of a need to communicate with my brother and friends. My brother is no longer on Facebook, because he is way cooler than me. Nowadays, I am on The Facebook consistently during my “free time” ... which means I check it for 15 minutes every other week. Because that’s how much “free time” I have in my life right now.

So, when you start a phone conversation with “Didn’t you see my post on Facebook?” My answer is “No, bitch, no. I don’t have time for that shit. Why don’t you verbally do a recap of your week for me. Do your best Monday morning ESPN show and give me the highlights since last time we talked.”

If I don’t Facebook, can you imagine my hesitation when I was peer-pressured into joining Messenger. I was always scared to download it. I believed conspiracy theories about the app tracking your every move and knowing your deepest darkest secrets. And look, they were right! I guess it was okay to join, by now the Russians probably have everything on me.

I did it solely for the purpose of a hometown get together. Why we couldn’t just do a group text? I didn’t understand. I brought my “let’s just text” communication option to the group organizer. He said it was easier than texting. Better than texting. Finally admitting it’s what a younger lady friend of his uses. She uses Messenger, so he uses Messenger.
“But Why Not a Text!!!” I said. I understood his circumstances, but not the communication mechanism.

“This way you can see if they are available, and know when they saw your message,” he said.

Well, that’s not promising. People would know if you are blowing them off.

I said I would delete the app once dinner was over. But of course, I forgot because you may recall, I get 15 minutes of phone time every two weeks.

Then, an odd thing started happening. Other friends started reaching out to me and I was actually able to get a hold of folks. People that would take days to text me back, people that would ignore my texts indefinitely, would suddenly, magically respond through Messenger.
For example, I needed help on my child’s Halloween costume. Through Messenger, I reached out to a friend’s mother with a question. She got right back to me within a nanosecond with tips on how to make a jellybean costume.

If my friend's mom is also on the platform doesn’t that turn Messenger into ‘mom jeans.’ And more importantly, why can’t a good old fashion text suffice.

“It gets easier”and other lies people tell you

10/5/2018

The view of "pick-up line" from my car's mirror. Lucky, I was line leader that day.

In July, our newly minted Kindergartener got a new backpack and pair of shoes.  Timothy was ready for school…. Enjoy the next 15 years of your life, kid.   I was ready for the extra free time.  “It gets easier once the kids start school,”a chorus of friends and well-wishers said.

Now, three months into our new routine, I am sad to report it was all a lie.   It’s not easieras a matter of fact, it’s more complex.  I had finally gotten into the habit of juggling two kids under four when I get thrown a fire torch into the mix.

Yes, our house has always been schedule focused, but we didn’t have to live and die by the clock.  You can always be 15 minutes late getting to the zoo.  As much as veering from the schedule irks my nerves, I could tolerate it.  “You want to keep playing, sure the library will still be open when you are done.”  “Aren’t hungry for breakfast…there’s always snack time.”

Not anymore. Breakfast HAS to be served at 7:15, which also includes my pleads for TW to “just eat a little bit.”  Out the door HAS to be at 7:50, along with my “Richard don’t dawdle, Richard don’t dawdle.”  And while we are at it – “Dog, don’t you dare puke!”  I can’t have a deviation from our morning routine.

Sure, lugging around one child during the day is much easier.  But not when the child is melancholy about losing his best and onlyfriend.  I have become defacto entertainment.  “Mom what’s that…. Mom what’s this… Mom how do you spell lighthouse?” (I should also add Richard currently has that really annoying three-year whinny voice.)

No one warned me about “Kid Pick-up Hell.”  Maybe it’s because it’s been a while since my friends had to pick up kids at elementary school.   I would like to go on record as saying I appreciate and support the pick-up protocols which insure my child doesn’t get into a “Free Candy” van.   But in the height of summer, walking home from school would amount to child endangerment.  The next option is the vehicle queue.  And god forbid you don’t get in the queue at the right time, you’ll be waiting for an hour, which means your child is waiting outside for you for an hour.  (And here’s a little hint – little kids don’t think about hydrating. )

So that means, Richard and I get to sit in the car for an hour.  At first I thought, Okay maybe I can use the time to read.  But no, I am busy spelling out words for Richard.

I thought my schedule was organized well enough, but now it has a slick top layer, which includes “It’s Library day!” as you run around the house tracking the library book.  “You have to wear orange today?! You don’t OWN anything orange, I hate the color orange for clothing.”

Then, adding insult to injury come the “Jamba Juice Fridays.”  “Jamba Juice Fridays” is when your school shakes your kid down for $3 to be used for books, or school spirit or apples, or something. I would like to clearly state my opposition to Jamba Juice.  Not because it’s not tasty or its price-point…. It’s because it parades around as healthy, when actually it’s liquid sugar.  I try to take a stand and opt out of this kickback.

I complain about the Jamba Juice issue in particular to a school teacher friend.

“Jamba Juice Fridays are very important,” she said.  “They are serious business, there will be a crying child all the way home.  Send the three dollars and make your life better.”

By lunchtime, I find a way to slip TW three bucks.  How sad would it be for Timothy to be the only kid without a cup of liquid sugar just because his mother has a moral objection to the company’s marketing?

Now that I know better, I will not be telling other parents to look forward to their children starting school.  I will not lie to them about fantasy free time or say it will be easier.  I will tell them to always make sure they have $3 cash at all times, because you don’t want to be caught flat-footed on Jamba Juice Friday.

