Watch out for "talent" scouts

Have you or your children ever been approached about "modeling" by someone who cites a certain "look" their agency is searching for? Be careful. It could be just bait to get you into their offices where they'll sell you all sorts of promotional stuff, have their photographers set you up with an expensive portfolio then boot you out.
My teen and a friend of his were stopped by a "scout" at a mall who told them they had the "look," and took down their phone numbers. We were called incessantly for about a week. Each time I said I'd have to think about it. When I finally got the chance, I Googled the company and read several complaints of how all they did was coax parents in, got them to spend from $400 to about $1,200 on their stuff, then told them to go out and look for modeling jobs. They must've got wind of me Googling. I haven't heard from them since.
When I was a teen, I worked as a lifeguard and a local guy came up to me and told me his brother was a professional photographer and wanted to take pictures of me at the pool. I was wary, even at 17. I knew I wasn't a model, but heard the guy out and brought my friend Patty along. What a riot! He said, "I have enough clothed models, I'm looking for nude or semi-nude models." I said, "You know we're only 17?" He said, "Of course, we'd need your parents' permission." After he split, Patty and I started cracking up. If he only knew our folks - he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting their permission for that! The best part, after knowing there was no way we were posing for this creep, we asked him what he planned to pay for nude photos and he said, "Oh, we could talk about that, but most of my models want copies of the pictures instead."
Yeah, right.

It's Elizabeth Edwards' decision

Lots of buzzing in the news about John Edwards' decision to remain in the run for president after discovering his wife's cancer has returned and is incurable. I'm not a major fan of his, but watching what I've been able to, I think Elizabeth Edwards is just one of the most incredible, and fascinating, people in this whole campaign. She must be going through such hell -- wondering how much time she has left, how much time treatment will buy her, and how long she'll be there for her two younger children, who are about 6 and 8. But she's got guts. She's talking about it, she wants her husband to stay on the campaign trail and she's getting a lot of guff for it.
Postings on the "60 Minutes" Web site blasted Katie Couric for her interview style of saying, "some people are saying ... (negative criticism)." I didn't see the interview, but read over some of the transcript, and it did seem like an attempt to make the couple feel guilty about staying in the race.
It's Elizabeth's decision, and nobody should give her a hard time about that. She said this is what SHE wants to do. Knowing her time on earth is going to be shortened, she's got every right. I don't doubt her children will be a major focus in that time, so what's wrong with her encouraging her husband, and doing what campaigning she can for him? If this is how she wants to live out her remaining time here on this planet, who are we to criticize her?

My kid said THAT?????

From the mouths of preschoolers ... My youngest's problem with being the fourth child -- I was one too -- is that no matter how hard parents try, it's pretty tough to screen everything that's age appropriate. You can't leave it up to the kids. My teenager couldn't understand why I didn't want his XBOX Grand Theft Auto game on when his younger siblings were in the room. And the middle kids don't realize the little guy picks up their words. I try to get my 7-year-old daughter to stop calling her 15-year-old brother a "Dork." He said he didn't mind. He thought it was kind of funny. But I still tell her to knock it off when it slips out. Now my not-quite-4-year-old has picked up that word. Except he has trouble with his R's, so he calls his big brother a "Dowk." Great.
The little guy also found, and was instantly captivated by, a Mighty Morphin Power Rangers tape. He had to get a Power Rangers costume for Halloween, and he wants to wear it everyday. I was worried about him hitting, but he hasn't. And the language isn't bad, but he did pick up one word. When the villainess yells at her underlings, she says, "You idiots!" So, yup, that's the word he picked up. We immediately started telling him, "That's not a nice word, and I don't want to hear it from you." But it slips. He said it to his preschool teacher last week. Color me embarrassed.
The other day, he found a blank tape and popped it in. "Bowney!" he yelled happily! I was happy too. Barney can get on your nerves, but he doesn't call anybody an idiot. Or a dork.

