Just a Cliche and a Decade Away from Being the It Girl

I am officially too old to ever again be an "It Girl." This painful realization hit me a couple of weeks ago when I learned of a much younger colleague's designation as the cat's meow, the cream of the crop, and the best thing since sliced bread. Okay, no one used those exact words, but the sentiment was communicated clearly enough.

While I will agree that this colleague is a terrific person and a hard working, competent and mature professional, I am not happy about all the chatter. My reasons for being envious concerned are completely rational:

1. If this individual were to learn that she is so highly regarded, the ego boost could make her very difficult to work with.
2. Those who think this individual is all that and a bag of chips may become blind to her weaknesses and willing to overlook her flaws.
3. For leadership to heap the majority of praise on one employee can have disastrous affects on the self-esteem of others who may feel the need to retaliate.

While, none of this applies to me personally because I don't compete work that closely with this individual, I have become aware that older women like myself are clearly being discriminated against when it comes to being the bees knees. Simply put, It Girl status can only be bestowed upon those under the age of 30. This is evidenced by the fact that business journals publish lists of the "Top Professionals Under Age 30," or "40 to Watch Under Age 40," but you never see anything for "Fantastic in their Fifties" or "Successful in their Sixties." The reality is that, once you turn 41, you're expected to be a performer. There's no special recognition. No talk in the break room about the new superstar. No grumbling about the girl who thinks she's "all that."

This is a hard reality for me to face because in my 20s and 30s, I was an It Girl. I worked hard to make sure I was bringing the very best to whatever position I held so that the bar would forever be set at "Kim level" and my replacements would always have very big shoes to fill. Gave everything 110%, never content with the merely the old college try. Raised my hand for every new job responsibility. Kissed butt ad nauseum. And for what? The same Wawa gift card everyone else received. And more responsibility at the same salary. It Girl status doesn't really pay off in the non-profit sector. Ah, hindsight. The point is that I enjoyed the heady feeling of knowing I was appreciated and recognized, and now I'm being forced to rely on my self-confidence to get me through the day. This is why middle-aged people turn to drinking and prescription drugs. They're much more accessible than self-esteem. 

In retrospect, I should have seen this coming several years ago when I noticed that I was no longer the youngest employee in my department or organization. I remember being truly shocked to discover that not only was Susie Q not older than me, but in fact, she was a good decade younger. Clearly I was am in denial of my advancing age, and this new performance-based "reality" is adding insult to injury.

In trying to decide how to handle this delicate situation, I can think of only a few options:

• Sabotage my colleague's work so her performance is of concern versus congratulations.
• Find ways to highlight my own work in such a way that it overshadows hers.
• Encourage her to find employment elsewhere and then recommend a clearly inferior individual to take her place.
• Find a new job in which I likely am the youngest employee. Maybe the library or the school cafeteria?
• Put on my big girl panties and deal with it.

I welcome your advice, really. I especially look forward to hearing from you if you've personally managed to maintain It Girl status into your 40s or 50s. I probably won't talk to you again, but I'm still eager to know how you did it. 

Reaping Your Rewards?

Our gene pools provide us with all kinds of personality traits. On the downside, my family tree has provided me with a healthy dose of crazy. On the upside, I was also bestowed with an above average work ethic. Sometimes this hides the crazy (i.e. at work), other times it reveals the crazy (i.e. at home). Just ask my kids.

Recently I had a conversation with a friend who, like me, works for a large non-profit (albeit not a university). She expressed her frustration with a situation in which a coworker would have had to go above and beyond to take care of a time-sensitive project. Only a couple small steps were required to make sure the project was satisfactorily completed, but rather than take those steps, this coworker offered a (technically legitimate) reason why it couldn't be handled, and wrote it off. This led to my friend -- who shares my stubborn, hard-working Pennsylvania Dutch heritage -- having to trek through snow and ice, literally climbing over downed tree limbs, to get to her office and complete the mission. She, too, could have given her boss a legitimate reason for why the project wasn't going to be completed in time, but instead she made it happen.

Her experience made me think about some of the challenges in working for a non-profit. While those of us who pursue this career path recognize that we're never going to get rich (though I must state for the record that I feel more than fairly paid), the one thing we hope for is recognition for a job well done. Or even a raise based on performance. Yes, I said it! Imagine if your work determined your reward. It's such an old-fashioned concept. Because I've worked for non-profits for the past 12+ years, I haven't experienced this approach to employee compensation. In fact, this same friend noted that, after years with her organization, it was clear that whether your job performance was exemplary or average, everyone got the same annual cost of living increase. Granted, "non-profit" often translates into "no money," but I would argue that one whose performance is above-and-beyond should warrant, for example, a 4% raise, whereas a coworker who turns down every opportunity to take on more responsibility should only get 2%. That way we're still averaging out to that dismal 3% overall.

I had a conversation on this topic with my sister who works for a global health services corporation. She mentioned how she still calls home when she receives a great performance evaluation (even at our age we're still seeking our parents' approval). While I, too, tell mom and dad when something nice happens at work, my sister's evaluation means something substantially different than mine. For her, a superior review equals a bonus that's worth about 50% of my salary, as well as a raise for the new year. Again, I made a conscious choice to work in this world, and I would never survive in hers, but still, the financial differences, based on job performance, definitely sting a bit.

In light of this reality, I'm wondering if it still makes sense to work your ass off demonstrate an exemplary work ethic. At what point does this kind of employee succumb to thinking that "It makes no difference how hard I work, so I will no longer go above and beyond, giving up my personal time to get the job done." I have friends who are fiercely protective of their time away from the office. They refuse to check email, answer their phone, or schedule an important 30 minute conversation with a client if it needs to take place when they're "off the clock." I'm completely incapable of cutting myself off from my employer regardless of the time or day, but perhaps those individuals are the smart ones.

