You know you live in Philadelphia when you spend all week in anticipation of Friday because it's only going to be ninety degrees by then.

Only.

There's an old song by the Lovin Spoonful called Summer in the City that hits the whole thing right where it needs to be hit.  I love that song. 

And holy crap, how about that storm yesterday?  I was actually caught outside in it, but I do that sort of stuff on purpose.  Growing up on the south shore of a Great Lake it's pretty hard to ruffle my weather feathers.  Seventy-five mile winds and dime sized hail?  Bring it. 

I didn't even carry an umbrella with me yesterday.  But I will admit that when the hail started I tucked myself into a subway stairwell on Broad and Ellsworth and watched the thing from a dozen feet or so underground with a dozen or so strangers.. 

And to make is awesomer?  Someone above ground and across the street was shooting fireworks and flares into the air during the whole thing.  Why?  I don't know.  Dangerous?  Hells yes.  But it was still pretty damned cool.

I love extreme weather.  It brings us all together in a strange and beautiful way.  We are all at the mercy of something big that we can't control, and we start taking care of each other like old comrades.  We laugh in spite of it, complain because of it, check in on our neighbors, and when we pass on the street or wait in line at the bank we always have something to talk about.

Talking about the weather isn't so bad.  I don't know why it gets such a bum rap.

Weather is the common denominator. 

If you ask me, at least.

But who am I?

Just a girl who's happy there's a break in the heat.

***

I'm headed down to Baltimore tomorrow.  MJ is hosting and (blogless) Nadine and I are driving down in her car and Tavia is coming from Central PA and Nicole is headed over from the Eastern Shore.  We all used to waitress together back in the golden olden days, so you know there'll be no shortage of storytelling and laughing and catching up. 

I can't wait to get some time in with my fatgirls.  It's much needed, and next time I hope even more of us can make it.  We are literally all over the globe these days, so it's not so easy.  Used to be we were about sick of each other every damned day now we are heartsick for one another.  Funny how times change.

Also?  We will be making Lavender Gin Fizzes to wash down the crabs.

PS- I've never eaten a crab out of the crab and I don't know if I'll be able to stomach it but there will be plenty of other food.  I have issues with using an animal's carcass as a vehicle to eat said animal.  Or like, meat off the bone.  Using a chicken drumstick bone or a rib as an emmereffing HANDLE to ease you in the gnawing of the meat?  Ohmygross.  Also, I'm not a big fan of cutesy nicknames to distract a person from what they are actually eating.  It's not a drumstick.  IT'S A G.D. LEG!  YOU ARE EATING SOMEONE'S LEG!  Ever wonder why fish is called fish and chicken chicken and turkey turkey and crabs/shrimp/lobster/ scallops, crabs/shrimp/lobster/scallops but beef isn't called cow and when you eat a pig it has a billion different names depending on what part you are eating? 

I think that's racist. 
Specist. 
Definitely some sort of -ist.

good times

Well hello there.
Long time no see.

I really want to type "things have been crazy here and there is just no time to blog", but when people write that I roll my eyes.  So I won't do it here.

Even though I really want to.

***

Work has been wild, but steady.  For me.  Not so much for a lot of people I work with.  There is a huge scramble all over the place these days.  Lots of layoffs and funding cuts and big changes in all the little places.  It's scary.  Philadelphia, and social services in particular, were hit with job losses but no where near what seems to be going on in other places.  It's catching up with us though.

***

Remember how I kept trying to get you guys to move two doors down from me?  Too late.  The house sold, finally.  The old owner was asking 240K for it, I wonder how much she got.  You know I'll be scanning the real estate stats for details.  The seller paid 158 for it in 2005.  I'm guessing she may have at least sold it for 200, the house is almost 1000 square feet, so that would be about fair.  It's nice to know that the housing market is still relatively stable in these parts.  By the way, in the early 2000s, houses were going for around 50 or 60K in my neighborhood.  Shame I didn't buy then, but it wasn't as nice then either.  Just lots of old people and their punk ass middle aged kids still living with them.  When we bought the house in 2005, we paid more than 120K more than the people who we bought it from paid in 2001.  And we stole that house.

