I can never top last year’s Martin Luther King Day post so without further ado, click on, Happy Martin Luther King Day. No Joking Allowed., because who doesn’t want to see MLK telling a joke? Or follow my long, arduous path to find such a video?

Seriously, click here then have a good MLK Day.

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In my younger days, I loved the idea of a new beginning. I adored change and the chance to be different. But I mostly stayed the same, which made New Year resolutions perfect. I was supposed to fail within the month.

In my older days (as in today) I feel more introspective this new year.

I know I want to eat more cake in 2012 although I’ve already put on 5 pounds and mostly in my right thigh. (or my dryer has shrunk only the right leg of my jeans.) I also lost my waistline some time in 2009 so I’d like to find it but I’m depressed that it might be at the gym I haven’t seen since the fall.

I’m willing to find the gym if I can keep my cake resolution though.

I also want to spend as much time in public in these:

Nothing says awkward like matching hoodies. Unless you add Team Awkward to them.

Lastly, I resolve to train my eyebrows.

So I think 2012 will be pretty awesome, which shouldn’t be too hard since my greatest hope on the last weekend of 2011 is for my kids to sleep through the night.

I also wrote up my top 10 New Year resolutions I won’t keep over on Richmondmom.com. Go read so we can decide not to keep them together.

I'm prepped for the video.

Have a fantastic Christmas if you celebrate.

If you don’t, enjoy the movies and Chinese food and free cookies from all the people who assume you do.

And all of you should watch our ridiculous holiday singing video with love from my family to yours.

It’s safe for work, kids and any time you need to laugh at someone’s expense.

If you can’t see the video, click Rudolf the Red-Nose Reindeer Late Enough Style.

Happy Everything, my friends.

By now, you’ve read about Kmart. Random people have paid off stranger’s Kmart layaway in time for Christmas.

The anonymous generosity is spreading from city to city, but the story that remains with me is of a woman who stood at the layaway line and paid for 50 families, 2 carts worth of toys and gave out $50 bills. It is not her giving that strikes me, but her reason: She gave for her husband who passed away earlier this year. The woman never gave her own name; she only asked people to “Remember Ben.”

This is the part of the holidays that I love — the joy of giving. The reminder of our capacity for love and caring. Now, I can’t stand around Kmart with my 2 little kids waiting for strangers or ask anyone to give away $50 bills, but I have another plan that will bring joy to a family most of us don’t know but needs us.

A 9-year-old girl in my community passed away from cancer in April of this year. I don’t know Abbie Waters or her family, but a fellow writer on Richmondmom.com does and the Waters family is asking for our help this first Christmas without her.

I cannot imagine coming down the stairs to an empty stocking when this sweet face once filled your life.

They don’t want money or meals. Abbie’s parents are asking people to do one kindness between now and Christmas Eve and to email the act to AbbieWaters@aol.com.

The family will fill Abbie’s empty stocking with the emails of our kindness, and on their first Christmas morning without a little girl to bound down the stairs opening gifts and sharing Christmas day, the parents will read each of our good deeds and see how their baby is still creating so much joy in this world.

No one is asking for much — buy a friend who is struggling a cup of coffee, pay the toll for the car behind you or rake leaves for an elderly neighbor. I am trying to be open to my kindness opportunity presenting itself, but since I don’t like leaving my house, my backup plan is to donate to a charity in Abbie’s name.

I don’t know if kindness can change the world, but it can change one family’s Christmas morning. And that is enough for me.

Remember Abbie.

We practice Santa Claus in our home as in he comes on Christmas Eve and leaves some of the presents that my kids asked for in a letter.  He flies to our home like he flew to our childhood homes and our parents’ homes and our grandparents’ homes every Christmas Eve.

We see it as a tradition not as an emphasis, and we do not participate in the SANTA WON’T BRING YOU GIFTS threat.  First, because we would never ever follow through on it, but more importantly, if my kids are being good so they can get gifts, they’re missing the entire reason we are good.

Our words and actions are all we have in this world. I want to teach my children that we are kind and thoughtful and listen well because that is who we want to be.  Period.

Does this mean I never reward my children for good behavior? No. They have gotten a toy for good listening during errands or candy for practicing a lesson. But they also do well in stores and don’t get a toy, get toys for just being E and N and eat a piece of candy every day because YUM CANDY.

