"Miss Shimmer, um, about this rating..."

Last Friday I took a half day's vacation to judge a speech and debate competition at a South Philly charter school. Ian's coach was desperate for help (each competing school has to provide judges), and since I particularly enjoy critiquing others, I volunteered. This wasn't my first time judging at one of these events, but on previous occasions I judged Oral Interpretation, which is what I competed in during high school (OI is basically dramatic reading). At last week's meet, I was needed to judge two categories that were new to me: Public Forum and Lincoln-Douglas Debate. They're both debating contests, with the differences being that PF involves teams of two arguing pro or con on some predetermined topic (genetically modified foods, in this case), while LD has two individuals face off on a more values/ethics-based topic.

While I didn't particularly enjoy Public Forum (I kept wanting to interject), Lincoln-Douglas was especially difficult, mostly due to the two students I had to judge. On one side was a young man who seemed to be advocating for "the right to be forgotten," as in disappearing from social media if one so chooses. I say he seemed to be speaking on that subject because honestly, I wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to communicate. This was not an auspicious start for my first LD. Little did I know things were about to go from bad to worse. Or at least mediocre to bad.

The young lady, who seemed to be speaking for the public's right to know, presented an opening statement that was nearly incoherent. She stumbled while reading her notes verbatim, never making eye contact, and most of what she read hardly seemed relevant to the discussion.

The event became increasingly awkward when it was time for the students to challenge one another based on the statements they'd each made. The young lady referred to whatever notes she'd arrived with, and made points that were completely unrelated to what the young man had proposed. It was almost as if she hadn't listened or at least hadn't understood what he was saying. She looked either half asleep or under the influence of who knows what. It was painful to watch. She sealed her fate when, given six minutes for her concluding statement, she used only two. And of course, in those two minutes, she said nothing of any value.

My job was to rate them each on a scale that looked something like this (I may be off by a number or two):

26-30 - Excellent
21-25 - Good
18-20 - Fair
15-17 - Below average

The form noted that scores under 15 should be reserved for those who exhibited behavioral problems or issues with their conduct.

I should mention that prior to beginning the meet, the school host asked that we not judge too harshly as it is early in the year and we don't want to discourage students.

Talk about your quandaries.

I rated him a 21 and her a 16, provided lengthy comments and suggestions, and turned my paperwork in to the tabulation room.

As I walked away, I heard "Miss Shimmer (dear God, people, it's one "M," which makes it a long "I"), can you come here for a moment?"

You might guess where this is going. 

I was told, "We really don't want to give anyone less than a 20. Can you give her a 20 and him a 21?"

I replied, "There was considerably more than one point difference in their performances."

"Okay, then give him more points?"

Because I lack the cajones to stand my ground, I crossed out my 16 and gave the worst speaker I've ever seen/heard a 20. I bumped up mediocre man to a 25. And then I mentally began this blog post.

This is a classic example of where we go wrong with youth today. We avoid critiquing them too harshly for fear of hurting their self-esteem. We sugarcoat everything in the hopes they'll believe they can do anything. What's wrong with judging them fairly, pointing out both their strengths and weaknesses so they have a realistic sense of self? What's wrong with suggesting they need to work harder if they want to be better? By never using red pens on homework assignments or tests, by giving everyone a trophy for participating, by telling them they're good, great, or awesome, we're setting them up for a serious shock when they enter the real world where there's no "pass go, collect $200" just for showing up.

And while we're busy patting the back of the below average, we diminish the accomplishments of the standout. Or, we over-inflate the mediocre to establish a reasonable distinction between them and the lesser student, athlete, or artist. My mediocre student didn't deserve a score that had him on the cusp of an excellent rating, but in order for him to justifiably believe that he significantly outperformed his competition, that's how I had to score his performance. Tell me this - why have a below average rating on the scale if we're not supposed to use it?

Believe it or not, I'm not advocating that we crush spirits and kill dreams. I'm merely suggesting that we be honest with kids, crediting them with resilience, which they possess in spades as compared to most adults. If we don't prepare them for honest evaluations and critiques now, at the first sign of criticism on the job, they're going to crumble.

I expect some of you will disagree with me on this and I welcome your feedback. Just try to be gentle. No red pens. No low scores. You know I don't handle criticism very well.