I love the way the world works some times.  The good thing is (wait until you hear how good this is) that the lady we bought it from came down with a nasty case of crippling lupus right around when her daughter had a baby with Downs Syndrome and there was some other family crisis she didn't feel comfortable sharing over the closing table.  So her and her boyfriend really needed to get out of a two story house and move in with the daughter to help out with all of the grandkids while her daughter took care of her new baby's needs.  So hopefully all that money went to a good place.  Hopefully.

***

What else?  I'm reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.  Trying to read it.  I'm not loving it, and I'm wondering if this is a boybook.  I feel the same way I did when I tried to read stuff by Tom Clancy.  Not that I like any romance or whatever in my books, but I hate financial scandals (and war details).  I just zone out.  I'll keep reading since this is, like, totally the trendiest book in America right now. 
You know, I found five different printings of the books when I went to the bookstore on Friday.  The hardback, of course.  And then four paperback versions, ranging in price from $19.95 down to $7.95.  The difference was in the quality of paper and the size of the page.  The $7.95 copies were on the regular shelf, the more expensive ones were showcased on endcaps and table displays.
I'm finding that the same is true for the John Irving books I'm reading.  I haven't paid more than $7 for any of them yet.

I should just get my lazy arse over to the library.  But when I love a book, I like to pass it on and I've found that the library isn't too keen on me lending their stuff out.

***

Jake went to the dentist today.  He got the all clear and I felt like the World's Best Mom for twenty minutes.  Brushing is of prime importance to me, so I'm glad it's paying off.

***

I've been having dreams about you guys.  Well, not all of you, and I'm certainly not going to tell which ones of you, but lots of you are major players in my night vision.  And to narrow it down, I haven't been dreaming of anyone I know in real life.  It's nothing weird or sexy or anything.  Just us doing normal stuff.  BBQing, shopping, sitting the kids down and watching a movie.

***

I really want to thank all of you who donated to the PHIT theater.  I was totally riveted when I saw a few names up there that I knew from blogging.  I need to expand my vocabulary for saying thank you, because I don't have the words to say how much it means to me that you guys do a little somethinsomethin just because I toss the idea up here.

That said, the campaign is still going on and even though we've surpassed our goal, we are pushing forward.  The actual fund raising effort goes through December, this is just the first phase of it all, and if the theater raises $50,000 an anonymous donor has promised to match it.  I heard that this was the most popular theater project ever on Kickstart (the Amazon fueled host that is keeping track of the contributions) and I think the most popular comedy project too.

It's awesome because  you can pledge as little as a dollar, and just by doing that you make the project more popular because it counts names as well as dollar amounts.  It's also awesome because you get something in return for your donation.  Whether it's a name plaque for $10 or a toilet in your honor for $750 (god I want a toilet in my honor) you get something.  So, yeah.  Toilets.

Thank you.

And if you find yourself with a surplus of cash for some reason, check it out:


I gave a few dollars when the project started with the intention of either taking another class this summer or giving the cash to the cause.  Well, I'm not taking the class because I've already had the teacher before- I like to mix it up- and the class starts a half hour after my team practice and it's in another part of town.  But now I'm thinking of all the other things I could do with that cash, so I'm a little torn.  But I promised myself.  But I can use it somewhere else.  But I promised myself.  But I can use it somewhere else.

It's hard to be charitable.

***

So, a few weeks ago I started a Flickr stream for Oh, the Urbanity! because my blog kept getting full (Picasa only lets you put so many pictures up).  Not twenty minutes after I opened the account and posted pictures- before I even told anyone about the thing- I got a comment on one of the pictures. 

The comment said?

