The Easter-Basket-Fake-Grass-Chocolate-Bunny-Thing

Today, for us Catholics anyway, is Holy Thursday. That’s the day that Jesus celebrated the last supper with his disciples and was betrayed by Judas. (I read a funny quote the other day: if the 12 months were the 12 disciples, March would be Judas–I like that!)

Anyway, Holy Thursday also represents the day I can’t put if off anymore. Do I do the Easter-basket-fake-grass-chocolate-bunny-thing or don’t I?

As much as my girls are growing up, part of me still wants to dress them in smocked Polly Flenders dresses with big straw hats and shiny black (NEVER white before Memorial Day) Mary-Janes. Since that’s not about to happen, I end up flying to the mall to put together Easter baskets for them at the 11th hour and wind up spending too much on iTunes gift cards, lip gloss and earrings; items that are way costlier (is it still cool to use “way” as an adverb?) than jelly beans and marshmallow peeps.

Why? Because for years, I did the whole Easter-basket-fake-grass-chocolate-bunny-thing only to find, for weeks after, the little crumpled-up foil balls that were used to wrap the little chocolate eggs EVERYWHERE and shreds of fake grass out on the front lawn, after the dog has, well, let’s say finished with them. The best though is that by about June, I will, without fail, reach into the refrigerator, pull out an earless chocolate bunny or two, and grate him/them on top of a cake.

Have a blessed, joyous Easter, and,

Until Next Time,

Joan

(c) 2008 Joan McCue All Rights Reserved

Cutting School for Community Service

How many times have I said to my kids, “school comes first?” So, how come they are sleeping in on this icky, rainy, March Wednesday despite the fact that due to a crazy standardized testing schedule and parent-teacher conferences, they’ve barely been in school this month?

Well, yes, school does come first, generally speaking, but sometimes there are other things that come up that are just as important and teach lessons that no classroom lecture or Smartboard presentation can.

My girls are Irish step dancers and the month of March finds them leaping and flying all over the state doing a series of what we call “dance outs” or shows to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. Some are gigs at pubs, dinner dances, civic group meetings, etc. and most of those take place at night and make the dancers feel like stars. However, many, maybe even the majority, take place at assisted living facilities or nursing homes in the late morning or afternoon. These performances are not glamorous. There’s no big stage on which they can strut their stuff, no fancy lighting or big sound system. Usually, there’s a square of worn linoleum surrounded by the tools of physical therapy that serves as their dance floor, and that unmistakable nursing home smell.

Make no mistake. My two girls are every bit as obsessed with cell phones, Abercrombie and American Eagle, boys, the Jonas Brothers, and text messaging as every other American teen or tween. But for some reason (maybe a little leprechaun magic) when March rolls around every year, they are able to shed all those trappings and give a little of themselves to make the elderly smile. I cannot tell you how it warms my heart as a mom to not only watch my girls dance their hearts out (that, for them is the easy part), but after the show, see them make their way carefully through a sea of wheelchairs and walkers to shake frail hands, accept hugs, or allow trembling fingers to touch their exquisite costumes. My normally quiet and reserved 11 year-old becomes animated as she answers questions about her hair (yes, it’s a wig) her costume (it was made in Ireland) and is generous with her smiles and laughter. My vivacious 15 year-old dials it down a notch and becomes patient and kind, looking deep into eyes that are clouded by cataracts or dementia and really listening to what her new “fans” have to say as they share stories, real or imagined, about their own histories as perfomers.

Should they be in school today? Probably. Will they pay the make-up price when they return tomorrow? Yup. But, these are life lessons and memories they will keep with them forever. Experiences I daresay will serve them better than the using the quadratic formula or memorizing the dynasties of China.