I’m not jumping to the conclusion that using Santa as a carrot creates mindless materialistic children.  As a child, I worried about my status with the Claus, and I am neither mindless nor materialistic (mostly) nor are most of the children I know who grew up with the Santa threat.  However, for a long time, I thought that every good deed needed to be noticed and counted — counted towards my goodness or against my mistakes. And I spent more days than I’d like to admit being resentful at people who forgot to say thank you.

Did Santa do that?  Not exactly. But I think our society is set up on Santa scale. We are good so people will think we are good. We are angry because no one appreciates us and our sacrifices.  We believe that good people deserve more, deserve better, deserve heaven, or at least deserve less bad.

What our society doesn’t reinforce is that being good, in and of itself, is a reward.  By doing good for no other reason than it is WHO I WANT TO BE, I feel better about who I am and who I strive to be.  I can look myself and the world in the eye.  I am less tired because I’m not keeping score.  I am less angry because I’m not waiting for the thank you that may never come.  A thank you is nice but it becomes unnecessary.

By not placing Santa or God or my love as the bar for goodness, I am teaching my children that doing the next right thing is about our hearts.  And for those of us who believe in God, it is about our spiritual status — it is an act of reflecting God’s love into the world each time I chose to be understanding, kind and gentle.

I’d like to think that Santa is coming because he wants to be a good person, too.

PS. To be crystal clear, I don’t think parents who use Santa to promote good behavior are bad or lazy or {insert judgment}. I don’t participate because I see it in a big picture context and because of my personal experiences and belief system. Feel free to disagree. That’s what these Thoughtful Thursday posts are for.

I love Christmas even more than Halloween. The tinsel, the presents, the lights, the joy, the mix of the material and the spiritual. The Caroling of Bells still brings me to tears. And so much red!  My favorite color!

Which brings me to this: I fully support ignoring Thanksgiving.  And yes, this is the first time that I have ever been at odds with Nordstrom.

At Nordstrom, we won’t be decking our halls until Friday, November 28. Why? Well, we just like the idea of celebrating one holiday at a time.

Well, Nordstrom, if we’re only picking one holiday at a time to celebrate, I chose Christmas as does the background of your SIGN.

Besides the one awesome meal and a bit of gratitude, I don’t understand how to even spend the month celebrating Thanksgiving. So far I’ve  seen Facebook statuses of gratitude, which I put a stop to last year, and Twitter trying to jazz up my stream with a #dayxofthanks to which I say: NO THANKS! I’M HAPPY ENOUGH PLANNING MY CHRISTMAS LIST.

What am I supposed to decorate with for Thanksgiving?  Putting up turkeys seems more Halloween to me — I mean, do I add eulogies the day after we eat?

Is he thinking about pie before or after he eats his brother?

The Pilgrim/Native American dinner just seems depressing since I know how the story ends, and I’m not ready to expose my children to that level of human horror stories.  As a matter of fact, when did Thanksgiving get so Halloween-y?

Look, I like celebrating things. My birthday lasts for a week and not just because my mom had a long labor. My kids have had at least two birthday parties every year and not just because my friends can’t get along. If Thanksgiving can’t step up and give me something to DO this month, I’m moving on to Christmas while finishing off my Halloween candy.

Why shouldn’t I put up my lights two months early?  I want to enjoy them in proportion to the huge pain in the butt it is to string lights over seven bushes and five trees with a single outlet without burning down the house. That is at minimum sixty days of enjoyment, and I don’t want to keep them up until Valentine’s Day this year.

Um, this is about when we got tired of taking down Christmas lights last year. Valentine's Day was not amused.

We also own hundreds of Christmas tree ornaments, have two children below the age of six and three cats. For every ornament broken last year, I plan to play my Christmas music a day earlier than Thanksgiving this year, which is why I’m starting tomorrow. (It was a rough year.)

Plus, who doesn't want to look at a Sand Dollar New York Giants Football Helmet ornament for four months?

Facts are facts: Thanksgiving needs to provide garlic mash potatoes all month long; otherwise, it’s FALALALALA for all of November and no eye-rolling at my red and green jumper and inflatable Santa is going to stop me.

photo 1 source
photo 2 source

Halloween 2011

It's a halloween miracle! They're both looking at the camera.

Happy Halloween from my kids who are supposed to be Snow White and Spider Man.

Snow White will not be stopped. But she will be a bit blurry.

Bring it Snow White.

But because we do a family costume, I was stressed about how to bring it all together until my genius friend Melissa popped up on a Facebook chat with COMIC CON and a link to Snow White Comic book. Scott could’ve been anyone he wanted as long as they had a comic book because I could be a WELCOME TO COMIC CON sign.