I Feel the Need, the Need to Please

You know how some people let everything roll off their back, never taking offense or worrying about what others think? Well, I'm at the other end of the spectrum—I take everything personally, at least as it relates to suggestions, recommendations or choices I make that affect others. This is especially evident when it comes to entertainment and leisure time options, which clearly makes this particular aspect of my neuroses of great importance (or at least of mild interest for a blog post). Some examples:

• I ask my husband or a friend to accompany me to a movie of my choosing. I then worry about whether they like it, thereby rendering myself unable to enjoy the film.
• I encourage a friend to read a book that I thought was terrific. They tell me later that they tried for months to get into it and finally gave up. I am now partner to the crime of spending too much time on a lousy read when there are gazillions of other books that that individual could have been spending time with.
• I laugh hysterically (a frequent occurrence) at the TV show I'm watching. I take occasional glances at Rob, seated on the couch next to me, to see whether he's even cracking a smile. I feel stupid if he's not equally amused. 
• I invite a friend to church (it could happen!) and the pastor's sermon is mediocre at best. I am annoyed with the pastor myself for choosing this particular Sunday to bring a guest, and decide I shall never again be party to Christian outreach or evangelism.
• I recommend a restaurant for dinner that I generally enjoy. The service is terrible and the food is mediocre at best. I'm embarrassed and feel badly and consider paying for my friend's meal (but then reject the idea because I'm cheap).

In one final, wacky example, I actually feel lousy if I introduce one friend to another friend and they don't exactly hit it off. Then I'm forced to decide which friend is most likely to blame and whether I need to dump the below average friend. Awkward.

The one thing these examples have in common is that the product or service (or person) being delivered has not been produced by me. I experience guilt and regret for recommendations that miss the mark, however, I am not actually responsible for the content. But when I am...

If I'm this loony about suggestions and recommendations, you can imagine my reaction when something I have personally created is not appreciated or enjoyed. Blog posts, for example. You know how it hurts my feelings when you don't "like" them. And do you have any idea how much a comment on the blog itself would mean to me? We've talked about this before. Let's go people. 

Technology has undoubtedly affected our sense of self. We determine our self worth by the number of likes, shares, favorites and comments we receive on any given day. Consider the selfies that teenage girls post on Instagram. Some experts see them as self-esteem boosters that help girls determine the identity they feel most comfortable with. It's all contingent, however, on the undeniable power of likes and retweets. An article in Time magazine reported:

"For a teenage girl, receiving likes on Instagram or Facebook can be seen as an endorsement that they are beautiful, from people who are within their social circle. Comments are there to compliment one’s appearance in a way that doesn't normally happen in a typical personal encounter."

Teen Vogue (of all places) notes that likes and comments that build self-esteem can crush it as well:

"After all, if two photos are posted—the first with nine likes and the second with two likes, some girls could perceive this as feeling less valued."  

But lest we get too serious, let's bring this back to me and my issues. Aside from my blog posts, I've become truly sensitive to the loss of "likes" and followers for the social media that I manage for my employer. The joy of adding 19 new fans can be completely overshadowed by losing one. My spirit is completely crushed when a reader opts out of receiving an e-newsletter that I produce. Every day is just another opportunity for virtual rejection.

What's rather interesting in this crazy self-absorbed analysis, is that, when it comes to me as a person, I'm increasingly less affected by others' opinions. With the exception of being perceived as unkind or just plain unlikable (you cut me deep, Shrek; you cut me very deep), I don't care so much what others think about me personally. As long as my Facebook likes don't dip below 500, I figure I'm okay. But seriously, if someone considers me outspoken (session members at church), obnoxious (other soccer moms), or a party pooper (anyone who's attended a party that I left early), I can shrug it off with a "who needs them anyway?" It just so happens that at this very moment, the issue of what others think is causing a disagreement between Rob and me. Since he loves when I bring him into my blog, allow me to explain:

Every October for the past several years, Rob and I have hosted a bonfire with friends. And since the beginning, invites to this shindig have included a "what to bring" list for guests. The deal has been that we provide the beer, chili, hot dogs and fire, and guests sign up to contribute food and drinks including soda, chips, soft pretzels, salads, finger food, desserts, water bottles, etc. This approach offers several benefits:

1. I don't need to cook. I don't like cooking and my cooking stinks, so everyone wins when I don't do it.
2. I don't have to spend hundreds of dollars on food and drink. Kegs are expensive enough.
3. I don't have to respond to dozens of "what should I bring" inquiries that leave me wondering what guests really will bring, thereby requiring me to cover all bases just to be safe.
4. No one feels guilty taking advantage of the generous donation of my yard debris to build an illegal fire.