Check out the LaSane video

For those who have been disgusted by the dragging out of the Michael LaSane case, go to our Web site's main page, www.app.com, and check out the video of his sentencing. I got weepy, hearing her husband and brother speak. To see her mom say, "She was a good girl" -- that just breaks my heart. And reading the transcript of the audio tape Kathy Weinstein secretly recorded when she was held captive by LaSane is a tough one ... she told him a few times how she wanted to go home to her little boy. LaSane was unmoved.
About two years after his mother died, that little boy, at 8 years old, told his father, "I don't remember my mommy's voice."
Watching LaSane drag this out was sickening. But I'm glad to see he got the maximum. Had he stuck with his initial plea, he'd be eligible for parole in 19 years. Now, he has to wait 49 more years before he is even eligible. For a car, he'll spend his life in prison, and a little boy has grown up without a mother.

Do you feel "done"?

After I had my second-youngest child, I thought we were "done." We said that was it, we'd stop with the three we had, and I was happy. But I didn't think I felt "done." I mentioned that to someone who had two children, and who very much wanted a third but was unable, and she said, "I don't think you ever feel 'done'."
After my youngest was born, I knew I was. I've hit the "I could never do this again" point. Now, I loooove seeing other people's babies, I coo, I hold, I give back and I'm satisfied.
I also try to refrain from saying, "I'm so glad I don't have formula/diapers/sleepless nights," etc. ... that bothered me when my kids were babies ... it's a wonderful time. It's tiring, but who wants to rush through it?
Now I know people who hit the "done" point after one child, and I know people who had a half dozen children or more and wanted to keep going.
What is it that triggers the feeling of "That's it!" after one child with some of us, others shoot for a baseball team, and still some others are completely sure they want none at all?

How do you explain the unexplainable?

How do you talk to your kids about what happened to the murder of 9-year-old Charlie DeMichele in Manasquan? I didn't. We don't live there, or in a neighboring town, and I hope it wasn't a topic of discussion in my kids' second and third grades today. If they heard about it, I'll sit down with them. But I'm hoping they didn't. It's too much for them to comprehend. It's too much for grownups to comprehend.
After hearing the coverage develop yesterday on the mom charged with killing her son, all I wanted to do was see my kids and hug the stuffin' out of them. Fortunately, one of my daughters was in snuggle mode and was content to sit on my lap for a few minutes while I held her tight as soon as I got out of work.
With this, the Andrea Yates and the Susan Smith stories, I can only listen to so much, then I have to shut down.
I just can't bear the thought of what happened. I can read just about anything with a certain level of detachment, but not this. I'm not in the reporting end of the business anymore, and in this case I'm glad I wasn't involved in covering the story. It breaks my heart too much.

Always "just on time"

I've got a bad habit. I'm always "just on time" for everything. Back in my single and pre-kid days, I was usually early. Now, when we have somewhere to go, it seems I cram as much as I can into the time before.
Before school is a good example. I get everything ready the night before, so all I have to do is put the kids' juice and sandwiches (already made the night before) into their lunch boxes -- backpacks are lined up by the door, ready to go. I'll get the kids fed and ready to leave, then realize I have 10 more minutes so I'll start laundry, unload the dishwasher, vacuum, etc. Then, I look at the clock, and it's always about 2 minutes later than when I planned to leave.
Same thing for Sunday School. It starts a half hour later than regular school. My husband's home so I only have to bring two kids there, and I don't have to pack backpacks or lunches. You'd think I'd get there early, right? Nope. I always make it just on time, or a minute or two late, usually for the same reasons as a regular school day ... I do dishes, fold clothes or straighten up the kitchen in the time I think I have, then go too long.
Maybe if I set the timer on the oven, it'll snap me out of my chore-induced trance.