"nice pic.  that's my house."

holycrapholycrapholycrap.whatnow?

So I went to that person's photos and said something like "thanks, I do this thing where I take pictures of interesting things all over town and put them on the internet and if you don't want that up there I'll take it down I just thought it looked cool and by the way, if that's your house then I'm your neighbor". 

I freaked because I've never gotten caught taking a picture and I've certainly never been called out on the internet as taking a picture of someone's something or other.  I also freaked because I thought that house was empty, but in this dude's photos, it shows him and his lady doing work on the house for the past few years. 

And to make a weird story weirder, I actually saw the guy and his girlfriend on the street that same day, and they were talking to my neighbor that I hate, but I wanted to introduce myself.  And that went well.  Even the part about me telling the girlfriend that I took pictures of her scaffolding and put them on the internet and her boyfriend found them and sent me an email saying so.

Awkward.

At least it was just some scaffolding and not something I was making fun of them about that got some comments making even more fun of them.

At least that.

***

 

I think that just about covers it.  Blah blah work.  Blah blah kid.  Oh, Father's Day.  That happened.  So did Mother's Day last month.  Fake holidays are so effing stupid.  But we did bake a cake both days.  Jake picked the types of cake for each.  Mother's Day was a white poke cake with strawberry jello topped with Dream Whip and  sprinkles (even those little silver bb ones!  I love those, and found them after a decade-long search that ended at the Reading Terminal.  Of course.  All food searches come to an end there) and Father's Day was a strawberry cake with white icing and chocolate chips sprinkled on top.  It's way too intense for me.

Jacob can write his name now (JAcob, he doesn't get the lowercase thing, and doesn't want to stop making capital A's) so it's adorable to see him sign the "card" which for Father's Day was a piece of typing paper with DAD jakewritten on the front, a bunch of stuff that Jacob dictated to me that I handwrote and Jake's signature.  Cute.  Now Dave has to find a place to put it, because there is nothing worse in the world than throwing out a piece of paper that your kid wrote all over.

Especially when your kid is a trashpicker and catches you every time.

tasteless, redux

Last summer I posted about this dirty joke I ask people to get in on.  Long story short, I ask that the word "gas" be replaced with the word "pussy".  So every time you want to say gas, say pussy instead.  It's really funny. 

To me at least.  And to a few of you guys, who left awesome comments on that post that I linked to up there.  Definitely worth a re-read.

I was catching up on blogs this afternoon (I brought my Reader from over 1000 to under 100.  I'm exhausted.  I've been off-blogs since the beginning of the month) and I came across a website that allows you to replace one word with another on a random sampling of people's Twitter streams. 

I present you with Pussy is the New Gas.  You can make your own ____ is the New ____.  Just fill in the boxes and hit the orange DO IT box at the top of the page.  Also, it's worth going back again and again because the entire page refreshes every few minutes with new tweets.  And new laughs.

Enjoy.  Or puke.  Or shake your head disapprovingly. 

Thanks David.  If there was one thing the world needed to hear about tonight, it's this.

Man, doing promo work on blogs is difficult.  I don't know how people keep up with everything that they do on their blogs, there are all sorts of conditions and rules and formatting and technical stuff and the pressure to post is terrible some days.

I considered quitting the BABIES promotion twice. 

Time is a bit troublesome these past few months.  Work is busy, home is busy, life is busy.  The weather was crappy for awhile.  The things I was up against in the office were crappy for awhile.  Jake was crappy for awhile.  I was crappy for awhile.  When crap piles up, I tend to just lie there under it all.  Crap can be shockingly warm and squishy and comforting.  But it stinks, so you have to come up for air now and then.  So I did.  Begrudgingly.

Then there was the constant inbox assault from one of the companies involved in the promo.  I don't run ads, I don't do promos, I don't do reviews.  But I didn't want to tell them that because I didn't want to impact upon my chances of winning.  So, I politely hit delete and never returned any of the offers.

