I heard a statistic on the news yesterday about how high a percentage of Americans are stressed over their finances–duh! I stopped at the grocery store yesterday with my teen to pick up a couple of bottles of soda and some plastic cups for a party she was headed to. She mentioned she had a headache so I threw a small bottle of Excedrin in the cart, too. When I hit the “total” button on the self-checker machine, I was shocked that these few items came to $25!

We’ve all been feeling the pinch at the gas pump for some time now, but the residual effect of fuel prices is really starting to hit home–EVERYTHING has gotten more expensive from groceries to clothes to sheets and towels. Even the $.99 store brand pretzels I buy are up to $1.29.

We heard from our oil company the other day about fuel costs for the winter–our “budget” payment is going to go up $200 a month, and my husband’s salary is, well, let’s just say not going anywhere, lol.

It’s frightening to say the least. For the first time in 15 years, I find myself facing the very real possibility that I will have to return to working outside the home. I don’t mean a “fun” retail job just to get me out a little bit and gets me some pin money; I mean a real, honest-to-God panty hose and heels job.

I’m not afraid to work; in fact, it would probably do my brain and my soul a world of good. But, what will it mean for my family? My girls are used to me being home when they get home from school (or just a few minutes behind them) or always being available if they are sick or have forgotten something or have some other crisis during the day. When they were infants, I couldn’t have imagined leaving them in daycare, but now that they are in middle school and high school, I feel it’s more important than ever that I be around for them.

I’m angry that something so nebulous as “THE ECONOMY” can wreak such havoc on my day-to-day to life. How do you fight something that you don’t really understand to begin with? How do you defend yourself against something you can’t control? How do you deal with a situation you are in through no fault of your own?

Until Next Time,

Joan

Three nights ago, I attended a town meeting of sorts at my daughter’s middle school.  The back story is that a couple of months ago our school superintendent and the middle school principal attended a PTO meeting to answer questions about the middle school and were confronted by a group of parents who had real, heartfelt, serious concerns about various aspects of our 6th through 8th graders’ school experience.  These concerns had less to do with academics per se and were more focused on the perceived negativity that pervades the school, the fact that the kids have to have assigned seating at lunch, and that if a parent questions a teacher, the child will feel the repercussions.  In other words, you had a room full of pissed-off moms, a principal who no doubt felt like a deer in the headlights, and a superintendent who was trying to navigate that fine line between supporting his administrator and being sympathetic to our concerns.

This meeting the other night came out of that first one.  We were instructed to submit our questions and concerns ahead of time so that the administrators and faculty could prepare answers.  The superintendent would act as moderator and our concerns would be addressed.

If nothing else, the meeting helped the middle school administration’s image a little bit, as this is the first time I can recall (this is my second child to go through middle school) that they were willing to actually listen to our concerns without immediately becoming defensive and circling the wagons, shutting parents out.  I have always been a vocal critic of this particular administration, but after that meeting, while I can’t say I’ve softened my stance, I think I at least gained a partial understanding of where their position comes from.

What left the biggest impression on me is what I learned about some of my fellow parents.  When questioned about the school’s dress code, for example, the principal shared that many times she has called home when a student is dressed inappropriately for school, only to be met with a response like, “who are you to tell me what my child can wear?”  Likewise, when she has called home when a student is seen just wandering around the campus (which is shared with our high school) after school with no place to be but in trouble, the reply is often, “it’s a public place, what’s the problem?”

Wow.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.  I am so embarrassed by my generation of parents.  There seems to be a blatant disregard for rules, authority and a basic sense of right and wrong, and I don’t know where it comes from.  A good friend, also present at the meeting, sums it up this way.  She feels that the almighty dollar has become so precious, so important to these parents, that anything that might interfere with the work day is just seen as a common annoyance; a fly to be swatted away.   Are we so stressed out, so overworked, so over-extended that we are neglecting the most important job of all?  What kind of future leaders are we raising?  What will our grandchildren be like if we are not instilling those values, that respect for authority, that sense of right and wrong in our children?  Never mind global warming and our carbon footprint.  It’s our parenting footprint, or lack thereof we need to worry about.