The issue is that Rob, after having had this party for many years, now informs me that he thinks asking guests to bring something is tacky. And this/my tackiness is the reason why he always invites his coworkers personally rather than allowing me to include them on the Evite. I think Rob is a snob, as is any coworker or friend who is turned off by my request. Frankly, if that's your reaction, don't come. I can't imagine that any of my true friends, the people I most enjoy spending time with, think or feel that way.

I know my sister agrees with Rob. She would never have a party and ask people to bring something, but then my sister is a snob, too. What I want to know is how the rest of you feel. Do you think this is inappropriate, given the setting and casual nature of the event (we're not talking about a cocktail party, for which I would only request bottles of wine :-))? 

Since having learned how Rob feels about this, I am childishly refusing to have anything to do with the bonfire. If he thinks we shouldn't ask guests to chip in (literally!), then he can handle the whole megillah and I'll protest by going to the movies.  

I realize that it's ironic to ask who you think is right after trying to convince myself you that I don't care what others think of me personally. But alas, the future of this much-loved event rests on your response. No pressure.

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."

A Glimpse at the Real Kim

Well, I'm home. I returned from the Center for Career Development and Ministry having been picked apart, prodded, and poked with sticks. It was an emotionally and mentally draining experience but it did yield some insights which I'll share with you in a minute. First, however, I want to tell you what happens when you don't follow directions.

Before I left for CCDM, I was told to plan for some down time afterward, time away from kids, work, home, etc. Those "in the know" recommended I give myself an opportunity to process and reflect on all l I learned, as well as time to recover from the emotional and mental battering. I, however, decided to go home. And that's when the trouble started.

When Rob picked me up at the train station on Friday night, Ian and Abby were with him. They had just eaten at Max Brenner's. The chocolate restaurant. I think the kids would have been less hopped up if he'd given them each 16 ounces of Red Bull. The were entertaining, but exhausting. And of course Abby had made me a cake saying "Welcome Home, Mom!" And it was chocolate. And we all had a piece around 10 p.m. Suprisingly, the kids didn't get to bed at a reasonable hour on Friday night.

On Saturday things really got ugly.



The schnoz

I cut my nose while shaving my legs in the shower at the gym. As I posted on Facebook, I may be the first person in history to have done this. I don't know how it happened. I must have been day dreaming or had an itch or something. It hurt and I bled like a stuck pig and I had to somehow get out of the gym without leaving a trail of blood behind me.
Later on Saturday, when taking off my socks while simultaneously using the bathroom (I'm always multi-tasking), I dropped a sock in the toilet.

And on Sunday during dinner I bumped my plate and voila!

Hot dog and baked bean remnants

I think I should have taken some time off, as directed.

Now, because you all desperately want to learn more about my internal wiring, here are some highlights from the substantial number of things I learned while at CCDM:

• I am an ISTJ: Introvert, Sensing (vs. Intuition), Thinking (vs. Feeling), Judging (vs. Perceiving)
• Being an introvert justifies my going to bed before my party guests leave.
• Though I am an introvert, I'm off the charts in the Expressive category. This means I will gladly share my entire life story, but then I need to be alone for a while.
• Under "Thinking" I am a 5 out of 5 in the Critical category. I know everyone is surprised to hear this.
• I am highly sensitive to being left-out, left-behind, or ignored (like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction)
• I want to receive love and affection more than I want to give it.
• I don't tell others what to do (at the workplace, anyway), but I don't want to be told what to do either.
• I use passive-aggressive methods of rebelling, rather than openly hostile ones.
• My current job uses about about 95% of my strongest skills and 90% of my motivating values.
• But Marketing Manager is really, really low on the list of careers best-suited for me.
• Speaking of best careers for me:
• Paralegal
• Broadcast Journalist (ironic since this was my career goal until my junior year of college)
• Librarian
• Parks & Recreation Manager (???)
• Least appropriate careers for me:
• Architect
• Mathematician
• Religous/Spiritual Leader (and to think I briefly considered seminary)

The really good news is that I'm neither psychotic, schizophrenic, or bi-polar.  And according to the myriad of tests I took, I am living up to my potential.