I think this approach to employee compensation, where everyone is treated equally, reflects one of the major problems with our society today. If we give people no reason to try harder, work harder, take pride in their work, or go above and beyond, why should they? If unemployment or welfare pay better than minimum wage, why bother pulling yourself up by your proverbial bootstraps and taking a low paying job? Whether you're with a large corporation, a medium-sized non-profit, or a small mom and pop business, if you've learned that your performance provides little reward, how long will you continue to give it your all? For some of us that work ethic is so ingrained, that we can't imagine ever giving less than 100%, but it certainly makes you think (and obviously harbor some degree of resentment).

I know Christians are supposed to take comfort in our reward being in heaven, but the parable of the workers in the vineyard (Matthew 20: 1-16), in which everyone is paid the same regardless of how long they work, just doesn't provide much comfort in today's secular world.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one.

Not So Cruel to Be Kind

One of the gifts I requested and received for Christmas was a magnifying/make-up mirror. As I grow older and face the distinct possibility probability that it's time to start applying spackle and paint on a regular basis, I thought it important that I had an accurate view of my true self. When I saw the price tag on this fancy mirror, however, I decided it wasn't worth that kind of money to see myself in what is never a flattering light. Therefore, over the weekend, I returned the high-end mirror and picked up a cheap plastic one. It requires me to squint to avoid a distorted view, but shows my flaws just the same. Let me tell you, examining your face magnified 10x is no way to spend a weekend. I nearly rushed out to the Vietnamese nail salon and apologized for assuming they were scamming me when they recommended a whole-face wax.

While self deprecation is always good for a laugh, as a rule, I'm not terribly hard on myself, though I know my blog would lead you to believe otherwise. I'd say I'm more "self-aware" than "self-critical." I'm pretty good at acknowledging my flaws and weaknesses and accepting myself for who I am. That's one of the few benefits of age. What I still haven't figured out, however, is to how to deal with the criticism of others.

The old Kim would have criticized
his misspelling of Critisize.

Criticism can take a variety of forms, from the obvious "you are so stupid," to the thinly veiled, "I wish you would think before you speak." Criticism can be blunt: "I love you, but you're really not a very nice person;" or couched in concern, "I'm worried about your children growing up without discipline." Criticism can even be communicated with nothing more than a tone of voice or the curtness of a reply. Regardless of how it's delivered, it hurts, and over time those hurts begin to scar both our sense of self and our relationships.

I doubt there's a single one of us who can claim to have never criticized another, even someone we love. But, I'm becoming more aware of its effects. Though I don't usually bother with New Year resolutions, this year I decided that I need to be kinder to others, especially those I care about. I have to decide if I'm truly offering what I like to call "constructive criticism," or if I'm finding fault "just because." I also have to consider how I'm delivering the message, based on the person on the receiving end. One of my children, for example, reacts with strong emotion to what they perceive to be criticism or "being yelled at." Being yelled at, by the way, almost never involves actual yelling or raising my voice, but that's the way it's perceived. Their reaction is usually anger, followed by profound hurt. It can be a challenge to not react in the moment so that both parties aren't frustrated and saddened by the exchange.

Our relationships might be overwhelming positive and full of love, but memories of being judged or scolded leave a definite mark. For example, I remember being criticized for things as unimportant as the cleanliness of my car or the clothes I chose to wear for Ian's baptism. And criticism (whether delivered or perceived) of the big things, like our parenting skills, cut particularly deep. To be criticized or seemingly disrespected by the people we love most leaves an ugly mark on what may otherwise be a wonderful relationship.

I think I take criticism so hard because I want nothing more than to please those who are important to me: my children, husband, parents, friends, boss, etc. I take great joy in those rare occasions when I clearly impress my spouse by adding something valuable to a conversation or managing a challenging situation all by myself (I'm such a big girl!). I still tell my parents about any success I have at work or something I manage to fix at home without my dad's help. This need for approval might be a Shimer girl thing. Even my sister -- who is considerably thicker-skinned than I am -- calls home after every performance evaluation (of course her evaluations result in bonuses worth more than half my salary). Just picking a good movie provides me with a sense of fulfillment.

Two of my favorite critics.

I might be am most likely more sensitive than the average person, but the hurt I feel when on the receiving end of criticism has opened my eyes to the negative, lasting effect I can have when I am the one dishing it out. Hence, my vow to be kinder and gentler in the year to come so that no one ever tells me I'm "not a very nice person."

The Painful Realities of Socializing

'Tis the season ... for socializing, which is fine if I'm socializing with people I've socialized with before. But put me in a new setting with new people and it's like high school all over again. I'm awkward, self-conscious, anxiety-ridden and convinced my time would be better spent studying.

During the past couple years, my social life has seen relatively few new faces. My circles have stayed basically the same, and in some cases they've begun to overlap as friends from one circle get to know friends from another. There's comfort in those intersecting circles, unless things go too far and friends from those ven diagrams of my social life start getting together without me. Admit it. We all want our friends to like us more than they like any of the competition their other friends. Learning that a friend is going away for a weekend with college buddies or ditching me for someone I don't know can cause slight pangs of jealousy and concerns that I will be forgotten and left behind. It's creepy and controlling immature and silly, I know. If you're my friend I simply request that you don't put me through that. Then everything will be okay. But I've gotten off track here. We were discussing the great Dale Carnegie test of socializing with new people.