But indecision ain’t just a river in my head because my kids decided this week that reenacting Clone Wars shouldn’t happen every night BUT Halloween.

And yes, Scott is unbelievably disappointed that he didn’t order that Jabba the Hut costume.

Awesome.

So I made no costumes and Scott and I aren’t even dressing up this year because N mentioned wearing her ripped and dirty yellow princess dress that used to be E’s.  My lameness is embarrassing

Oh well, Happy Halloween from your favorite flaming liberal.

I was so much cooler when I was 30.

Maybe I’ll go as the person who steals her kids’ Halloween candy while they sleep. Delicious.

This last week, posters from a small student group at Ohio University have become the center of controversy over their Halloween costume campaign: We’re a Culture Not a Costume.

(source)

I wasn’t sure how to take the posters and commentary at first. I find it pathetic that people lack this much creativity so it’s hard for me to even acknowledge these as costumes when I’m used to pulling off these. I see the above “costumes” as ignorant caricatures donned by equally ignorant college students.

However, college is supposed to be a time of growth and change from the insulated high school experience to a larger sense of community, purpose and understanding of the world. In my first month of college, I watched a bad television show and said: That’s so gay. My friend’s gay roommate responded: That’s hurtful because it implies gay is bad or stupid. Me: I never thought of that. Thanks. And I didn’t do it again. I, in turn, stood up to hurtful language later on in college and beyond

The awareness, which the Ohio students bring by pointing out how these costumes imply hurtful ideas and ideologies, is important. Many people don’t understand the history of blackface or geisha because they’ve never needed to understand another culture. Or no one had the courage to call them out on it. This is what college can do — remind us that we are not the center of the universe.

Of course, many commenters have bristled that these students are ruining Halloween’s fun. Some state: What’s next? Cowboys? Well, cowboys aren’t being characterized negatively in the costume. I don’t see people laughing at the idea of being a cowboy unless the person is a cowboy in Brokeback Mountain but then it would the “jokes” about being gay not about being a cowboy.

Other commenters write: Where is the white man looking sad holding a photo of someone dressed up with no teeth and a possum hat? I actually think a kid from Appalachia could’ve been on the poster although I think the issue is making fun of being poor not being white.

But I see the bigger question: Does this mean, if we dressed up like another culture or job with cultural aspects (as some see cowboys) in a positive light, it would be okay? If we dressed like wealthy, white men in America, it would be okay?

I don’t know always where the line is between a joke and offensiveness. Over the last year, I’ve thought of the post on Late Enough with a title that made fun of having teeth at the county fair. I wasn’t comfortable with the title although I did write it and keep it. I felt like it was an easy joke rather than a good joke. But after writing on culture and costumes, I reworded that title because that piece was about attending our first state fair not about being too poor to afford dental care. No one called me out on it, but it just wasn’t funny. And more so, it wasn’t nice.

We all forget how our words, actions and yes, even costumes, can affect one another in profound ways.

“The more we look at people as caricatures, the harder it is to operate as democracy,” [Jelani Cobb] said. “What underlies this kind of costuming is the belief that these people aren’t quite equal to what we are or aren’t as American as we are or that you as a person who’s not member of that group should be able to dictate how painful stereotype should be.”(source)

Where is the line? Perhaps it is not narrow or obvious every time. But I can offer this for Halloween and beyond: With so many creative costumes ideas out there, why chose one that may hurt someone else? Choose the good joke, the creative, the self-deprecating first because people, even those we do not know, are more important than an easy laugh.

No related posts.

I have often felt like my experience on September 11, 2011 and the subsequent days were different than others. I still called friends in New York to be sure they were okay. I still was saddened and confused and eventually, strengthened in my resolve to believe in the ideals of the United States of America.

But when the attacks came the morning of 9/11, I was sleeping in my new apartment in St. Louis, Missouri. I had only moved there a week ago, and I didn’t have television. No cable. No antenna. My TV was only good for it’s ability to play VHS.

This small fact, not having television, changed everything around 9/11. I wouldn’t have known it even happened had I not received a phone call making sure that I was okay. I had September plans to be in Boston and one of the planes had departed from Boston. But I was not scheduled to travel until the end of the month and ended up flying in the space between the lifting of the air restriction and the strictest airline security. When only ten of us dared to fly and airports were quiet tombs at every hour. But I wasn’t afraid to fly. Because I had seen only the briefest of photos, and I had never seen the footage of the planes crashing in the towers.