Thank God, a happy ending

Around 11 o'clock this morning, searchers found the 12-year-old North Carolina Boy Scout -- missing since Saturday -- exhausted and dehydrated but very much alive. After I dropped my son off at school this morning, I stopped back home to pick up my lunch, and caught the Press conference on MSNBC. I felt awful when I heard the dad's voice break a few times. He spoke about how he navigated his way to a creek -- and was thankful that it was too difficult to get to, erasing worries in his own mind that his son may have somehow stumbled and fallen into the water.
The absolute joy and relief that family must be feeling. I can't imagine what their lives have been like over the last three days.
We all know the brief feeling of a missing child. I had one particularly scary event about a year ago, when my youngest son was about 2 1/2. He was upstairs playing -- everyone else was at school already -- while I finished getting ready to go out. I went up to get him ... I called him and heard only silence. I ran upstairs, couldn't find him. I ran back downstairs, saw the kitchen door had been left open, with only the screen door closed. At that age, I always kept the doors closed and locked to reduce the temptation on a sunny day. I ran outside, I screamed up and down the block ... I couldn't see anyone. I ran back inside and searched up and down, under and behind everything ... this went on for about five minutes. It seemed like forever. I searched every room. Then, back in mine, as I was calling his name and crying hysterically, I saw a curtain rustle. There he was, completely silent and almost completely still, playing the newly discovered game of Hide and Seek he'd learned from his siblings. He's good at that game.
I didn't need the additional gray hairs that sprouted that day.

Dispelling those Jersey People rumors

Over the weekend, I happened to meet a couple of gentlemen who were up visiting from West Virginia. They were members of the same platoon in Vietnam as a local guy, and have that rare, special bond -- every five minutes you hear another: "I love ya, man!" And you know they really mean it.
About once a year, the local guy grabs a few New Jerseyans and they head down to West Virginia for a little bit of hunting (followed by a lot of beer and scotch). He's brought a few of his buddies up here from time to time to visit for a few days. We joke with them about the differences in accents, the difference in lifestyles -- one of the West Virginians greeted a group of New Jersey visitors by sitting on his porch playing his banjo, a la "Deliverance," making a great story later about the new visitors who looked at their Jersey buddy with "What are you getting us into" raised eyebrows.
Of our two visitors, who went home today, one told me how the second was really nervous about coming up here. He said the guy had served as their "point man" in the platoon, walking ahead of everybody, looking to find any sign of the enemy. Scary, scary job. He said when his pal got back home, he pretty much didn't want to leave his hometown anymore. When the local guy encouraged them to come up, the former point man almost didn't. He thought he'd meet a bunch of cold people with zero personality.
I spoke with the second guy later. He pretty much confirmed what his friend had said about hesitating to come up here. He seemed genuinely pleased by the characters he met ... I think he won't hesitate to come back.
We New Jerseyans aren't so bad ... we get a bad rap sometimes. I like to see when we prove that wrong.

Getting religion into your kids, and kids into religion.

How do you help develop an appreciation for religious services in a kid? Or can you? Do we just nurture their faith until they're grownups, and hope it all kicks in some day?
Fortunately, the church arguments have been dropped during Lent in our home. "Do we have to go?" "My friends don't go every week, only at Christmas and Easter." "It's soooo boring!" Those occasional pipings have fallen by the wayside, as my reminder that it's Lent keeps complaints at bay. Not that it matters. We go all year long. They know it, and really, there isn't too much complaining, just an occasional whine when other things are going on.
I can remember, as a child and a teen, not being thrilled about going to church. It can be pretty boring, especially when the sermon topic doesn't hit a kid-friendly theme. We usually go to the Mass after Sunday School, when there's a decent-sized kid's audience and the priest usually modifies the sermon in that way. They do like the once-a-month invitation to come up and hang out with him at the altar while he's giving the sermon. He asks them questions, they eagerly raise their hands, whether they have an answer or if they just want to tell him something. It's usually pretty funny.
But we used to hang out in the "cry" room, until I found my older children wanting to squirm and be mobile like the little ones, so now we split 'em up. My husband stays with the little one in there, and I take the three older ones inside, to get them to sit still and at least pay some attention.
I know I was the same way ... especially as a teenager ... and when I was on my own in my single days, I have to admit (not to my kids!) that I wasn't a regular churchgoer, although I did go from time to time. Whenever I was "down," though, I always found the Mass had a calming effect, and things seemed to fall into place afterward. I just hope my kids retain an appreciation for it, and don't lose sight of why we go.

