Welcome Home!

The laws have changed a bit since my sister used to live here. I guess they can be confusing. She comes up a few times a year from Georgia, but was a little surprised when she got pulled over in our hometown last week.
"You were doing almost 35," the officer said. "OK," she answered. "And you were talking on your cell phone," the officer added. "OooooKaaaaay," she answered. He shook his head and let her go, but before she pulled back into the street, she made one more cell phone call. To me.
"Is it illegal to drive and talk on a cell phone here?" she asked, a little incredulously.
Yup, without a hands-free device, I said. And while it's common practice for people to drive 20 miles above the speed limit right past patrol cars on the Parkway and Turnpike, you've gotta keep closer to the limit on the local roads.
She was amazed. When friends of hers -- also visiting their Jersey roots -- were on their way here from the airport after an overnight flight from California, she warned them: "I can't call you from the road!" She was pretty amused by the whole thing.
Wait till I tell her about the text-messaging stuff.

Ticket trauma

My 16-year-old and my nephew are going to the Warped Tour show at Raceway Park next weekend. I purchased the tickets for them yesterday, and told them their tickets turned out to be about $45 each. Today, my teen called in a panic, saying "Don't buy them, I just found them for $25 each!"
So did I. I had to give him the rundown: Ticket, $25 each. Convenience fee, $6 per ticket, Building fee, $6 per ticket (I don't know what building their talking about), shipping, about $15. Surprise! Your ticket price just shot up.
Of course he didn't believe me, so I said, "Go ahead and start to order them." He did. He got quiet, after reality hit him as he watched the price go up.
When I went with friends to the Garden State Arts Center, we noticed how inexpensive the base price of the tickets was. But they add on this fee, tack on that fee, and suddenly your ticket is $20 more, even if you buy it at the Box Office.
Thank goodness for Count Basie. You buy your tickets at the Box Office in Red Bank, you pay the price on the ticket. You order them over the phone, they charge $4 per ticket handling fee. And they almost sound apologetic when they tell you about it!

Cock-a-doodle-doo!!!

I remember when I was in my early to mid 20s ... a few of my friends had kids already, and while I adored them, I sometimes couldn't wait to get back to the peace and quiet of my own apartment. My friends didn't realize that. Some couldn't understand why I didn't want to babysit every other weekend, as if I were selfish not to want to give them breaks, because I could go out anytime I wanted.
But that's the way I wanted to be then. Now, with four kids, I can't imagine anything else. The little ones climbing in with me in the morning, or our frantic routine getting everybody ready for camp or school while I'm getting ready for work. Because they're my kids. That's the difference.
I feel sorry for my poor nephew. He flew in last night from Oklahoma for a two-week visit. He didn't get in until around 2ish, probably didn't get to sleep before 3. He didn't even budge, sleeping in a downstairs bedroom, when my kids were running around this morning at 8. I shut the door, but I doubt the noise would have disturbed him. Nothing can sleep like a 22-year-old guy with jet lag in a different time zone.
Around 8:30, my two younger ones asked if they could see him. I said, "Knock, and say Hi, then get out." Well, they knocked, no answer, so they went in and stared at him, trying to will him awake. My 4-year-old tried crowing "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" but my nephew didn't move. My 8-year-old asked, "What's wrong with him?"
Nothing that two weeks in our house won't cure.

Can I at least get my $7 back?