Two weekends ago, when Rob and I were in Charleston, SC, I was challenged with a scenario that I hadn't faced in years. We were spending time with Rob's fraternity brothers, two of whom threw their significant others into the mix even though I was relishing having them all to myself doing fine without them. These were women I'd never met before. I don't know about you, but it's been a very long time since I had to put on my game face and spend an evening with complete strangers. Do you know what's involved when a woman meets another woman for the first time? It's second only to prom night in terms of the stress level. All your feminist tendencies go out the window as you become ridiculously obsessed with your appearance. You want the competition her to be unattractive. Preferably with bad hair and a big butt. You want this "cheese" (fraternity-ese for "that girl is mine") to be shallow, vapid, clueless and completely without humor, wit or charm. You hope that she will be dressed inappropriately. That she didn't go to a more prestigious college than you. That whatever job she has involves no brain power whatsoever. You pray she's not one of those fitness freaks who makes you feel like a schlub. Rather than face the possibility that you won't measure up, you decide to suddenly develop chills and a fever, rendering you unable to leave your bed. Just like high school.

This coming weekend I am again faced with the opportunity to socialize with others whom I do not know well. Though I will most likely recognize many faces at this party, I will fail to remember the names of 95% of them. That's assuming we were ever introduced in the first place. While the presence of men means I won't be subject to a head-on, woman-to-woman competition, I will be even more likely to feel insecure. See, although women in the South are beautiful and have charming accents, they aren't nearly as smart and accomplished as women here in the Northeast. That's a fact. Women in my community are typically bright, cultured and excellent conversationalists. They usually dress well and have terrific figures given that 90% of them are freakin' triathletes. They make good money and/or are married to men who do quite well in their impressive careers. Most own another house somewhere in the mountains or at the beach. And should you naively believe you can hold your own with your intelligence, witty banter, basement renovations and Nordstrom Rack shoes, you'll soon learn that their kids are attending Ivy League schools on scholarship.

Besides setting women back 50 years with my gross generalizations and focus on physical appearance and income levels, what this post is really trying to say is that once you have a circle of good friends who don't cheat on you, you should show your appreciation and stop socializing.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my faithful friends!

Finding Light When Life is Heavy

It looks like 2013 is going to be the year I officially grew up. It's not so much that I feel older, but I think I've matured. I've had to. The past 12 months have been challenging. The loss of family and friends, adjusting to a new job and all that that entails, managing concussions, walking with my church family through the shocking events that have affected our spiritual home, raising increasingly teenage-like teens. You get the idea.

Given the heaviness, you might think I'd be craving more fluff in my life, especially on the entertainment front. More light and silly television, movies, reading material and even music. Surprisingly, that hasn't been the case. It occurred to me the other day that my choices in entertainment are increasingly reflecting the gravity of real life. It seems I've decided to put away childish things. Take television, for instance. In September 2011 I wrote a post dissing reality TV and confessing that, "When I turn to Hollywood entertainment for my ticket out of Funkville, I look for a dreamy escape, something that will make me laugh, or sigh (a happy sigh), or simply put my brain to rest for a short period of time." Back then I wasn't much of a television watcher, but I decided that it was time to see what I'd been missing. With my Entertainment Weekly 2011 Fall TV Preview issue in hand, I selected ten shows that I thought I would enjoy as mind candy. Two years later, six of those programs are still on the air and I've given up on all but one of them (Homeland). I exchanged Once Upon a Time for Scandal. Hart of Dixie is being replaced by Masters of Sex. I opted out of Glee. Even one of my former favorites, New Girl, is on borrowed time. It's not that I don't want to laugh, but it seems that what was once amusing is now silly, senseless or downright stupid. The dramas I've switched to better reflect my mood (and possibly my subconscious desire to sleep with the president, a terrorist and a sex researcher). Perhaps I've grown to realize that consuming fantasy and fluff doesn't make life any easier. Damn, that's depressing, isn't it?

Another tell-tale sign of this maturity trend is my Dial America magazine subscription. For years I've helped support the PA Special Olympics (at least that's what they tell me) with my yearly renewal of Entertainment Weekly. In 2013, however, I opted for TIME instead. Thought it was time I knew what was going on in the world. Though keeping up with the weekly issues is definitely a challenge, I must say that, three months in to the subscription, I already feel considerably smarter, albeit considerably more depressed about the state of our country and the world.

Then there are my choices in books. While I was never particularly fond of chick lit or Harlequin Romances, I did gravitate toward fiction. My last two reads? The Heart and the Fist: The Education of a Humanitarian, the Making of a Navy SEAL and Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail. Both true stories. Both heavy. Heck, even my music's heavier and a little bit harder. All the better with which to vent my aggression and stress. Maybe I should go back to martial arts training, too.

The good news is that with all this weight I've taken on (including about five pounds), I was recently reminded of one source of light and lightness in my life. Believe it or not, it's a man. My husband, to be exact.

Rob and I spent the weekend in Charleston, SC where we met up with three of his fraternity brothers. Great guys. Funny-as-hell guys. Single guys. One is twice divorced and engaged. One is divorced and in a relationship. One has never been married. As fellow Fij came up in conversation, it became increasingly obvious that Rob's and my almost 19-year-old marriage is an anomaly. More importantly, it became obvious that I'm married to a man who understands what's important in life (me), whose values match my own, and who sees the world not through beer goggles rose-colored glasses or cynical eyes, but as it is -- the good and bad -- and never fails to recognize all of life's tremendous blessings.

Life can be heavy and hard, but I can take comfort in knowing that I'm married to a man who stands beside me and lightens whatever burden I carry. I may just try to do the same for him. 