More shattered lives

This is almost a repeat post, but every parent who reads today's story about the Neptune car accident has to be feeling that knot tightening in their stomach, especially those with children who are new, or about to become, drivers.
Last night, I was at Holy Innocents on Route 33 for a meeting for the parents of children making their First Communion. I left about 8:35 or so. I drove down Route 33 to Walgreens, went in and grabbed two items, then came out to see several Neptune police cars activate their sirens and overhead lights and speed off westbound. I heard others in the distance too. I saw the broken pole outside the church this morning, then arrived at work and read of the three teens who died.
My prayers go out to their parents. A group of coworkers and I were discussing the issue of teen drivers and recalled our own days as teen drivers, and stupid things we did, or our friends did, that could have resulted in any of us being such a statistic.
No doubt, the parents will compound their devastation with feelings of guilt, with images of "What it?", even if it's undeserved. They'll wonder what they could have done to have prevented the loss of their child, grasping at any straw possible, to imagine even for a brief few seconds that life could be a different way than their reality is today. I'm heartbroken for them.

Pass me the machete, I'm goin' in!

How do you get kids to keep their rooms clean? Or at least semi-clean on a regular basis? My teen is finally getting it, although his version of "clean" and mine are way off. But his concerts and other events that happen every so often require that his room be respectable before he goes. So he does it. Although I'm deathly afraid to look in his closet.
My two daughters share a room, so that's a little tougher. I have to do my semiannual room invasion -- when they're not home -- where I plunder through, clean it up completely and sneak out all the forgotten toys, games with too many missing pieces, etc., that they would protest the disposal of. They've never noticed anything missing when I'm done. And they appreciate the clean room, with promises to keep it clean.
It doesn't last. Maybe when their "Barbie" years are over with. I send them to their room, telling them not to come out until it's clean, then a couple hours later, they've moved all their Barbie paraphernalia to the center of the room and are playing -- their "dress-up" bin dumped out and both of them wearing elaborate garb.
Looking through my teen's stuff, it does get easier. Their "toys" get smaller and easier to store.
In the meantime, the last plundering of the girls' room took place back in early November ... I think I'm about due. We had a birthday and Christmas in between to refill the room, and there's a lot of good stuff they don't use, or even remember they have, that can head to charity.

Daylight's not saving me any time

This week, I hate Daylight Savings Time. It messes everybody up, and it's hard enough to get kids up and ready for school. When their bodies are telling them it's an hour earlier than they're used to rising, it's that much worse.
Our oldest catches a 6:15 bus, and usually rises about 5:45 on his own, to shower and get ready. I set my alarm for 5:45 in case he oversleeps, and usually start waking up well before that. Once I hear the shower going, I reset for 6:05. Not this week. Yesterday, today and I'm figuring on at least tomorrow too, at 5:45, the alarm wakes me up out of a dead sleep. I go downstairs, and my teen has shut off his alarm and fallen back asleep. I get him up, then go back to bed for another 10-15 minutes, falling back asleep. Now, before it got too cold, I'd gotten into the habit of walking or jogging after he got on the bus, and was looking forward to restarting that habit now that it's warming up. Unh-unh, not this week. It's tooooo early!
Both days this week, I returned home, climbed back into bed then set my alarm for 7:30 ... normally, I just stay awake, if I don't go jogging I'll do laundry or, if I'm tired, curl up and watch TV, and the kids start waking on their own and meander in. Imus or CNN then gives way to Sesame Street.
Not this week. At 7:30, I'm dragging the kids out of bed. We've all got to reset our internal clocks. What a pain in the butt. Isn't it time to give up on Daylight Savings Time and the turmoil it causes? Let Mother Nature be in charge of the sunrises and sunsets. Leave the clock alone.