Never thought I'd be saying this at my age, but ... my bottle of Bud Light was confiscated last night. Aside from losing the seven bucks, I really don't mind. I'm actually pleased to see how far the crackdown on underage drinking has come at the Garden State Arts Center. (yeah, i know, it's abcwxyz bank arts center, but I like the old name better.)
Went with friends to the John Mayer concert. Great show ... I wasn't much of a fan, but he's a pretty talented guy. Not to mention very cute. (Note to Erika, Cheryl and Deb ... turns out he's almost 30, he's not 23 or 24, so we're not dirty old women after all! or we're at least not as bad as we thought.)
We had dinner out in the extreme back parking lot, saw plenty of troopers cruising around, checking out the tailgaters and looking for underage drinkers. We saw a few of them carted off too. Nobody asked to check our IDs in the parking lot ... I really didn't expect them to -- I'm obviously past my 20s, sometimes obviously past my 30s. But I wasn't driving so I left my purse home. After trekking all the way to the concert carrying our lawn chairs, we were pretty hot, and an ice cold beer sounded so much better than water. I had no ID to get a wristband, so I pretty much said, "I buy, you fly" to Erika. She got her wristband, went and got one beer (they only allow you to buy one a time, and punch holes for each one you purchase, with a three-beer maximum), gave it to me, then went to get another. Before she got back, though, a security guard came up to me, asked where my wristband was. I told him I didn't bring my license, then he told me I wasn't allowed to even hold a beer without a wristband and took the beer away from me. We even saw several security guards meandering through the crowd throughout the evening.
OK, I was kind of bummed about missing out on the beer, even more so about the seven dollars. But after the stories about how rampant the teenage drinking was there, I was glad to see they've really done something about it. It's one thing if you've got 19 or 20 year olds sneaking a few beers -- hell, I was legal at that age. But when you've got 14, 15 and 16 year olds getting absolutely annihilated there -- a 12-year-old went to the hospital intoxicated once -- it was out of control. I learned a seven-dollar lesson about having an ID if I want a beer there. As a mom, the safety of our teens is priceless.

Do people know what "Yield" means?

There's a couple of roadways I travel pretty regularly, where "Yield" signs are routinely ignored. I'm curious: Do they think the sign is just a suggestion, or do they not understand the word "yield" itself?
To the knucklehead in the truck who flew off the cloverleaf turn, coming from Route 18 southbound onto Route 33 eastbound in Neptune yesterday when I was heading home from work ... Did you even glance over your shoulder or into your mirror to see that a very visible mini van was in the very right lane of the highway you were pulling onto with very little shoulder room? Geez! I had to hit my brakes hard because of this idiot ... he was going so fast I doubt he touched his brakes through the whole turn ... stuff actually flew off my passenger seat.
I beeped, which actually prompted his head to glance into his side mirror, but he rattled right on through. I was kind of glad, though, that he went first onto West Sylvania Avenue, where he proceeded to tailgate the car in front of him that was going over 40 in a 35 mph zone.
Some people just shouldn't drive.

Today would have been a good yesterday

This is odd, but for 99 percent of the region, it's better that it was beautiful on Sunday and rainy on Monday. But I wish I could switch today's weather with yesterday's. It was so gorgeous out, but no one in my house was motivated to do anything. We ended up wasting most of a beautiful day, and that always leaves me feeling a little guilty. For us, it would have been a good day to be able to sit inside and watch it rain, like today.
My kids are at camp all week, and Saturday we ran around all day, then went to church, then to a friend's barbecue at 7. I figured we'd head home by 10 or 11. Ha! We got home at 12. My oldest and I were up and out early, he for his 8 a.m. job start, me for an 8:30 workout with my running buddies. After stopping to see my folks, I didn't get home until around 11. Everybody else was still in their PJs.
Come to think of it, I don't think my oldest daughter ever got out of them.
After lunch, I went grocery shopping, then I tried to get my kids moving. I took the 4- and 7-year-olds to ride bikes around the neighborhood. But first the 4-year-old had a meltdown when his teacher (we were dropping off a "thank you" note) wasn't home. Then the 7-year-old had a meltdown on the way back home because she was having a tough time going uphill.
An hour later, I tried again, getting the sprinkler going in the front yard for them to jump through. They lasted 10 minutes. It was a day for watching movies, playing computer games and doing arts and crafts inside. But I suppose since they're all outside playing all week, that's their own version of a mental health day.