I watched interviews last night on Nightline and again this morning on Good Morning America with three women who live on the polygamist compound in Texas that’s been in the news. Talk about a video oxymoron; here are these three wholesome-looking, immaculately clean women dressed in simple clothing who look like poster children for the Amish. Then, they start to speak. With haunting voices devoid of emotion, they spoke of missing their children, loving their children, and described their ranch as “heaven on earth.” Brainwashed or drugged, I can’t be certain, but these women are real, true-life Stepford Wives, and they are frightening. Or rather, whatever it is that has shaped them is frightening.

I cannot imagine living a life that must be so controlled, so contrived, so isolated and so ingrained, that there is no question that there might be other options. My heart broke for them, and for their children. Regardless of how these children came to even be, they are still children, and their mothers love them with all their hearts and miss them with a pain that only a mother could know. That much managed to push its way through the almost catatonic cloud enveloping the women; these are mothers whose children have been taken away and they are wracked with grief.

One may argue that the hundreds of children removed from the compound were in harm’s way. BUT, this is the only life these children have ever known; what must it be like for them to be thrust into the foster care system, made to live with people, who dress, speak and act so differently from what they know? If indeed, life in the compound is “heaven on earth,” then are these poor children now living in some kind of hell? I am keeping them in my prayers.

I don’t know what the answer is here, and I’m sure we’ll be learning more. Did the authorities cross the line?

Until Next Time,

Joan McCue

(c) 2008 Joan McCue All Rights Reserved

Oh man I am in BIG trouble. Big. Huge. I’ve done it now.

My teenage daughter had lost the use of her cell phone (THAT’s a whole ‘nother story). But, as with many privilege-revoking consequences, I realized I really should have thought this one through. The fact is, I LIKE that she text-messages me when she gets test grades during the day or just to ask me how my day’s going. I LIKE that she can call me or text me when she’s ready to be picked up from practice or that I can text her when I pull into the school’s driveway so I don’t wait for her forever.

So, this morning when she was getting ready to leave for school, I told her she could have her phone back. I ran up to my bedroom to retrieve it from my nightstand drawer, and IT WASN’T THERE. She could see the bus coming up the hill to our house, so she had to go. I told her I’d have it for her later.

I CAN’T FIND THE STUPID THING. What in God’s name did I do with it?? Losing a teen’s cell phone? What mom worth her salt does such a thing?

Until Next Time (I’ll be praying to St. Anthony)

Joan

(c) copyright 2008 Joan McCue All Rights Reserved

I love working from home, I really do. But, the one thing that I struggle with is also the most valuable aspect of WFH–availability to my family. I find it a real challenge sometimes to know when to close the door at the end of my workday (which typically coincides with the end of the school day) and switch gears from writer to mom and wife. Conversely, when I’m faced with a particularly difficult (or boring) assignment, it’s a challenge to stay here behind my door, crank out copy and avoid the temptation to empty the dishwasher or start another load of wash. The house, my other life, is RIGHT THERE, on the other side of the door and it can be hard to ignore when I need to, or it can take a really shameful backseat to my writing. Maybe the trick is to not close the door, not leave it wide open, but just crack it a little, so my two worlds can seep slowly into each other and gradually mix instead of one splashing the other away like a bucket of water thrown over a sidewalk chalk masterpiece.

How do you find the balance if you WFH?

Until Next Time,

Joan

(c) 2008 Joan McCue All Rights Reserved

My last post on Friday was about the power of positive thinking–today, I want to talk about a different kind of power, or more accurately, the lack thereof.  Last night was a typical Sunday night at my house.  The husband and the kids and I were all in the family room watching TV, using the computer, etc. when BAM! the lights went out.

This happens fairly frequently, and, more often than not, the electricity comes right back on within a few minutes, the outage lasting only long enough to make it necessary to reset the 58 clocks we have in our house.  Not this time.

I scrounged in the kitchen for some candles and brought them into the family room, but the competing fragance combinations were a bit much.  Then, I remembered that upstairs in the guest room I had one of those candle gardens, I think they were called–you know the plate with different size pillars arranged on it?  The best part was, I was pretty sure the candles were unscented.

I set the candle garden in the fireplace and lit it up and it created such a nice, warm, homey glow.  The house was so quiet without the omnipresent white noise hum of the computer, the stereo, the lights and the refrigerator.  It was peaceful, and my family actually talked instead of just occupying the same space.