How do you hammer in good manners?

I got one of my favorite compliments on Saturday afternoon. We took the kids to a fund-raiser dinner a few weeks ago, and on Saturday, I saw a friend who had also been at the fundraiser. He mentioned it was the first time he had seen my teenager in awhile, how tall he's getting, etc. Then he said, "You know, he always remembers my wife and I, no matter how long it's been, and he always makes it a point to say hello to us when he sees us out somewhere. He's so polite."
Manners are very important to me, beyond the "Pleases" and "Thank yous" and the "Do-not-interrupt-me-when-I'm-on-the-phones." (That last one remains out of their grasp, but I'm working on it!)
Now, I certainly know the other side of teenagerness -- the not-quite-so-polite side, but I think how our children behave toward other adults is so important, and I took that as a huge compliment.
Then, on Saturday night, the not-quite-so-polite side of my teen. I picked him and a friend up from the mall. I couldn't help notice how quiet they were. Not a peep out of them. Then I saw what they were doing. They were text-messaging -- each other! Back and forth, back and forth. After a few minutes, I said, "Are you texting each other?" When they gave me sheepish looks, I told them, flat out, "Knock it off, that's being extremely rude to me."
Thirty seconds later, my teen's phone buzzed, then the friend's did, then my teens ... they started all over again.
We got home, and I tried to explain to the two of them that having a text conversation in the car was what I consider the ultimate in rudeness. He said that the friend later said, "I think she (meaning me) hates me." I said, "How could I hate her? I've never even heard her speak until she said 'Thank you' when I dropped her off at her house!"
We had a long talk at home, and I said their text conversation was similar to three people being in a room and two of them whispering back and forth. He didn't get it at all. Still doesn't. I see future conversations on this. But I've told him that his phone goes in the glove compartment anytime I'm giving him and his friends a ride anywhere.

Put me in the bully pulpit

One thing you've gotta hand it to New Jersey for: its no-tolerance stance on bullying. Sure, it happens. We'd be naive to think we've conquered it. But here, it's not so easily forgiven or overlooked, as it is in other parts of the country.

I have a young relative who has been picked on by a few classmates. It recently escalated physically. This boy has some pretty tough times just getting through school because of a few learning disabilities that make traditional class teaching less effective. Those disabilities -- though invisible on the outside -- help provoke the taunting. When I tell people up here about it, they're horrified. In my young relative's state, when the boy's mother advocates for him, she's been seen as intrusive, meddling and overprotective. I'd love to grab just one person who gave her a hard time in the past, just to say, "If someone knocked a kid out of a wheelchair, would that be OK with you? Don't you see that picking on someone -- to the point of physical abuse -- because of their learning disability is in the same line of bullying?"

There's someone who taunts this boy in his homeroom each morning. He was knocked to the ground and kicked outside of school recently. He was shoved into a locker. The parents met with the principal, who they said appeared genuinely concerned, but only knew of one of the incidents. The other had been handled by the teachers, who pretty much just calmed the boy down then let it go.

In 2002, when schools in New Jersey were required by the Legislature to formulate policies on harassment and bullying, I'm sure some saw it as over the top. But at least it got the dialogue going -- with adults, and with the kids, both the bullies and the bullied. The parents of this boy told me there's a tremendous difference in their state regarding bullying and how it should be handled. We all remember a bully from our growing years. We know some as adults. And while we often long for their comeuppance, it's so much better when they see the light.

Where there's a will ...