Overlapping musical tastes

When I was a teen, I mistakenly assumed my parents only listened to "old-fashioned" music, like classical or opera. Later, I was surprised when my folks would go to the concerts that I would like to see, too, like the Beach Boys/Chicago shows. When they didn't complain about my music, I later realized it's because they didn't dislike it. When they disliked a certain singer or band, they let me know with a "How can you listen to that?"
I'm trying not to say that. My kids and I like some of the same songs. My 16-year-old son will change my car radio stations and play his stuff, and I do like some of it. Not all. I turned him on to some old Genesis, Pink Floyd and AC/DC stuff that I still listen to, and he admitted he like some of it too. Not all.
But he likes the screaming singers now ... it hurts my vocal chords just to hear it. The ringback tone on his cell phone is one of those songs. I always find it ironic that when I call him, I hear, "Please enjoy the music while your party is reached," then there's a guy screaming who sounds like he's being tortured. I have to hold the phone away from my ear until he picks up.
But as he complained one day, "Why are people so closed off about different types of music?" He said people who don't like that kind of rock say they don't understand the lyrics, but he understands them fine, thank you very much. I had to hand it to him ... he's pretty open to listening to anything, and he really likes a variety of styles.
I still don't like the screaming, but I guess beauty is in the ear of the beholder too.

A sad, tangled web she weaved

Occasionally I'll hit the treadmill on my lunch hour. Rather than try and follow news channels (I'll lose my balance and fall off if I try to read the news tidbits scrolling across the bottom) I usually throw on one of the daytime talk shows. Most of the time, it's the "I'm not sure who my baby's daddy is" variety.
OK, I know it's horrible stuff. But I'm always fascinated at how many people actually come forward and, on national TV, tell their husbands or boyfriends they may not be their child's father. I'm even more amazed at how many times there are multiple possible fathers ... when you hear about a dozen guys getting tested for one child, your jaw hits the floor (and then you fall off the treadmill anyway).
There's a sad story in today's paper, "Deceived 'dad' can't recover child support," about a North Jersey father who only learned in 1999 that his then-30-year-old son wasn't his -- the mother knew when she was pregnant that the child might not be his, but said nothing. He and the mother divorced when the boy was about 11. They have two older children, and he paid support for all three. He tried to sue for back child support for the son who wasn't his. He won initially, but lost in the state Supreme Court, because under the state's Parentage Act, claims must be filed before a child turns 23.
I'm sure the money aspect isn't the most important thing to this dad, though. He must have felt socked in the gut, and lashed out the only way he knew. He and the son, who's about 38 now, are still close.

It's Mani-Pedi time

How often do you splurge on yourself when you've got a particularly tight budget?
I feel the need to splurge on a manicure-pedicure. I haven't done it in awhile, mostly because I've got very little to splurge with, and four kids, so splurging on mom doesn't happen often. I don't have long nails. Every time I make an effort to grow them out, one breaks, then another, then I give up and chop 'em all.
But I still love a good mani-pedi, even with my short fingernails. I can't remember the last time I did it.
I especially love the pedi -- has to be in one of those places where you get the whirlpool. Ahhhh. I think I'm going to have to figure out a way to fit it into the budget.

My human whoopee cushion

My daughters were comparing "talents" over the weekend. My older daughter became determined, around the age of 3, to learn how to whistle. I don't know what sparked it, but she practiced, practiced, practiced. Before she could actually whistle, she learned how to make a whistling noise with her voice, and would "fake" whistle. It was really convincing. But she kept at it, and by age 5 she developed a great whistle.
My younger daughter became determined to do something else. I know what sparked her interest -- my nephew, who is a year older than she is. He had a "talent" that she thought was really cool, so she practiced, practiced, practiced. And now, yes, at age 7 she's really good at making flatulence noises using only her palm and her armpit.
She was working on perfecting the same talent using only the inside of her elbow, and said, "You know, I"m really good at making noises with my body."
Ah, that makes a mom proud!

Kids and planes: Imperfect Together

Did you read the wire story about a mom who said she got kicked off a plane because her 19-month-old kept saying, "Bye Bye Plane" over and over again while the plane was taxiing out to the runway. How long could that have been going on? Sounds like overkill, but I wonder if there's more to the story? It hardly sounds like something to kick off a mother and small child for.

The mom said that after the flight attendant's speech about exits and emergencies, she leaned over and said, "It's not funny anymore, you need to shut your baby up." She said other passengers even stuck up for her and her son. The flight attendant told her to give the kid Benadryl to knock the kid out, but the mother balked. I don't blame her.