Of Vitamins and Tutus and Notebook Dividers

You might be kind enough to think that I'm not nearly as a bad a mom as I say I am, but I'm serious when I tell you that I was born without a mothering/nurturing gene. This week offered ample proof, starting with those damn concussions. The fact that I refer to them as "damn concussions" is case in point. I went from being appropriately concerned about the kids and cognizant of the danger of these injuries, to being annoyed. Here's the deal: I become irritable when things inconvenience me, whether it's Congress or my children.

On Tuesday, both Ian and Abby saw concussion specialists at the Rothman Institute. Abby was found to be in relatively good shape. Some balance issues, but hell, I have balance issues every day, and not just from the drinking. She should be cleared to play sports again this week, right after the season ends. Ian's diagnosis was significantly worse than Abby's. From the tests they gave him to eye tracking and dizziness, the kid's a mess. He will be reevaluated this coming week, but personally I'm not seeing any improvement. In fact, I think the symptoms have worsened since the doctor told him how severe the concussion is. Read into that what you will.

The diagnoses did not in themselves inconvenience me. I didn't even go to the appointments; Rob took care of that (he has the nurturing gene). It's the recommended care that's bugging me. Namely, vitamins. Apparently concussion docs have come up with a cocktail of four vitamins that should relieve headaches and promote healing. Of the four, we had one in the medicine cabinet - fish oil capsules. This meant a run to the store to hunt down the other three, in the correct dosages. Have you ever tried to find vitamins on the shelves at a supermarket? There is no logical organization behind their placement. And did I mention neither of my kids can swallow a pill? The only scenario in which this is a good thing is at high school parties where prescription drugs are being traded like baseball cards. The rest of the time, it's a major pain in the ass. While manufacturers are offering increasing numbers of chewables, they aren't available for every vitamin, and those that are available are in such low doses that you'd have to eat a bunch to get the right amount. I think Ian is eating 8 fish oil gummys twice a day. The rest of the pills are being crushed and added to sandwiches and cupcakes and smoothies. It's like a pharmacy in our kitchen with powdery residue on everything. I'm just waiting for the feds to show up. All of this inconveniences me; therefore, rather than being worried sick about my kids' brains, I'm annoyed. I'm also more than a little stressed at the amount of work Ian is missing in school.

So that was Tuesday, and the week went downhill from there. On Wednesday, Abby had to have a red tutu for her devil costume for Halloween. I'm pretty sure I've never seen a picture of the devil wearing a red tutu, but whatever. Running errands after I've come home from work is right up there on my list of most inconvenient and annoying things ever.

While in shopping hell (appropriate, given the devil costume), Ian called to say he needed me to stop at an office supply store on the way home to pick up "professional notebook dividers." It seems that the dividers with the plastic tabs that we all grew up with - and used in the office, for cryin' out loud - are not considered professional. He needs these professional dividers for health class. For the notebook check. Seriously. At this point my head is about to explode, but mercifully God intervenes, arranging for Rob to call while I'm on the phone with Ian. He senses my madness, probably because I told him I was going mad. He offers to take Ian to Staples while I wrap up my expedition with Abby. Crisis averted.

Throw into the vitamin-tutu-notebook dividers-mix a minivan that's three months overdue for an inspection and oil change. Then add a kid who mopes around the house like a dictionary illustration for "pathetic." And there's no relief in sight for this weekend. Rob leaves tomorrow morning for Vegas and will be gone until Tuesday night, and I'll be spending the entirety of Sunday at church for various commitments. And my house is a mess.

But then it happens. It almost always happens. I'm given some much needed perspective. We're having dinner (out) when I check my email and see there has been a flurry of exchanges between the angels. This January is the official opening of the Dr. Ann Bates Memorial Children's Hospital in Ghana, named in honor of our dear friend who lost her battle with cancer a few years ago. Freakin Angel Theresa will be there, putting her new nursing skills to the test on a service trip with others from our church. The email exchange begins with FA Kim G. suggesting that we have a plaque made with this photo (Ann's in the baseball hat, in the center), dedicating it to Ann, and hanging it somewhere in the hospital. Theresa responds that she has already ordered the photo, having had the very same idea. Gotta love those God moments.

Well, I burst into tears at that point. Overwhelmed by the love I feel for the angels in my life. Overwhelmed by the loss of Ann. Overwhelmed by the needs of those in place like Ghana. Overwhelmingly embarrassed by my childish, over-exaggerated complaints about my comfortable, secure and basically awesome everyday life. It occurs to me that, even though it doesn't make for humorous blog posts, perhaps I should practice gratitude and appreciation rather than give in to annoyance and irritation. It took me about 30 seconds to come up with this list of blessings:

• Access to top quality health care to diagnosis my children
• Access to vitamins and medicine and medical treatment
• Life in a community where it's safe to send my daughter out for Halloween dressed as the devil
• Excellent schools that want what's best for my kids, even if that extends to professional notebook dividers
• Being able to afford a car and the maintenance that goes with it
• A church that means enough to me to make it worth spending a whole day there
• Food, and not having to cook it
• The ability to communicate with my friends with the click of a button
• A husband who knows when to step in before I check out

Finally, I leave you with this thought: Whomever creates a chewable/gummy that combines all four concussion-related vitamins, will be a very wealthy man or woman. And I want half for giving you the idea. 

Thank You for Your Support!

My daughter is usually pretty squared away. Someone in the family has to be. Given that Abby's only human, however, once in a while she drops the ball. Or forgets her soccer socks, like she did last week.  She was already at the bus stop when she remembered that she needed them, but I was determined to make the drop before the bus arrived, thereby saving myself a drive to the middle school. Unfortunately, I got tripped up in her pigsty of a bedroom, unable to find anything other than fuzzy red knee highs she wore in third grade. She's wearing them, dammit. Given that delay, the bus naturally beat me. 