So that's that. My future's clear as mud. Time to get back to work!

A Hair-Raising Experience

Well, the drama never ends around here. And it's not even exciting drama, it's just the everyday variety. Abby's illness turned out to be strep throat so she was home yesterday for the fifth straight day in a row. When we tried to run to Wawa for a smoothie, I discovered my car battery had died. Oh, and I received a truancy notice from Ian's school because I haven't turned in notes for his last three absences. For cryin' out loud. Enough already.

Generally, when life gets rocky or just plain annoying like this, a visit to the spa or health salon can do a girl a world of good. However, in keeping with the theme for 2011-2012, my most recent visit to the "spa" was downright irritating.



The hair styling and waxing area was in a tiny room in the back...

With a $50 gift card in hand, I paid a first time visit to the Spa at the Springfield Healthplex. The Healthplex is the gym I belong to so I expected the spa there to be equally overpriced but impressive. The pricing did not disappoint, but the "impressive" sure didn't hold true. I'm not sure which I found most disturbing:

• The cramped quarters in which waxing takes place an elbow's distance from the hair styling (an area about the size of an average walk-in closet)
• The one-sided conversation with the waxologist (is there a real name for those people who rip the hair out of your body?)
• The two-timing, hairball hacking stylist who laughed at everything whether it was amusing or not

Perhaps I'm high maintenance, but I've decided that from here on out I want my stylist all to myself. My guy alternately cut, colored, and styled me and another woman at the same time, and I found it incredibly annoying. Perhaps this was due in part because I didn't particularly like who I was sharing him with. In the space of 60 minutes, I pieced together way too much of this woman's story.

• Remarried
• Dopey husband who tells stupid, grandfatherly jokes
• 10-year-old daughter; allowed to play dress up with makeup and all, but only at home
• Baby
• Shore house
• Money
• Friend's kid has ADD; emptied very large toy closet in her son's room which is normally super neat and organized
• Diet coke addict; keeps it in her car
• Thoroughly enjoys smoking so she starts again after quitting during her pregnancies

And to top it off, it was clear she and the stylist were buddies. They talked about mutual friends and planned visits to the shore together. I felt so left out. It was like being the new girl at school, sitting alone at the lunch table and overhearing the cool kids talking. I don't particularly enjoy making chit chat with my stylist (even those I've known for years), but having to listen to someone else yap for an hour is worse. Ideally I would like peace and quiet in which to thoroughly enjoy this overpriced time away from home.

After this mini soap opera during which I numbed my mind with outdated People magazines, my only prayer was that I would leave the Spa looking like a million bucks. Or at least like the amount I paid. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure I would have done just as well at the Hair Cuttery for a third of the cost.

Oh, the trials and tribulations of a suburban working mom. The fun just never ends!

P.S. I enjoyed the husband's humor:

The kids ask "what's for dinner?"
He replies, "Shut up and get in the oven."

Ha!

Read 'Em and Weep?

I work in publishing. I know how difficult it is to get published. I know it's even more difficult to actually sell significant copies of your book if you do get published. With more than 250,000 new titles being released every year (in the U.S. alone), standing out from the crowd is no easy task. That's partly why I have made no real attempt to write my own. That, and my friend Emily never set a time for me to work on it. (You'll recall I require external motivation.)

Right now I find myself in the interesting--and new--position of being asked to review someone's book. Not someone who is publishing with us (Judson Press). Not a friend. Not even a no-name author self-publishing his literary masterpiece. I have been sent an advance reader copy of a Christian fiction book from FaithWords, the Christian imprint of Hachette Book Group USA, a major U.S. publisher. The author is a blogger whose posts I really enjoy. This will be his second book. His first, also Christian fiction, did very well. 

Frankly, I was a little surprised to receive a review copy of his upcoming book. I did offer to participate in his blog tour, but figured with a blog titled "Freakin' Angels" and my let-it-all hang-out content, a Christian writer might stay away from a not-always-appropriate Christian like me. But they're gutsy at those big NYC publishing houses, so I received the book with a letter asking me for a review.

I have now spent a couple weeks reading this book and I'm about one-third of the way into it. And I don't love it. But I don't hate it either. Frankly, I don't care about it, and the opposite of love isn't hate but indifference. When your writing doesn't move readers in some way, they're not going to discuss it with others and word of mouth is the very best way to sell books.