The lights came back on after a couple of hours, and we went back to business as usual.  However, this afternoon, at about 4:00, with a steady, raw, gloomy drizzle falling outside, I lit the candle garden again.  Why wait for the lights to go out again before enjoying the quiet power of a flickering candle?

Until Next Time,

Joan

(c) Joan McCue 2008 All Rights Reserved

I’ve been in a bit of a funk this week and have fallen out of the good routine I’d established for marketing myself as a writer. The weather isn’t helping–gray, gray and grayer today. However, I vowed to get back on the horse and started my day by visiting one of my favorite online spots, Deb Ng’s Freelance Writing Jobs site.

Low and behold, one of the posts there and the subsequent comments are all about the power of positive thinking when we writers hit a low spot in our careers. One quote that one of the commentators offered up really hit home. It goes like this: “Success is not playing the game with a perfectly dealt hand. Success is make the best of a poor hand.”

I certainly haven’t been dealt a poor hand; I have many blessings in my life, but when we hit a stretch when the assignments aren’t exactly rolling in but the bills are, it can be hard to sit in front of that keyboard everyday or pick up the phone to follow up on or generate new leads. But, ya gotta do what ya gotta do and sometimes, just one email or one phone call is all it takes.

Until Next Time,

Joan

(c) Joan McCue 2008 All Rights Reserved

In the 3/23 issue of The New York Times I read an article on negotiating the price on items other than new cars and fine jewelry. Click here to read it. I’m always interested in ways to save money, so I found this to be useful information. I haven’t had the opportunity to try it yet, but will keep it in mind. Anybody else care to comment on your unusual negotiating successes?

Until Next Time,

Joan

(c) Joan McCue 2008 All Rights Reserved

I wanted to ease into my Monday by spending some time with the NY Times, delivered electronically to my inbox each morning. So, I poured myself a second cup of coffee and settled in, with the dog curled up at my feet. The first headline that caught my eye was A Boy The Bullies Love to Beat Up, Repeatedly. Good bye easy morning. Hello outrage. Click here to read the piece.

What is wrong with us today? How is it that a boy like Billy, so much like the fictional character in Jodi Piccoult’s The Tenth Circle, has to endure repeated beatings, online harassment, and just plain mean, nasty attacks from his schoolmates almost daily?

His parents must be so overwhelmed with anger, sadness, pity, and frustration; I cannot imagine. That Billy’s principal had the absolute gall to say that Billy is somehow “asking for it” makes my blood absolutely boil, and I have never met this kid or his parents and have never been to the city in which he lives. But there are Billies (and Betties) in virtually every school in every city in this country. As the kids say, “WTF?”

I’m often accused of being too simplistic, too black-and-white-rules-are-rules. But, COME ON! I don’t care how whiny, obnoxious, or otherwise offensive Billy may or may not be, and I’m not saying he’s any of those things, remember, I don’t know him; he doesn’t deserve to be physically and emotionally assaulted in school. The way I see it, the school is at fault, no matter what. Either, 1. Billy is an incorrigible brat (unlikely) that the teachers and administrators can’t or won’t discipline, so the other kids take matters into their own hands, or 2. (More likely) the PTB can’t or won’t control the bullies. I’ll take door number two, thanks.

Why won’t the authorities cross the line and do whatever’s needed to ensure that the Billies of the world can feel safe at school? What say you?

Until Next Time,

Joan

(c) Joan McCue 2008 All Rights Reserved

Welcome to the hump day of the Easter Triduum (that’s Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday). I never quite know what it is I am supposed to do today. On Good Friday, we pray, fast, and abstain from eating meat. We may opt to attend the Stations of the Cross if we want to. Clear, easy-to-follow rules–no problem. On Easter Sunday, we go to mass and celebrate the risen Christ, the end of lent, and new beginnings–no problem. Today, however, I find myself in a religious holding pattern. There are no formal church services, no mass or anything. There is a blessing of the Easter food, but we’re eating out this year, so no need for that. I know what I will do–clean the house and bake a little something, but it just seems . . . I don’t know, like not enough. When all else fails, I guess you can always turn to the rosary, right?

If you’re Catholic or Christian, how do you spend Holy Saturday?

Until Next Time,

Joan

(c) Joan McCue 2008 All Rights Reserved