Being the good mother that I am, I cursed Abby’s forgetfulness and then went after the first school bus I found. Not knowing her bus number (I'm not that good a mother), merely praying it was hers, I drove like a woman possessed, hoping to catch it at the next stop. I caught up to said bus, still unsure if Abby was on it. 

SIDE NOTE: What's with the tinted windows on the school bus? Even Run DMC knows that "Tinted windows don't mean nothin', they know who's inside." 

As I pulled up behind the bus and jumped out of my mom-van, the driver shut the doors and started to drive away. I gave chase, waving fuzzy red socks in the air and shouting, “WAIT!” A startled mom at this stop saw my crazed condition and flagged down the driver. When he opened the doors my mortified daughter reached out for her socks and actually thanked me for the effort. Even better than my daughter's appreciation was the driver's flirty comment: "I thought we had a new student!” Aw shucks, even I know that I don't pass for a middle schooler, but when you reach your 40s you'll take any attention you can get. Of course, it's likely he said that assuming I had a child in tow, not just socks. But I prefer to believe I was being flirted with. And no, I don't care that he was 83 and had no teeth.  

The socks and bus piece of the story, while painfully amusing, is not important in and of itself. It’s what happened next that I will always remember for the next few weeks: the mom at the stop who flagged down the driver gave me a congratulatory fist pump, and two women who were out for their morning walk shouted, “Go, Mom!” Frankly, it was the most support and encouragement I've felt in a very long time (sad, right?). It was also proof that moms, whether we know each other personally or not, know how to bond over life's everyday parenting moments. It's the little things that keep us going.

There's something to be said for receiving support and encouragement from the larger communities of which we are a part. I believe we'd all have a bit more spring in our step, the increased possibility of a smile on our faces and a greater sense of well-being. Here are just a few scenarios in which we could offer each other a quick pick-me-up:

• You're using self-checkout at the grocery store and not once does the machine instruct you to "Wait for Assistance." Fellow self-checkout shoppers would offer you a pat on the back and a "Way to go!"
• At the gym, you make it around the track once without stopping to catch your breath. The speedy person who passed you twice puts you up on his/her shoulders for a victory lap.
• You've been waiting an unacceptably long time for a table at your favorite restaurant. When you're finally called, fellow waiting patrons sigh, but applaud your tenacity and good fortune.
• At the Vietnamese-run nail salon (I've blogged about them before), you successfully deflect recommendations that you have your entire face waxed. Women in earshot give you a thumbs up and then gently suggest you reconsider your upper lip.

Research has shown the advantages of gathering in support groups - hence AA, Weight Watchers, GriefShare. All I'm suggesting is that we extend the love into our everyday lives. The results for society as a whole could be tremendous. 

Now get out there and make someone's day!

Great Expectations

Earlier this year I became aware of a tween and teenage issue affecting families in what I naively thought was my perfectly insulated and innocent community. It seems "sexting" hit close to home in the families of more than one personal friend. The shock and disappointment was profound and ultimately led to our church organizing a parents' night on the topic of teens and sexuality. And yes, if you know what my church has been going through, you're seeing some irony in this. But that's beside the point.

As my friends and I discussed this disturbing trend in teen behavior, someone mentioned having read about the affects of technology on a teen's desires and proclivities. She reported that the graphic and "advanced" nature of their early exposure to sexuality results in many teens needing "more" in the way of stimulation as they grow toward adulthood. The effects of peeking at Playboy magazine or reading a young adult romance pales in comparison to what our kids are finding online and sharing with one another on their cell phones.  

I'm finding this desire for "more" to be an ongoing theme in this world in which my children live. It may be a byproduct of living in a community where most families have what they need and then some, but it's disturbingly prevalent. No longer is a cell phone acceptable; a smart phone is required (and they still don't answer when you call). A vacation to Colorado is unappreciated because "we've been to that state before." A plain old birthday party at home doesn't suffice when everyone else does something way cooler and more expensive.

Sweet 16 parties and bar/bat mitzvahs are often examples of "more." In many cases, these rite of passage events resemble mini-proms or a wedding reception. I can't speak to the bar/bat mitzvahs of my day because I never attended one until recently, but I did turn 16 a couple nearly three decades ago and these grand affairs were not the norm. I find myself wondering what happened to the good old slumber party. But then again, it's probably safer to gather all of your kids friends in a supervised location where they're less likely to be drinking and photographing their private parts to text to a friend (who then sends it to his friend, and so on). I guess my biggest concern with these first class affairs is that they're setting our kids up for disappointment years from now. What if on their 21st, 30th, and 50th birthdays there's no one to throw them a lavish private party? How can your wedding reception top your bar/bat mitzvah when twenty years earlier it was the talk of the town? If you set the standard so high so early in their lives, can we exceed those expectations for the special moments later in life?

A couple years ago I heard stories of prom date invitations that both amused and concerned me. Boys were arranging elaborate scenarios in which to pop the question, "Will you go to prom with me?" Proposals were staged involving teachers and principals. Banners were hung on the bridge that links the middle and high schools. And a member of the track team recruited his friends to run in sequence wearing specially made t-shirts that read WILL - YOU - GO - TO - PROM, followed by Romeo wearing "WITH ME?" Awe! As in awesome, right? Absolutely. I would have loved to have been proposed to that way. Oops. That's what I was afraid of. To be on the receiving end of that level of sweetness and creativity as a high school senior only sets you up for disappointment when your adult boyfriend proposes marriage by leaning across the couch during a timeout in the football game and opening a little black box. And, he probably belched at some point in this transaction. Trust me, guys get lazy once you've been together awhile. You're rarely going to find romance delivered high school style. (Side note: Rob did not propose to me on the couch during a football game. It was a baseball game. No, but seriously, he proposed to me on the side of the road. It was more romantic than it sounds.)