Then there was the fact that I wasn't too sure what the prize might be, and I didn't want to win anything that I don't think is healthy or wise to use.  I have silly standards, yes.  But there are some things on the market that many sources are giving away for free that I want no part of. 

There were a couple prize packs that included things that I don't use in my home, but aren't going to kill anyone so I figured I could go ahead and give it away without going to hell.  Then there was stuff that wasn't really beneficial to the community at large, so I went ahead and arranged with a few readers who were willing to make a cash donation and a couple who have ties with some companies, just in case I didn't win or I didn't win anything substantial.  I couldn't ask you to click until your finger was numb and then have nothing happen.  So I put together a Plan B.

Then there was the no-feedback thing, so I didn't know how the heck we were doing over here and I sort of lost faith that anything was being tallied at all.  When I missed posting for a week or so I thought my chances were done for and I almost gave up.  But I don't like to give up so I didn't.

Then finally I got the offer to attend the screening in NYC, and the chance to speak with the director so I figured we were doing well. 

By "we" I mean "you".  I'm sort of a half wit, and I never clicked on my own badge.  If I ran for President I would probably vote for the other guy.  Just because it's uncomfortable to me to self-promote.  But it wasn't uncomfortable for me to click, I just never did because I never thought to until it was all done and over with.  That saying about losing your head if it wasn't screwed on so tight?  That's about me.  Between getting the codes and pasting them and coming up with something to post about and wondering how it was going and everything?  I was tired.  (note/dirty secret: I don't proofread what I post here.  It runs along the same lines of reasoning).

I figured I had to be top 200 or so, which is good.  There were 75 Honorary Mention prizes worth about five bucks.  J&J products.  And 19 Fourth Prizes of a car seat.  The car seat would have rocked for one family, the J&J pack I would have probably given to a family who had just entered shelter and maybe bought a few cases of baby stuff to donate to our Emergency Shelter System with the money that Plan B would have pulled in.

Third Prize (and maybe this is a typo because it's worth less than the 4th Prize) was a chance at nine DVD prize packs worth $50.  The last thing I wanted donated to a family is a movie, but I figured these would be great at a shelter or rehab or something where there is communal television time.

The two second prizes were $300 breast pumps, which I would have given to a nursing support group.

First prize was a $350 fancy pants stroller.  I really hoped I didn't win that.  No one I work with can benefit from a $350 stroller.  No one in the world should have a $350 stroller.  I hoped this one would go to a mom who was doing the promo for herself.  I'd rather take $350 and buy 35 umbrella strollers and distribute them accordingly.  If I won First Prize, I would have appealed to the sponsor to maybe do the same.  

The Grand Prize was one years worth of Pampers diapers.  Man alive, I wanted one years worth of Pampers diapers.  I hoped and wished on stars and dandelions for a years worth of Pampers diapers.  That's a lot of diapers, and I've seen lots of babies tied up in old t-shirts and stuff and suffering from terrible rashes caused by a lack of diaper changes because moms and dads couldn't afford a bag of diapers.
Heck, there were times when I had a hard time scraping up the dollars for a bag of diapers.  They aren't cheap.

And guess what?  We won.  The Grand Prize.  Thank you so much guys.  I can't say it enough.  These diapers are going to the mommy-baby programs that serve all of Philadelphia under (insert my workplace here).  Because I'm donating them to my work and allowing the prize to go directly to the office, Pampers is willing to drop the estimated value of the prize ($600) to a lower amount without dropping the heft of the prize so I'm not responsible for the taxes that I would normally be responsible for, so score one for them too.

As pain in the assy some of this was, I'm so incredibly grateful for and proud of you guys and the prize people have been nothing but accommodating because I was on a whirlwind tour of New Jersey this weekend and all of my time stamp requirements on the forms and faxes and mailings and notarized affidavits and releases (seriously) were waived for me for a few days.  I guess they felt bad for me when I said I was in Jersey.  Or something.

