Do over

I hate following directions.

A little independence and rebellion fuels a journalist's mindset well, but it's a bad trait for dressmaking.

At least until I get better at it.

My latest project is a cute little halter-top cocktail dress that I'm preparing for an upcoming wedding. The inspiration erupted a couple of months ago when I re-discovered about six yards of lavender satin that dates back to my wedding.

I dressed my bridesmaids in sleeveless lavender gowns, but fretted about a potential cold snap for my January ceremony, so we bought extra fabric to make shawls. Too much fabric obviously.

I had been saving the fabric, hoping for the right opportunity to start stitching. I also didn't feel like spending another $100 on a dress while I'm trying to juggling vacation spending money and house repairs.

The dressmaking has gone rather well. I did a decent job of cutting the pieces from the pattern, managed to stitch the bodice darts and the skirt well.

Then I decided to rework the bodice, knowing that some adjustments would be necessary because I am petite and short-waisted. BAD MOVE!

My changes made the bodice too loose and awkward looking and I almost gave up at 11:30 p.m. thinking it was ruined.

I regrouped and re-did the bodice, as laid out. And now it fits, not perfectly, but much closer to the intended look.

Got the hem to finish and a belt so I just hope to make my deadline. (The wedding is this coming Sunday.)

Sing-along

We marked yet another milestone for my son's childhood - his first baseball game.

The weather was comfortable, warm with a nice seabreeze, and we sat with one of his best buddies, soaking in the fun.

I don't think he really understood what was going on in the field, but we have time for him to understand the intricacies of the sport.

Instead, he loved all the entertainment that comes with the game - the team mascot greeting all the kids, a walking drink cup offering coupons for a local sub shop, funny souvenirs. He dined on chicken nuggets and french fries, a bit of popcorn and some ice cream.

And he got his first lesson in the massive group sing-along. "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" didn't capture him, not when that song competes against Queen and the Village People.

What could be cuter than a 3-year-old stomping his feet, saying, "We will, we will, ROCK YOU!" or contorting his arms to sing YMCA? He's been practicing at home, for his next baseball game.

Integrity

In the dozen years since I finished college, it has never been more difficult to be a journalist than it is today.

Yes, journalists aren’t perfect and there are some bad journalists out there, who have done some very stupid things.

But I cringe when I bear the brunt of that, from those who barely know me, who assume that the media is some Borg-like machine, out to destroy society. We are not the scapegoats to all the ills of the world.

In fact, most of the people at my job reflect society, having similar histories, lifestyles, mental quirks and crises to everyone else.

Still, I know how important it is that journalists live up to their crucial roles as watchdogs. Like many organizations, my newspaper has a strict, well-outlined ethics policy, trying to set the standard for us to live by, which will make us better watchdogs of those we are supposed to be watching.

A favorite mentor of mine once told me: “Never give up your integrity because there’s no way you can ever get it back.”

I EMBRACE the ethics policy. No free lunches or free gifts over $5. No free tickets to events. No political contributions. No joining any organization that you cover or that you may write about.

And no writing about organizations or activities that involve close family members.

This is challenging when you cover environmental issues and your husband is, by any measure, an environmental activist. But I end up almost ignoring my husband’s environmental group or his activities to avoid any semblance of a conflict of interest.

All that came to a head this week, when my husband oversaw a major statewide conference for his environmental group, with nearly 400 people in attendance, top speakers from around the state and a keynote address from a nationally-known author.

It was a marvelous conference, well-organized, with great speakers at a wonderful location.

Unfortunately, for various reasons, my newspaper was nearly silent on the matter, the choice of other editors and writers.

I ended up fielding the question a few times about why there were no articles about the conference in my publication, especially none written by me. Usually, when I said “ethics violation,” people understood.

Yet a couple of people didn’t, and tried to debate me on ways that I could write that story.

I just couldn’t stomach that. Imagine if some politician out there was using his/her position to promote the spouse’s cause and violate ethics. I would be the first journalist to ream that politico for it. I would be just as unhappy seeing a colleague promoting about a spouse’s cause.

One person never asked me once about coverage of the event – my Darling Husband. He understands the need to maintain my integrity.

It’s nice to discover new reasons why I married him.

Internal investigation

My son's latest fascination just proves, yet again, that he is SO BOY.

When he goes potty, he regularly calls me, not because he needs help because a big boy like him doesn't need help, thank you very much.

No, he calls, because he wants to watch the inner workings of the toilet tank.

All of this started at Nana's house. My mother-in-law may have had trouble with her toilet. So she opened up the tank and let my boy have a peek.

He has been enchanted every since.

What has followed are lengthy questions and discussions about the parts inside the tank, how they work, how the water flows in and out. And he has asked to have the tank opened every time he goes.

I'm just thankful he hasn't gotten too curious about the other end of the toilet cycle.