Lest you think I'm presenting myself as above all this excess, I can assure you that I'm not immune to the temptation to fulfill my kids' desire for more. This Christmas we're heading to Mexico for the week. Unlike Colorado, Ian and Abby haven't been there yet, so they're looking forward to it. (Just hope we can get Abby a passport in time. Damn government shutdown.) And in lieu of a Sweet 16 party, a friend and I made our daughters a deal a year ago, promising them a trip to France instead, assuming they keep up their French studies. I'm sure the party would be much less expensive, but this way I get something out of it, too.

The reality is that many parents, myself included, want to give their children more than they had. Or they want to express their love and pride in their child, regardless of the cost. Sometimes, we go overboard trying to make up for the lack of time we spend together as a family. Our hearts are in the right place when we decide to go big for our kids, I just sometimes wonder whether our heads are in on it too.

Your thoughts?

Top 10 Reasons You Should Join Us Next Year

I returned home three days early from my church mission trip to Banner Elk, NC last week. This change in plans did not result from an ailing child, a broken fingernail or a frightening encounter with a galloping horse (though the horse thing did happen). Unfortunately, I was called home by the death of my Aunt Glenna who had suffered from leukemia for the past six months. This is the second of my mom's sisters to pass away this year - my Aunt Faith died on April 30. This loss, my mom's grief, and the need to leave my church family at a time when I needed them most, made for a weepy couple days. My ridiculously bad hair and increasing facial blemishes didn't help either.

But this post is not meant to bring you down; I can point you to some others if that's what you're looking for. No, this post is intended to convince you to join me on next year's Media Presbyterian mission trip (church member or not!). Here are the top 10 reasons (in David Letterman fashion) to mark your calendar for 2014:

10. There is nothing worth watching on television during July and August.

9. Hot, humid, buggy weather in Pennsylvania is replaced by pleasant days and cool, sweatshirt-weather nights in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina.

8. You will see teenagers taking on actual manual labor. You're also likely to meet a teenager who will talk to you. And perhaps hug you when you need to leave early. You'll feel much better about the next generation.

7. Evenings filled with games, devotions, carb loading in the dining hall, and rocking on the porch in the Lodge.

6. This trip provides a great opportunity to practice your southern twang and brush up on your knowledge of country music.

5. Taking vacation days to do work around your own home is sad and depressing. Taking vacation days to work on someone else's home is inspiring and rewarding.

4.  The chances are excellent that someone will actually express appreciation for your work.Try getting that at home!

3. If you're looking for friends, you will make them on this trip.

2. If MPC people are already your friends, there is no better way to spend a week together (a vacation to OBX would cost a great deal more and you wouldn't have that warm fuzzy feeling that comes from helping someone else).

1. In one week, your personal problems will be put in perspective and you'll be reminded that it isn't "all about you."

Need more convincing? Check out this video from our week:

Can we count you in next summer? 

Awakening to Goodness at a Time of Loss

It's been a rough couple of weeks. On the morning of Friday, April 19, my Aunt Faify (Faith) was admitted to the hospital in critical condition after suffering what doctors assumed was a heart attack. That same day, my Aunt Glenna, who is battling leukemia, was told that chemotherapy wasn't working and doctors recommended hospice care. And then, that evening, when coming to the hospital with us to visit his wife, my Uncle Richie took one step into the lobby and collapsed, code blue. A dozen medical workers pounded on his chest, shocked his heart, and miraculously brought him back. If he hadn't been in a hospital when this happened, he would have died.

Two weeks later, Uncle Richie has had a pacemaker put in and was moved to a rehabilitation facility. My Aunt Glenna is holding on as best she can. And my Aunt Faify has found a new home in heaven.

I haven't known what to blog about during this difficult time. A comedic post seemed inappropriate (though laughter is exactly what we need now). A detailed post about the range of emotions we experienced felt too heavy. On Sunday during church, however, I got an idea from Pastor Nikki's sermon when she remarked that "the pools of kindness are drying up." You'll be glad to know I didn't shout it out loud, but my immediate reaction was "Nah ah!"

There's been a whole lot of tragedy in the world and a great deal of loss that I've experienced personally in recent years. And though my "Why, God?" has gone unanswered, I have found Jesus' words in Matthew 5:4 to be true: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted…" I can also relate to Psalms 94:19: "When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul." My comfort and consolation are coming from those pools of kindness, and I see them everywhere I look. I wish it didn't require grief and loss to awaken us to the goodness in the world.

In the past couple weeks I have seen love and kindness in action, some of it in direct response to my personal situation, some of it just there waiting to be noticed:

• The "newlywed" couple at church still holding hands after 50+ years of marriage.
• The simple gesture of a husband putting an arm around his wife's waist, symbolically saying "I'm always by your side."
• An adult son bringing his cancer stricken mother to church in a wheelchair and throughout the service rubbing her back, adjusting the scarf on her head and smiling because being there with her and for her was bringing him joy.
• The unexpected kindness of a Villanova student worker wrapping his arms around my shoulders and hugging me when I received the call that Aunt Faify had passed.
• The love of friends who bring food, offer prayers and provide support in times of need.
• A four-year-old walking into a room to give his PopPop a hug and a kiss -- just because -- and then walking out again to return to his toys. 
• The kindness and care of a neighbor whose love sustains my parents through good times and bad.
• The commitment and love that brings a daughter home from Denver, twice in two weeks, to be there to support her mom and to say goodbye to a beloved aunt.
• The constant presence of a husband who let go of old resentments and is providing the unwavering support his wife needs during one of the most difficult times of her life.

Freakin' Angels, indeed.