People with babies, toddlers and preschoolers sometimes need to travel by plane. If they're first-timers, they might not know to carry extra bottles, binkies, cheerios and the like to keep the kid occupied and calm. A little tolerance -- and a lot of patience -- is sometimes in order. Sure, a crying baby can be annoying, but think of the mom too. She doesn't want her baby to be screaming the whole way, is probably embarrassed and maybe a little on the defensive. I feel sorry for anyone who has to try and corral an anxious child through a flight.

Yes, there are parents who think their child is just the cutest thing and thinks everyone else does, too, and might encourage a litany of something like "Bye Bye Plane" until it's annoyed everybody in the vicinity. There are worse crimes.

I had a funny flight experience right after I graduated from college. Flying out alone to visit my brother in California, the first 90 minutes of my flight were spent with a businessman -- we both smoked (back in the Dark Ages) and read the whole way. For the connecting flight I wondered who my seatmate would be for the next 3 1/2 hours and eagerly watched the others embarking, especially any good-looking men in their 20s. Then I see Mom. And Dad. And their 6-year-old son. "Not by me," I thought. "There's 3 of them." I was wrong. Mom and Dad sat on the other side of the aisle. The 6-year-old sat with me. He chatted the whooooole time. Finally, I wanted to read, so I gave him my Walkman for the last half hour. Next thing you know, everyone around me heard a 6-year-old belting out -- as loud as his little lungs could -- "Boooooorn in the USA, I was ... Booooorn in the USA."
Oh well. I tried.

It's all good

Soooooo, this morning I'm not quite as productive and efficient as I could be. I'm allowing myself to be distracted by a blimp. A little summertime blues, I guess. But I want to go for a ride on it.
I took the slow route this morning too. I woke up in my 4-year-old son's bed ... he jumped in mine in the middle of the night, slowly nudging me out of my space. So around 4:30, I gave up and moved into his room. At 7:30, I was up and about, but the kids were still sleeping. My 7-year-old came in my room, eyes half closed, and climbed in next to my 4-year-old.
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em is my motto. Soon, the three of us were snuggled up watching "Clifford the Big Red Dog." Breakfast at 8, followed by sunscreen slopping of the children and a quick packing of the lunches I made last night, I still thought we'd be out of the house by 8:30. Silly me. At 8:55, we pulled up to camp. My 9-year-old stepped out of the car and said, "Mommy, I left my camp bag home!" Sigh. "OK, I'll go get it." Back home, the bag wasn't in its spot by the door. I looked, and she HADN'T forgotten it. It was under the car seat. Off to the sitter's to drop off my 4-year-old. "Where are your shoes?" Back by where the camp bag would have been, had I bothered to look beyond the empty space. Back home, got the shoes, back to the sitter's, delivered shoes, back to camp, dropped off bag. So much for work by 9.
Now, I'm mesmerized by the antics of the Goodyear blimp. It's been visiting the Allaire Airport for a few days now. My office "view" is mostly trees on the other side of Route 66, but if you were to travel over them in a straight line, you'd hit the airport. They must be giving blimp rides this morning. It's up, it circles, it's down. Over and over again. Not touring the beachfront. Not traveling anywhere. Just up and down. Right in my view. Oh well, at least it's keeping me entertained. And in a day and a half, the weekend will be here. And I'll be down by the beach, looking up at the parasailers, and wishing I could go for a ride.

What's up with Miss NJ?

This whole blackmail plot against Miss New Jersey has caught my interest. I'm not a big follower of pageants -- I loved watching Miss America when I was a kid, but lost interest by my teens. There was an HBO documentary a few years back on kiddie pageants, where they followed a 5-year-old girl through her pageant-focused world and it really turned me off to the whole process.
But I feel bad for Amy Polumbo. She's not your typical "started-pageants-at-age-3-and-they're-her-whole-world" person. I think Miss New Jersey was the first pageant she ever entered (although she won some smaller "pre" pageant to get into Miss NJ), and she won, even though she tripped in the evening gown competition. She even joked about the "butt glue" needed in the swimsuit competition. That's kind of endearing.
So who is out to dethrone her? Why would somebody be so vicious? And what the heck is in those pictures? All involved say there's no nudity and no underage drinking or any other illegal conduct. So what's up?
I hope we find out. And I hope Polumbo's vindicated. Competitive girls can be pretty mean. And I bet pageants can bring out the worst in some people.
The freaky "Committee to Save Miss America" -- as the letter-sender calls himself, herself or themselves -- said there will be 26 letters in all. How whacko can you get?