Persistence of memory, round II

Last night, I was drying my boy after his bath when he decided to line up all the marine animal toys that are part of his daily bath. He has more than a dozen animals in the menagerie including 2 whales and 2 sharks.

Then he made up a sing-songy verse, imitating the words from this Eric Carle book.

The book features a dozen endangered species (No, we didn't buy the book. It was a present), each one introducing the next animal.

So, a la Eric Carle, my son says: "Sea lion, sea lion, what do you see? I see an octopus swimming by me. Octopus, octopus, what do you see? I see a mako shark swimming by me." Et cetera, et cetera.

Now, I've read this book more than a dozen times to him, but it never occurred to me how much he had absorbed from that book.

In fact, I feel certain that he isn't listening somtimes when I am telling him to clean up his toys.

But other times, he's intently listening and remembering what he heard, and he'll stir up that memory again when the opportunity arises.

His memory is very random. The other day, he kept chatting about a video about dump trucks, recalling what the main character said and did, as if he just saw it yesterday. But it's been at least 4 months since he watched the thing.

The weirdest moment was a few days ago when we saw a pregnant lady and I explained, "You were once a baby inside my belly and then we went to the hospital to get you out."
Then he tells me, "But I was stuck and I couldn't come out."

What's crazy is he's absolutely right. After 20 hours of labor, there came a point when he was literally stuck and I didn't have the energy for that last push. The doctor set a deadline of 15 minutes before he would resort to a Caesarian. Then I channeled my reserves to push with all my might so that surgery wouldn't be necessary.

I stared at my son, who is nearly 4, and asked him, "Do you really remember that?" I know we have never, EVER discussed his birth in that sort of detail before.

He nodded and smiled, then changed the course of the conversation by grabbing his monster truck.

Surviving outside The City

I moved to Florida with an optimistic mindset - that I could little jewels of culture and the good things in life to make myself feel at home.

It hasn't always been easy, but when I discover a good place, it's a great find.

At the moment, I am sitting at this awesome little cafe, working on an out-of-town story assignment. I am deep in the heart of rural Florida, in a small town where Southern drawls and greasy, fatty fried foods and cell phone dead zones dominate. The business next door to the cafe is an indoor gun range.

Yet this cafe thrives, offering its lattes, and gorgonzola-stuffed paninis, and free Wi-Fi. And I can work, and be comfortable, eat good food and drink some good coffee. And while I wait for the editor to finish, I can surf the web and update the blog and enjoy a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie.

And at the moment, this is good enough for me.

The Taoism works.

I decided to try one of these online quizzes.

According to the results, I am a Zen Mom.

How do you do it? Even when explosions are all around, you are able to take a deep cleansing breath and chant your mantra "this too shall pass." You are a calming influence on your kids in a hectic world.

Homecoming

Whenever Florida folks hear that I’m headed up to New York City, they always ask me, “Are you going to a Broadway show?”

While I do love theater, that is never a priority on my agenda.

A trip to The City gives me a chance to reconnect with my family, to look up friends that I hadn’t seen, and to get a taste of my old life.

And my boy gets his chance to bond with my family. He only sees them 2 or 3 times a year, yet there's now doubt that he absolutely adores them all and wants to cling to them at every waking moment.

The added bonus is that I also get a vacation from some of the tedium of being Mommy. I can dine with friends and hear about triathlon training and business trips to South Africa and raising children in The City and gossip about other people that I once knew, years ago.

The only downside is that three Manhattan dinners may have ruined my recent diet, and brought back the pounds, despite all that extra walking I did.

Usually, shopping is a highlight of the trip, but this year’s fashions just frustrated me. Or made me laugh. Peasant skirts, sheer lacy camisoles, and bubble skirts may look great up there, but it’s just not me. This Working Mom has become too practical to spend money on stuff that I know I could never wear to work.

I found the crowds annoying at times, too. One night, I went to the movies with friends and despite arriving well before the previews, it proved impossible to get 3 seats together. I also gave up on trying on clothes at one of the stores when I saw the line was 12 women long, most of them clutching huge armfuls of their own stuff. This is where Florida has spoiled me. Lines are unheard of, outside of the Orlando tourist zone.

Yet it was comforting to know that a part of me still fits in there. My brain clicks on “City Mode” and it all comes rushing back to me – how to navigate the streets, how to watch my back when I’m coming home late, how to bargain for bling bling in Chinatown, how to read the Times on the subway while standing in a cramped car. Those are things that no tourist guide to Manhattan could ever teach.

Hiatus

A fellow writer remarked to me about how work can be so draining on us that the last thing you want to do on your day off is to write.

How true this is.

This explains why I've been absent from the blog lately - that and the fact that I lacked a high-speed Internet connection during my vacation.

However, I'm back in my normal mode and I'll have more to blog later, once I can snap out of these post-vacation blues....