And then there's my Mom. For the past several months she's been a source of strength for my Aunt Glenna. Taking her for chemo and blood and platelets. Letting her cry. Talking and laughing. Reminiscing. Just sitting together. My Aunt Faith and Aunt Glenna have been my mom's best friends throughout her entire life. Out of five sisters, they were the inseparable three.To say this is a difficult time for my mom, would be a major understatement. She had to plan her sister's memorial service because Uncle Richie was in no condition to do so. She has had to care for him as well. And despite being emotionally and physically drained, she never lost sight of the needs of her sister Glenna. Through it all, my mom has displayed incredible strength, resilience and unwavering faith. She has mourned and will continue to mourn her loss, but the love she feels for her sisters keeps her going.

Having never known three women with bigger hearts who give (and gave) of themselves so selflessly, I'm certain that this awakening to the love and kindness all around us is exactly what my aunts, and my mom, would want. The perfect tribute to each of these wonderful women.

Kindness, Affirmation, and Joy (Seriously)

Lately I've been hypersensitive. But in a good way. Suddenly I'm more acutely aware of the special people and moments in my life. It's almost a little creepy; like maybe I'm not long for this world and God is saying "Wake up and pay attention to the joy and kindness in the world before it's too late, dammit!" Well, maybe He doesn't say "dammit."

In case you're wondering if you're reading someone else's blog, I assure that this is the Freakin' Angel talking. I know you're not used to happy thoughts coming from me, but let's go with it. I'm sure next week I'll be my irritable and/or withdrawn self.

I think my wake up call came two Fridays ago. The same week I wrote my whiny, "I need to be shown appreciation" post. In what can only be described as another example of God's delight in messing with us, on this particular Friday, a number of kindnesses came my way. And, believe it or not, I started it.

Early that morning I exchanged emails with a Villanova professor whom I've only met once. He had reworked something I'd written for him, and my smart-ass self responded with :

I have to confess, for some reason I didn't expect engineers to be good writers, but here at VU I'm consistently proven wrong. If this engineering thing doesn't work out for you :-), you could always go into marketing or communications.

His response:

You are too kind, but thank you.  I'm the type that needs a pat on the back once in a while, so you made my day.

How awesome is that! It made my day knowing I'd made his day, and it certainly helped to know that I'm not alone in my slightly pathetic need for regular attention and recognition.

After that nice start to my Friday, a number of kindnesses came my way, all before noon:

• Freakin' Angel Kim G., knowing Ian was home sick again, offered to pick up ginger ale and saltines for him and delivered them to our door.
• In checking the mail I found a handwritten note from a fellow church member (no one I'm particularly close to) who wanted me to know she was thinking of me after learning of my aunt's leukemia diagnosis. 
• The dental hygienist said I was her best patient of the week and rewarded me with stickers and a lollipop a free teeth whitening sample. And I didn't even read anything into the teeth whitening gift. But you'd tell me if you thought my teeth were yellow, right? 

Last week's high note was a word of recognition from the Dean. He told me he'd heard from a couple others that I was doing a great job and that they liked my energy. He confirmed that they made the right decision in hiring me. Man, I needed that! Giddy like a school girl I responded with:

And then I called Rob to share the good news. You'd have thought I had just been promoted, I was so darn happy.

Now, just a few words about joy. The joy stuff came this past weekend and, oddly enough, involved my children. On Saturday, Abby celebrated her 12th birthday with a handful of friends who spent the night. Their constant laughter actually made me smile, where in the past it made me want to slap someone.  They watched Pitch Perfect and though I had found it to be only mildly amusing when I saw it in the theater, watching the movie with them suddenly made it hysterical. The whole evening was just a lovely testament to girlfriends and laughter and joy.

Sunday I attended the last performance of Grease at the high school (which they toned down quite a bit after complaints from some parents. I can't believe someone complained. Some people are such prudes.). Ian was able to participate this weekend, and watching him onstage, giving 110% to his role as a book nerd, gave me great pleasure. He was so obviously thrilled to be there, in his element (theater, not nerd-dom). After the show he looked exhausted, but in a beaming sort of way. It's immensely gratifying to see your child in a place he or she clearly belongs.

Oh, one more comment on the topic of affirmation. Even though most people don't go around crying about it like I do, I can't imagine there's anyone who doesn't appreciate recognition. Take, for instance, this recent interaction with a woman who's been cleaning my house for about a month. Last week I had left her a long list of improvements that needed to be made after I was displeased with her previous visit. I'm sure she cursed me, booby trapped my junk drawer, and stole from the cookie jar, but she did a great job based on my requests. On Friday night I texted her to say thanks and let her know how pleased I was. She actually picked up the phone and called me right back to say how much she appreciated my telling her and said she was going to share my message with her daughter who works with her.

All of this is not to show how wonderfully thoughtful I am (though I do have my moments), but rather to share the power of a kind word. In what can be a dreary, cold world (especially this miserable winter), your note of affirmation, your gift of kindness, and opening yourself to joy can provide just enough light to get you, and someone else, through another day.

A Love Story

I recall a conversation with a friend on the topic of greeting cards. More specifically, cards for her husband. Her husband is the demonstrative, lavish-shows-of-affection type and she's just about the complete opposite. Sometimes she feels guilty about this and on the rare occasion that the mood strikes, she'll pick up one of those warm and fuzzy, lovey-dovey cards for her man. Unfortunately, he often doesn't see them.

"I have good intentions, but by the time I planned to give it to him he's somehow irritated me again and the mood is lost." 