Do you have a will? Are you signed up as an organ donor? Think you're jinxing your life if you do either?
Regarding organ donations, I had to get a duplicate license a few weeks ago after my purse was stolen, and they ask if you'd like a box checked to be signed up as an organ donor. I said sure. I heard four other people respond around me. All said "no." I wanted to ask: ""Why not?" Do they think they're tempting fate? Afraid they'll wake up in an ice-filled tub with their kidneys gone?
Regarding wills, I saw a brief story on Anna Nicole Smith, and how she's doing for Estate Planning what Terri Shiavo did for Living Wills. I couldn't follow the circus of the Anna Nicole burial case, although I did catch the judge giving his final tear-filled speech about how it affected him. Was he auditioning for the next "People's Court" spot or something? Geez.
But if the pathetic life and death of Smith gets parents to think about wills, that's a good thing. My husband and I have wills, designating an executor of our estate and who would take care of our children and at what age they can collect their inheritance ... it's a long time after 18. I saw too many people collect money at 18 and blow it by 19.
We were on a particularly treacherous road one extremely rainy night on our way home from dinner. We had a sitter that night, and all I could think about was what would happen if we, God forbid, were in a terrible accident? I called the lawyer the next day.
We discussed it with the person who would be responsible for our children, then had the lawyer take over, even though people I've spoken to about this say it's just as legal, and a heckuva lot cheaper, to make your will. Kits are probably available somewhere. I guess it depends on your wealth (we have none) and how complicated your family situation is.

"Paranoid mom" ... an oxymoron?

There's nothing like the ingenuity of a mom. Manalapan mom Concetta Simonetti, frustrated by her son's aversion to wearing a baseball "heart guard" -- a plastic and foam piece of equipment players can strap across their chest to protect their heart from a fastball -- worked with her tailor father to make a spandex shirt with a pocket to fit the guard in, eliminating the awkward straps. It worked. Both her sons agreed to wear it.
After reading the stories about Steven Domalewski, 13, of Wayne who was hit in the heart by a line drive last year and only recently got out of the hospital -- but has a looooong way to go in recovery -- you've got to admire Simonetti's refusal to throw her hands up in the air on this one. She calls herself a "paranoid mom." Is that an oxymoron?
For more information about Simonetti's heart guard shirt, check out our story at
http://www.app.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070307/BUSINESS/703070363/1003

Nothin' like a 2:30 a.m. visit from a stomach bug

When it comes to sick-kid care, I pretty much just take over. Early this morning, it became Daddy's turn to clean up. Finally.
Around 2:30 a.m., our youngest came in ... "Mommy? I don't feel good." Then we heard the warning signs of regurgitation. Fortunately we had enough time to grab a garbage can and get him over it. My husband said he'd go sleep in our son's room. He thought he was getting the good end of the deal, as I was going to have to sit up and rub the little guy's back - garbage can at the ready - until his tummy settled. Well, I lucked out this time ... seems the little guy didn't just start getting sick in our room. The first wave was already over, the worst was done by the time he got to us.
I'd say this was probably the first time my husband did all the cleaning up. About to offer to help, I thought, waaaaaait a minute. I always clean up the puke. He can take over tonight. I snuggled back down under the covers, put the garbage can in reaching distance. About 20 minutes and a few near misses later, the little guy nodded off, followed by me. My husband was just finishing up the dirty work. I empathized, but hey, in the past, we've either shared the work or I did it alone. This time, I opted out.

May the road rise to meet you ...

How we change!

My agenda for the St. Patrick's Day Parade weekend in my 20s and early 30s: FRIDAY NIGHT, Go out, stay out past midnight. SATURDAY DAY; hang out. SATURDAY NIGHT; go out for a little while, but home before midnight because SUNDAY; Parade Day! Wake up about 10, run out to a store to find the Irish paraphernalia to wear, meet up with friends by noon, head to Belmar, park ourselves in a watering hole or at one of the many parties (I miss the annual bash Gretchen S used to throw), there till 5, then somewhere else for grub and grog until about 9.