Until next time,

Joan

(c) 2008 Joan McCue All Rights Reserved

Some Days, It All Just Works

Wow, it’s not even 11:15 AM and I feel like I’ve accomplished so much. Ahem. So far today I have:

• Gotten my high schooler up and out the door (a yeoman’s task in and of itself)
• Attended my middle schooler’s parent-teacher conference (and got a great report, I might add)
• Returned home, fed said middle schooler a balanced breakfast (so it came from Dunkin’ Donuts–I’m bragging about efficiency here, not perfection)
• Driven my middle schooler to school, complete with homemade bagged lunch (delayed opening today due to conferences)
• Done some grocery shopping (would you believe I can carry $135 worth of groceries all at once?)
• Picked up a friend’s son after he missed the bus and drove him to school (this kid was trying to milk the delayed opening for all it’s worth)
• Talked to dh on the phone (twice)
• Completed two loads of laundry, with the third almost ready for the dryer (folding and putting away doesn’t count–it’s clean and ready to wear, so it’s done)
• Updated my blog (okay, so that’s not DONE by 11:15, but pretty close)

Left To Do:

• Assemble tonight’s dinner (sausage and potatoes anyone?)
• Pray (if it doesn’t get written down, it doesn’t get done)
• Complete an assignment for a client (gotta pay those bills)

So, moms, what’s the deal? How come there are some days when I can barely get my teeth brushed by noon and others when everything comes together with so much efficiency that I think I might actually still have some multi-tasking skills left after all? I think it has something to do with spring being right around the corner. The light outside is different, if you know what I mean, and I think it packs a whole different kind of energy. Whatever it is, mine is not to question; mine is to shut up and do.

Until next time,

Joan

(c) 2008 All Rights Reserved

On New York’s Governor Crossing the Line

I don’t usually touch the topic of politics, but it’s been impossible to open a paper or turn on the TV or radio and not see or hear something about the now infamous “Client 9″ and his philandering ways. I just shake my head in disgust.

I’d like to focus on his wife, though. I mentioned to a group of ladies I had lunch with last week that I couldn’t believe she stood next to him, appearing anyway, to be supporting him as he issued his vague apology and then again when he announced his resignation. Much to my surprise, most of my companions remarked that they’d have stood next to him too if they stood to get half his fortune. Huh?? Sorry, but my dignity can’t be bought and, what message did she send to her daughters?

One person did view it from a slightly different angle, that, while it didn’t completely persuade me, it at least made me pause. She said that on their wedding day, Mrs. Spitzer stood up before God and her family and vowed to remain true “for better or for worse,” and this episode merely represented the worse part. But, we’re not talking about financial ruin, illness, injury or other tough times here. What happens when one spouse breaks the vows of marriage–is the other still bound to keep up their end of the deal?

To me, Elliott Spitzer crossed the line in the worst possible way.

Until Next Time,

Joan

(c) 2008 All Rights Reserved

Come Cross the Line with Me

Welcome to my little corner of the world wide web, where I hope to entertain you with commentary on my life as a wife, mom and freelance writer. First, a little about the name of my blog and its URL. I’m a writer by trade and meticulous (okay, neurotic) about grammar and style, so I like to make sure all my “i”s are dotted and “t”s are crossed; hence, crossinganddotting@wordpress.com.

In addition to being a stickler for sentence structure and syntax (and I enjoy alliteration, too) I apparently have a knack for . . .

Crossing the Line.

If I had a dollar for every time someone has said to me, “no one has ever asked that before,” I’d be blogging from my oceanfront deck on my own private island. I don’t consider myself to be unreasonable; in fact I hate confrontation and do my level best to avoid it. However, I also have a very low tolerance for political correct-ness, and I am the first to admit that diplomacy is not one of my strong suits. So, something as simple as commenting on how much homework my middle schooler has gets me in hot water, as does questioning why 200 6th graders with little or no sailing experience are boarding a schooner for a day without life jackets. You get the idea.

Anyway, thank you for visiting, and whether you’re a kindred spirit who will jump over that line with me without a second thought, or a more even-keeled sort who will watch my antics from the safe side of the line, I hope you enjoy what I have to say, and won’t be afraid to engage. Just be sure not to dangle any participles or misplace your modifiers. Like the bumper sticker my teenager sent me for my Facebook page says, “If you use bad grammar, I will judge you.”

Until next time,

Joan

(c) 2008 All Rights Reserved