This leads me to the purpose for this post. A declaration of my love for my husband. I know this is not typical Kim territory. Positive, loving, and kind are generally not words associated with this freakin' angel, but the spirit is moving me today. I did consider waiting to share this on our anniversary (Jan. 7) or his birthday (Jan. 8), but there's the distinct possibility that he will tick me off by then. So here it is.

My husband Rob. A love story. Quit rolling your eyes and go with it.

Like every married couple, Rob and I have had (and will continue to have) our ups and downs. Our arguments are generally short-lived, but there are stretches of time when they seem to come more often than either of us would like. Some years overall seem tougher than others in every way, not just for our relationship. I recall 2011 being pretty crappy, but as we wind down 2012, I find myself smiling. Me, smiling? Weird, huh?

So what's made this a year worth smiling about? I think it was the way all the forces combined to remind, reassure, and reinforce what an amazing gift the love is between a husband and wife. More than a year ago Rob was suffering with extreme back problems that resulted in ER visits and ultimately surgery. I held his hand and tried to comfort him, but was otherwise helpless while he dealt with pain that actually made childbirth seem like a walk in the park. While my heart broke to see him in such agony, I think the brokenness, when healed, made my heart--and my love for him--even stronger. And this year when my depression brought me lower than I'd been in a decade, Rob took care of me. Never losing patience or avoiding the problem despite not truly understanding what I was experiencing because he hasn't been there himself. He simply loved me when I most needed loving.

Somewhere along the line Rob also started making a visible effort to be more involved on the home front with everything from housework and the kids to my ever-growing to do list. He knows my least favorite chores and takes them upon himself. He knows I hate running errands so he does the running. And he started doing whatever he could to deal with sick kids or their appointments so I wasn't always sacrificing my career to handle everything that came along. At the same Rob started pitching in, he became more attentive and affectionate. I used to tell him I always knew when he wanted something because his level of helpful activity and romantic gestures were blatantly obvious took a marked turn. Now I never know when he wants something because his good deeds are such a regular part of how he treats me. I'm never sure now when it's time for sex.This new approach to marriage was very disorienting for a while, but trust me, I've gotten used to it.

Don't get me wrong. Rob was never a lousy husband (I know a few of those). I never questioned his love for me. But like many women, there were times I felt like my biggest job as a wife and mother was making sure everything didn't fall down around us. We were in that rut that is so easy to fall into after 15+ years of marriage, two full time jobs and full-time kids and incredibly full lives. I truly believe having cared for each other through some difficult times and actually listening to each other's needs has brought us to this much better place. I don't know if it's Rob, the new job, or the correct combination of meds (probably all three), but I haven't felt this content, this thankful, or this light in a very long time.

Rob, I know you don't appreciate being the subject of my blog posts, but I hope you know this one was written in love to thank you for all you've done, all you're doing, and all you are to me. Now don't screw it up.

Grateful Weeping is Always Appropriate

I am in a lousy mood with a bad case of writer's block. There may be a cause and effect relationship there. Regardless, the blog must go on, so I'm going to address one of my pet peeves. You seem to like it when I'm foolishly honest, so here it goes.

People who don't show the proper amount of appreciation bug me.  

As is often the case with our personal issues, this is genetic.

In my family (parents and sister), we don't go overboard on gift giving (the exception being my mother's Christmas Presentpalooza). Given the infrequency of our bestowing of gifts, when you receive one, it's understood you will make a Big Deal out of it. Translated, this means you will:

• Immediately try on any article of clothing received
• Wear said clothing within 24-hours
• Wear said clothing with any gifted jewelry
• Read the book, fill in the calendar, or watch the movie received within 48-hours
• Appropriately fill the candy jar, the flower pot, or the magazine rack within 72 hours
• Offer an Over the Top appropriate emotional display for any gift worth more than $50

Anything less means you didn't really like what you received and that the giver is not truly loved and appreciated. We're a sensitive bunch.

This proclivity toward Extreme Shows of Appreciation does not particularly resonate with my husband. In his family, it was all about the greeting cards, not the gifts. I think greeting cards are a waste of money unless they're holding cash, gift cards, or theater or concert tickets, in which case the Big Deal Reaction is warranted lovely, but clearly not worthy of a major show of appreciation. My husband really struggles with major displays of "Awesome!" when the gift received is something he did not request. I personally think surprise gifts (those you didn't ask for) are the best, but that's a different blog post.

My need for a proper show of appreciation extends beyond my family. While friends don't have to cry or express undying love, and don't have to swear to never take off the jewelry or t-shirt you gave them, a genuine, heartfelt "thank you" is appropriate. "You're the best friend ever," never hurts either.

A completely reasonable
show of appreciation

Then there are those occasions on which I share/give a friend or acquaintance something of value that I have but don't need, something that I graciously bestowed upon you over all others. Examples include Hersheypark tickets or a seat at the World Series. Serious gushing is appropriate in these circumstances and offering to buy me a beer at the game or a soft pretzel at the amusement park is the least you can do also a welcome response. In a few of these instances, I've felt more appreciated by complete strangers in the supermarket when I give them my extra coupon for free Turkey Hill ice cream. Just sayin'.

I realize that gift-giving should come from the heart and that the giver should expect nothing in return, but that's crap let's face it, even when we're giving a gift out of love, we expect to feel good in the process. If you fail to react appropriately, it's going to piss me off bum me out and I'm going to put you on my list of ungrateful jerks, never to receive anything from me ever again. That includes a piece of gum. A tissue may be all you can ask for and even then, your nose better really be running.

If you're wondering whether you're on my list, feel free to contact me privately. And if I have ever failed to Go Overboard in expressing my thanks for something you've done for me, please let me know. I consider it my personal responsibility to make sure the world learns how to make a Super Big Deal over every little act of kindness and so I must be sure to put my enthusiasm where my mouth is.