My current agenda: FRIDAY NIGHT. Watch TV. SATURDAY: 10 a.m., one child to ballet, the second to basketball, 11 a.m., bring ballet child to basketball end-of-season awards, ends at 11:50, drive kids to Rainbow Girls Pledge Day at noon. (Have them change from basketball uniforms to dresses in the ladies' room). Pledge Day runs till about 1:45, then it's home, grocery shopping, mother/daughter dance class from 3 to 4, 5 o'clock mass, dinner, then TV and housecleaning and laundry till bedtime. Waaaay before midnight. SUNDAY: 8:45 -- kids to sunday school, 3-mile jog while they're there, shower up while husband picks up Sunday Schoolers, then ready selves for PARADE DAY! It was fun, haven't watched it in 10 years because the kids and I march with the Shark River Beach & Yacht Club. They like riding in the boat-float, although my 7-year-old marched the whole way with the adults. To the club for corned beef, home by 6. Then ready lunches and backpacks, supervise piano lessons, everybody in bed by 9, me by 10:30.

Parade Note: Can they put port-a-johns on the Spring Lake side of the lake? Only had 'em on Belmar side, and we were pretty far back. Our group finally were about to step into parade line, no line at the potty so I ran, got there the same time as a bagpiper who insisted that since his group was going soon, he should "go" first. Meanie. I said my group was already on the route, he gave me a "yeah right" look then went right ahead of me. He was a member of law enforcement, so I didn't want to argue, although I don't want to try and think where he might have been hiding his gun. Funny part is when the rest of the pipers pointed out that his sash was hanging out the door (that he left unlocked). One went and yanked it, I can't tell what happened there though, I turned my back quickly. There's some things you just don't want to see. The leprechaun on line behind me seemed to be having a good laugh though. Only around St. Patty's Day can you find yourself lined up for a port-o-potty between a cop in a kilt and a guy dressed like he belongs on a box of Lucky Charms.

And years to go before I sleep...

I've always found it amazing how motherhood totally messes with your internal clock and enables you to wake up at the slightest noise. A daughter's middle-of-the-night quiet whimpers after a bad dream woke me up two rooms away. The light creak of a door from my 3-year-old sneaking in our room wakes me up.
But the thing that really amazes me is the complete resetting of my clock.
I was never a morning person, not even as a kid, but now I've been one for at least a year. Our teen catches a 6:15 school bus. He wakes about 5:45 so he can shower and get dressed. My alarm is set for 6:05. All I should have to do is find a pair of shoes and drive him to the bus stop. But nooooo. I've started waking at 5:30. I keep my eyes closed, but can't drift off until I hear the shower going. Then I get about a 15-minute nap and I'm back up. On nice days, I just stay up and go walking or running after he leaves.
This would be great if I got to sleep earlier in the night. Hah! After the kids are asleep, I have lunches to make, backpacks to repack, papers to review, a kitchen to clean and that kind of stuff. So bedtime is usually not until after 11:30, curled up watching the Colbert Report on Comedy Central. I do miss seeing the end of that, though. Can't make it thru anymore.

When do you let them face the music?

It's heartbreaking to read the fallout of the Carlee Wines story, all the families affected. Now, the kids who bought the beer have been arrested for providing alcohol to the kids who were in the car that struck and killed the Manalapan teen up at UConn.
But what I don't accept is the parents of the driver, who tried to cover up the evidence. It went beyond the knee-jerk reaction of "What can I do to protect my child?" before coming to your senses and doing the right thing. The driver's parents went as far as working out all the details. They were going to have the vehicle repaired and detailed. They took the other kids out to eat and asked them not to speak of it, even offering to set them up in counseling sessions to help deal with the guilt.
It's a horrible situation. But to try and cover up evidence, to tell their kids there will be no public consequence to their action, to remove the "closure" the Wines family deserves, is reprehensible. Their children are still here. The Wines family will never speak to their daughter again.