Driver's ed

In our news updates this morning, there's a wire report under the headline "New study: Teen texters are behind the wheel" -- "ORLANDO, Fla. — An alarmingly high number of teen drivers are engaging in some very risky behavior while they are driving including sending and reading text messages, according to new survey research by AAA and Seventeen magazine.
The survey, featured in Seventeen magazine's August issue, shows that 61 percent of teens admit to risky driving habits. Of that 61 percent, 46 percent say that they text message when driving and 51 percent talk on cell phones while driving. The research, conducted in April, was a survey of more than 1,000 16- and 17-year-old drivers."
Great. I'm still shaking from my own teen driving encounter this morning. Our 16-year-old got his permit validated. He didn't want to drive out of Motor Vehicles, so I got the car to Route 18, then he took over. A little in-lane weaving, and a lot of other cars passing us was fine with me. Coming off Route 18 on the clover leaf, I blubbered "Brake, brake, brake, brake, brake, brake, brake, brake" as my fingernails dug a hole in the passenger door. But we made it unscathed, for the most part, until he said, "I don't want to pull into the driveway." "That's fine," I said. So he parked in front of the house and, as I babbled "Not so close, not so close, NOT SO ..." Thud. The curb. Fortunately, the tire was mostly unscathed too.
If he tries to text when he drives, I'm duct-taping that phone to the outside of the front right tire.

One down, 39 to go

Is it me, or is coming back to work after vacation time much harder than coming back to work after just a weekend?
I had a week off, then last week we had the midweek break, and here it is, Monday morning -- only 1 hour gone out of a 40-or-so-hour workweek, and I'm already looking out the window wishing I was out there. I don't get the back-to-work gloomies after only a weekend, but after a vacation, that first Monday is the pits. I didn't feel it so much last week with getting Wednesday off for the Fourth, and the other four days were so busy, I didn't have time to look out at the summer sky.
I just keep reminding myself that it's going to be oppressively hot today, and I'm better off in the air conditioning.
Nope. That doesn't really help much either. I expect I'll be back to the normal routine by Wednesday. Sigh.

Soap dope

Do teens watch soap operas anymore? I remember following General Hospital like a maniac. Back in high school and college, whenever I had free weekday time between 12:30 and 4:30, I'd throw on Channel 7, even if I wasn't really watching TV. Actually, the TV was pretty much tuned to that channel longer than that -- I think we just left it on -- because there was the "4:30 Movie" too. (Remember Vincent Price week? That was my favorite.)
Ryan's Hope and the Edge of Night fell by the wayside. I'm not sure what happened to the 4:30 movie, I guess Oprah knocked it out. But I kept up with the daytime soaps for several years after college.

First, General Hospital was my favorite, since I followed it in high school -- the first one I could really watch when I got home. I can remember being in Boland Hall at Seton Hall when Scotty caught the bouquet at Luke & Laura's wedding. You could hear screams rocking the building. The show was so popular on campus that year that the commuter TV lounge would be filled to capacity. I knew a guy who would go there early, scout a good location and sell it if someone offered him cash for his spot on the couch.
But All My Children became my favorite later on. And I followed it for years, taping if after I entered the work force. Actually, I taped all three shows -- One Life to Live was sandwiched between the others -- sped through them all in about an hour or so. I gradually eliminated the other two, then somewhere along the way, I stopped taping AMC as well. I can't figure out when. Before I had kids though ... surprising. Now I just wouldn't have time, if I had even the slightest inclination.

Occasionally, if I'm stuck inside on a vacation day or a holiday, I'll flip onto Channel 7 to see if I recognize anyone. Apparently, the Luke, Laura Scotty thing is happening again. I'm almost tempted to tune back in, but honestly I've forgotten how to program my VCR to record by timer (I don't even set the clock on it anymore) and I'm one of the few people who never got TiVo. I also have no interest in getting re-hooked, either. It's funny, how something you spent years making time for gradually fades out of your interest completely.