I am frustrated and disappointed in this, my first book review experience. Here's an author whose blog posts never fail to inspire me and engage me emotionally and spiritually. But his book has left me cold. I don't particularly care for the characters. The writing is pretty average. The setting in no way appeals to me. It appears that his blog writing skills don't translate into equally compelling fiction.


Right now I'm sure some kind, considerate, and less critical soul is saying, "Maybe it's just not your style." "Maybe you're not the target audience." "Do you even like Christian fiction as a genre?" "Perhaps you'll like this book by the end so you shouldn't judge it so harshly now." Those are all legitimate points.

So here's my dilemma. Assuming I don't care for the book if/when I finish it. Do I:

• Write an honest and objective review, highlighting the good, noting the weaknesses, acknowledging my biases?
• Write a positive review only focusing on what was good about the book and who it will appeal to?
• Not write a review at all?

No pressure, but I'm eagerly awaiting your advice...

Note: I purposely have not shared the name of the author or the title of the book. I want to first decide if I'm willing to be public about my feelings for it.

Everyone's a critic, right?

This may come as a shock to many of you, but I can be a bit critical. On occasion I have criticized my children. And sometimes their friends. And my friends. And even my church leaders. And occasionally Rob, although I'm careful with him because he can be vicious when attacked.

Like most Americans, I don't think this flaw (or my other one) are my fault. I could blame my critical nature on my fairly critical parents, but instead I think I'll blame it on reality television. "American Idol," in particular, has increased my capacity for criticizing. For ten solid years now, I've spent my winters judging others.

Who told this person he could sing?

Those screaming high notes make me want to scream, and not in a good way.

Bad song choice; a little pitchy; didn't work for me, dawg

How did she make it this far?

I really miss Simon Cowell. He's the only one who said what all of us critics are thinking.

You should know that my critical reviews and comments are not relegated to my living room or Hollywood productions. Closer to home, for example, the Media Theatre is hosting its third season of Delco Idol Jr. Ian's best friend Noah is competing* for the second year in a row and the kids and I enjoy attending the live performances. As you can imagine, however, this can be a hazardous outing for someone as critical as me. I have been known to visibly cringe when a singer causes me pain, comment when someone's flat or sharp, and grumble about every tacky little cheesy Broadway wanna-be who dresses in character and dedicates their mediocre performance to their dying grandmother whose only wish is that sonny-boy fulfill his dream of stardom. The biggest problem with my reactions is never knowing whom I'm sitting near. Best friend? Mom? Grandad? Neighbor? I have to watch my volume and facial expressions. It's a minefield out there for critical folks like me.

My critical nature extends to how I publicly (not in a snide whisper) show appreciation or displeasure at live performances. My friend Emily, Noah's mom and blogger at Mothers of Brothers, recently wrote a post titled "The Clapper."  Emily and I are polar opposites in this regard. She bravely goes out on a limb to applaud even when no one else is, and, in keeping with my critical nature, I am completely stingy with my applause. If I think you're awesome, I'll go embarrassingly overboard in my praise for your performance. Hooting and whooping are not out of the question. If, however, you do nothing for me, I may offer a brief clap, sometimes just one-handed, slapping my thigh to make a bit of noise. I have also been known to withhold my applause completely.

[And while we're on the topic of applause and performance recognition, I think we've become way too generous in our standing ovations. The last few professional performances I have attended have all garnered standing o's. Seriously, if we're going to stand up for everything, it rather dilutes the meaning behind it, doesn't it?]

Now you may be wondering how my critical nature works when it comes to my children and their performances (talent shows, musical events, sports). Rest assured, I do not take it easy on them. I'll always applaud the effort, but I'm also unfailingly honest when it comes to my constructive criticism. After all, I only offer my critique in an effort to help them improve and ultimately succeed. This may explain why Abby's a hyper-neurotic perfectionist and why Ian figures it's best to avoid performing at all. Hmmm. I may be on to something here. Well, shoot. Who knew that a blog post would reveal this psychological insight into my children and their issues personalities?

I better end this post right here. I have an important call to make. Can anyone recommend a good family therapist?

*Noah's Delco Idol run came to an end last evening. He was robbed. Creepy little over-performing Broadway star wanna-bees moved on, but guitar-playing rockers don't make it far in this strange little world of the theater...