"Are you a dog walker?"

8/1/2018

Oso walking on a doggie treadmill while Marc encourages him on.

Walking is our main source of exercise. And primarily, walking our dog. Tim is so meticulously regular about walking the family dog that once he was asked if he was a “dog walker.” “Well, I walk my dog,” he responded. But I think the question was meant as: did he provide his dog walking services for a fee. I saw a second career opportunity for him. He pointed out the couple was dressed for the gym, while their chunky dog looked on jealously at our Boxer.

We have a nice safe neighborhood designed for walking. And during our walks we usually discuss our superiority over our neighbors who get dogs but never walk them.
So why would a family which likes to feel superior about walking our dog hire Mobile Dog Run, a company that walks your dog? Because it’s freaking hot, that’s why!

Mobile Dog Run owned by Marc Singer comes to your house in a passenger van. Please note the van is air conditioned. They put your dog on something akin to a tread mill. For a $30 fee, your dog gets 30 minutes in the Mobile Dog Run van.

I was a little concerned about our new dog, Oso, using this service. He is a rescue and we are still working on some issues during walks. Would he take to it or maul the owner? Luckily, the former occurred because Mobile Dog Run is going to be a new treat at our house.

Tim is still hesitant about me walking Oso alone. So now when Tim is out of town, the dog doesn’t have to miss out on his walks. Also, I can pass a “dog run” off as a present. “Here honey, for your birthday I am outsourcing the dog walk."

I know what you are thinking. How bourgeoisie! Yes, yes it is. Our dog has the privilege of walking in an AC van, while other dogs have to hang out in a dirt lot. But let’s face it, Americans continue to spend on their pets - it’s recession proof.

More importantly, in Arizona, in the summer - it’s HOT! And walking a dog in the summer heat can be hazardous to their health. Should you put your dog in harm’s way with hot asphalt or deprive them of their walks? Dogs are members of the family, they deserve a little respite from the heat. The kids get Otter Pops. The dog gets frozen yogurt bones. The kids get to dip in the pool. The dog gets to walk in an air-conditioned van.

Marc serves the Phoenix, Ariz. area and is available at 602-500-9809

Star Wars Bureaucracy

1/16/2018

The kids are into Star Wars, which means every weekend we are watching a movie. But some of the dialogue no longer rings true to me … here’s a more accurate version.

Star Wars: A New Hope

Scene: INT. IMPERIAL STARDESTROYER
On the main viewscreen, the lifepod carrying the two terrified robots speeds away from the stricken Rebel spacecraft.

CHIEF PILOT: There goes another one.

CAPTAIN: Hold your fire. There are no life forms. It must have been short-circuited.

INT. LIFEPOD - Artoo and Threepio look out at the receding Imperial starship. Stars circle as the pod rotates through the galaxy.

Chief Pilot: But captain, it’s possible the rebels just sent the plans on an escape pod without an escort. Can’t I just shot it just to make sure?

Captain: Craig, Where you not just at the Conservation training? We all have to do our part to save firepower.

Chief Pilot: Sir, I am all for conservation, but it seems silly to not shot this emergency vessel, even if there is no life form. The risk reward calculation....

Captain: Ok, you want a risk reward calculation... each one of those missiles is $40,000. And my ass is on the line to meet budget before the quarterly earnings.

Chief Pilot: Sir, I understand you are under a lot of pressure, but a good quarter will be worthless if those plans escape, the whole Death Star could be at risk….

Captain: Well you sure are connecting an awful lot of dots, and you are making a lot of assumptions. But we don’t pay you to make assumptions; you get paid to follow orders. And my bonus doesn’t depend on whether or not we stop the Rebels; my bonus is tied to the budget. So no Craig.... you may hold your fire because there are no life forms on that pod and we are just going to write this one up to an electrical malfunction.

What parents of toddlers really need - Tricerataco!

8/1/2017

There are so many things about parenting you learn on the fly. For example, how you really need a dinosaur taco holder. My spouse is a sucker for Amazon's "add-ons," small items that are priced cheap if added to larger orders. It's the internet shopping equivalent of endcap displays. And I'm a sucker for encap displays.

An Amazon box arrives and out pops Tricerataco. It's a dinosaur. It holds your tacos! First, a fight ensues because my husband bought only ONE taco holder and we have two toddler boys. TW wins out, but of course now his request is for me to make him a taco.

"Timothy you just had lunch," I said. "Are you sure you want a taco?"

"Yes, taco in the dinasour."

So, I whip up some quick bean and cheese tacos, place them on Tricerataco. Timothy sits it down next to him, just to look at. He really didn't want to eat a taco, but you can't have a dinasour taco holder without a taco.

Can these be used for anything else? Absolutely not. The dinasour would consider it an act of aggression and will attack. I had to do a lot of cajoling just to let it wear a soft taco as opposed to the crunchy taco it is accustomed to. "Mexican tacos don't really crunch," I told him.

Can a home with toddlers survive without one? Absolutely not! And any parent that doesn't rush out and get one should be reported to CPS.

Do we need another one? Absolutely! A second Tricerataco taco holder is on its way, along with a Brontosaurus ladle and T-Rex serving fork. Because, ya' know, we are good parents and we only want what's best for our kids. And we are suckers for dinosaurs and deals.

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