A holiday to chow about

I think the people at the party I attended yesterday put these guys to shame. Sixty-six hot dogs? Hah! Merely a snack.
I arrived long after Roz & brothers' annual 4th of July bash began to find my brother Rich, friends Rich & Janet G., Karen and Jimmy B. and Rich G's brother Tom already saying how full they were, how much they ate. "I can't eat another thing" said Tom, only minutes before the sausage and peppers came out, prompting him to grab another plateful.
And that was still just the beginning -- we all kept going, circling the table every few minutes, looking for a new menu item or sneaking a little more of something we already sampled. Burgers, dogs, sausage and peppers, chicken, turkey, kabobs, grilled corn on the cob, a variety of salads, beans, clams, chips and a bunch of different salsa dips, a guacamole salad that was gone before I could get to it, cheesecakes, carrot cake, brownies (a plate of warm brownies was gone in about a minute) and a big 'ol pig roasted throughout the day and presented in the very early evening to a crowd that had been eating all day, but still managed to find more room. A nearby keg helped wash everything down.
And nobody suffered the "reversal" that former Nathan's hot dog champion Takeru Kobayashi did yesterday, giving Californian Joey Chestnut the opportunity to take the title after stuffing down 66 hot dogs in 12 minutes.
Amateur!

License to scare the bejeezus outta me!

So our oldest completed his six hours behind-the-wheel driving lessons and as soon as we make the trip to the MVC or DMV or whatever, he'll have his driver's permit validated.
He said the worst possible words to me last night ... "It's a lot easier than I thought!"
Augh!!!!!! I started blabbing, "But you haven't driven in rain, or on snow or ice, or even in the dark!" Easy? There's a reason they make your insurance rates skyrocket!
I'd like to sign him up for more driving training just before he's eligible for his license next year, I was thinking about setting him up in a defensive driving course, just to bring home the seriousness of what he could face behind the wheel. Has anyone else done this? Any suggestions?
Easy? He's never had someone stop short in front of him, an animal dart out from the side of the road, a tire blowout, a bee fly in the car, screaming babies in the back seat, a water bottle fall out of the cup holder and under his foot, a toddler kicking the back of his seat, fighting siblings making him crazy, a tailgater riding up his behind at 90 mph in the right lane, or, God forbid, an accident.
Easy? I'm going to go nuts this year.

Loud on the beach

There was a Bill Cosby skit years back where he talks about a 4-year-old boy named Jeffrey who rode on an airplane with his mother. Reason "Cos" and the rest of the passengers knew the boy's name was because they heard the mother saying it over and over again -- "Jeffrey, stop that, Jeffrey, sit down, Je- come back here, Jeff-don't touch that, Jeffrey, Jef-Jeffrey" the whole flight. At the end, the mother -- who stepped onto the plane perfectly coiffed -- stepped off with her hair all unkempt, and the kid who was running up and down the plane was sleeping in her arms, looking like an angel. She handed him over to her husband, then punched hubby in the nose.
Well, I suppose everybody who was at the foot of the Lincoln Avenue beach in Avon knows my 4-year-old son's name ... this kid is fearless. I'm not. I stood there as he ran back and forth in the shallow waves, trying to get ever deeper, as I yelled to him to slow down, come back, move this way, that way, stay by me, hold his sister's hand, etc. I dragged him out after awhile, shaking and shivering and screaming that he wanted to go back in. Brrrrrr.
My bad. I should've been a little more prepared with the swimmies, tubes, life jackets and the like. But my daughters, at his age, weren't so bold near the waves. Ankle deep was as far as they'd go without holding my hand. My boy, however, wants none of the handholding and wants to run. I've got him in swim lessons, but the beach is a whole different matter with waves and currents. So my beach chair remained unused as I stood guard in the water, chasing and yelling.
"So much for Clare's relaxing day at the beach!" joked my cousin, as her two young'uns preferred to build sand castles.
It's all good, though. As long as I'm near, and the lifeguards are near me, it's just a kid enjoying what makes us want to live where we live.
P.S. ... I didn't punch my husband when we got home. Although next time, he's coming with us.