Most September 11 stories, unless the writer was at the Pentagon or near the Twin Towers, include: “I immediately turned on CNN.” “I was glued to the television for days.” “I watched the towers fall.” “I wanted them to stop playing the footage of the World Trade Center because I couldn’t watch it one more time.” Television linked all Americans to the experience of 9/11. We watched the towers fall over and over and over again. We were all New Yorkers. Except me. I knew the tragedy, but I didn’t witness it. It was terrible but accidentally removed.

I was 23-years-old and without a television or sense of community in my new city. On September 11, 2001, I was just happy to arrive at work on time.  And when I left work at 11 p.m., our boss gave each of us a thank you note for showing up on such a difficult day. For being there for these children in the group home when so many were afraid to go anywhere.

But I would have never thought to stay home. Not because I was strong or loyal. I was not the best employee. I just wasn’t able to share the fear that gripped our nation. I had no friends in St. Louis to sit next to and grieve with in front of CNN. Once my few phone calls of reassurance were made, I went back to my tiny life only taking in bits and pieces of 9/11 on my dial-up modem and the occasional newspaper. I didn’t understand at the time that I should be more engrossed. I didn’t understand how easily television does that for Americans.

I finally sought out the footage the following year. To try and make up for this lack. To be a part of this country. But I can never watch it in the same way as everyone else did the first days and weeks. I know too much of the aftermath. The wars and lies, confusion and bravery, loss and faith.

Not to say that I have not felt the inherent tragedy. I cried for the firefighters and rescue workers who lost their lives. I cried for the victims in the planes and the towers and the Pentagon. But I was not apart of the collective experience. I have grieved in bits and pieces. As I read the yearly stories. As I watched the annual 9/11 TV specials. As I visited Ground Zero. Perhaps, I have almost caught up to those who were able to tune in for first hours and days of coverage in 2001. Perhaps, I never will.

Where were you on 9/11? What did you think when you saw the towers fall?

I was sleeping. I didn’t see the towers fall for a year.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t know how television changed things.  I didn’t know how far away from America I had been.

My heart and prayers go out to all those affected by 9/11. As our country continues to find its bearings, I invite you (again) to read an amazing piece from 2007 by David Foster Wallace, Just Asking.

Image source

I’m 33 years old today, and I have decided to hate my birthday.

This isn’t my normal reactions to birthdays. I’m a HUGE fan of cake, balloons, cake, cards, cake, presents and cake (yellow cake with buttercream frosting please). My birthday means sleeping in, sushi for dinner and my phone rings, but I’m under no obligation to answer it. What’s not to love?

I couldn’t give a crap about growing old. I think the benefits, see aforementioned “couldn’t give a crap,” become an across-the-board phenomenon as I age. I’m not totally comfortable with Alex yet, but compared to the terrified middle schooler who didn’t want to buy her shoes until after the first day of school so she knew what was cool. And by “knew” she meant “what everyone else wore,” it’s fantastic to have some freedom from OMG DO YOU LIKE ME WHEN I PRETEND I’M SOMEONE ELSE?

Those aging benefits outweigh the risks of my butt sagging to the back of my knees and my laugh lines becoming crows feet and using my gray hairs as wings to take flight across my forehead by a landslide. A small landslide in sandbox but still, I’m not lying about my age to anyone.

{sigh} This year is different though. Life is crowding me and my birthday. Hurricanes. Doctors. My husband’s job.

There is no TIME. And time is what I’ve learned to ask for since I became a mom to my two lovely and demanding kidlets.

I’m not so much growing old as growing tired.

In my heart, I know that my husband will make time appear because he is kind and loving and knows I need it, but I feel like I’m too old to want it anymore. I should be over myself. My birthday is just another day.

Until my son brings me a card and presents, which include his favorite new cars and a balloon from his birthday party.

And I remember that celebrating birthdays aren’t just about the person who was born so many years ago. They are the opportunity for those we love and love us to give us a bit more attention and affection and who couldn’t use a little more of that as we age?

Birthdays are especially important to our children, who love their own birthdays with all their hearts. How would my kids ever understand where my awe of birthdays went?  What a terrible thing to lose to growing old.

Maybe our children need to see us not only enjoying ourselves and our lives on a regular basis, but they need to be given the opportunity to share it with us. To give to us. To love us in whatever way they know how.

Let us all share the joy of being born into this wide and wonderful world. And let us grant ourselves at least a day to be reminded how precious and important we are.

Thank you to my family and friends for reminding me that my birthday is all about me and has nothing to do with me. I love you and happy birthday to me.