So yeah.  We won.  You won.  All I did was put some dumb links up on the internets.  You were the one who put links on your blog and twittered the shit out of my blog and facebooked this crap and everything.  Next time I see you I'll kiss your index finger, I'm sure it's still sore from all the clicking.

And if you want to do more?  Ask me.  Your time is most valuable, but for some of you cash is more easily expended than your minutes.  I understand.  And we can work together to figure out how your dollars can be used well in your community or in mine.  If you live in a utopia and your neighbors don't need any help, I'll be the first to stand up and say mine do and I am really super connected with tons of community organizations, services, and agencies so if you have a personal cause I can link you up to someone who does the dirty work for you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I would love for all of you who are comfortable to leave your name in the comments if you clicked.  Let me know who you are so I can send you some well deserved words of thanks.  Let me know if you linked your blog to mine, or spread the word over Twitter or Facebook or told a friend of a friend of a friend that you knew someone who was doing a little something for this thing.  It all helped.

And I and my boss and my colleagues and the people who will benefit from all this thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

My Improv Theater is looking to build a new home.  If you have a few dollars that you would like to toss our way that would be incredibly awesome of you.  More information can be found by clicking the pic above.  I like this sort of fundraiser because you get a little something when you give.  I'm a sucker for my name on a plaque.  I will have my name on a plaque.  So will Jake.  And if you do I'll take a nice picture of it and send it to you.  It takes all of ten bucks.

Here is the official appeal letter if you are the type that likes appeal letters.  I do.  If I was sending this to you personally, I'd hand write your name and my signature and then I'd include a little personal note in the margin.  Who's a highly trained fundraiser?  This girl. 

On May 12 the Philly Improv Theater (PHIT) launched our first-ever fundraising campaign. We are excited that after five years of work to create a thriving comedy community in Philadelphia, we are finally raising funds to build the permanent home this scene deserves, and now we need your help.



Your support will determine the success of our effort, as PHIT strives to reach our initial $10,000 goal by the end of this week. If successful, PHIT will gain momentum before the first phase of campaign ends, allowing us to drive our total fundraising much higher.


Will you please make a donation of $25 or more right now?


Philadelphia is the only Top 20 metropolitan area in the country that does not have a dedicated home for alternative comedy. Such a space will allow us to vastly expand our show and class offerings and make Philly a national destination for comedy performers. By making a gift to PHIT, you are helping the theater’s hundreds of students and performers to have a place that can serve as a hub for their classes, rehearsals, and performances – but also as the place where this community can come together, encouraging more collaboration.


If PHIT can raise $50,000 before before December 31, 2010 a generous anonymous donor has agreed to match that amount - bringing our campaign total to $100,000. We can't risk coming up short and failing to take advantage of this incredible opportunity, and we are asking for your support.


Help us reach our initial $10,000 fundraising goal!


Your donation of $25 or more will push us over the top in our first phase of the campaign - giving us money to move forward immediately and continue the work PHIT is doing to secure a space. Please know that we are deeply appreciative of any support you can offer.


Thank you,
Lora

Also, I just got word about an hour ago that I'm one of the winners of the BABIES clicky thing!  You guys are so incredible.  I have no idea what I've won, but it's something and as soon as I know, you will too.  I'll be donating whatever it is (plus a few additional things and/or dollars) to local families who will be chosen by the social workers I have contact with.  Details will be up asap, I promise.
You are amazing, and your clicks have and will make a difference in the life of a baby and a mommy and maybe some brothers and sisters and dads and grandparents too.
Pat yourself on the back, you deserve it.
One thousand thank yous from me to you.

A week and a day ago I made my stage debut for my first improv show.  It was taped, but then the tape got ruined.  It's a shame, because I really wanted to see it and show it off.  I think I did a pretty good job.  And now I want to be on stage every day of my life.  I really can't believe how much I loved it.  Why I spent my entire life terrified of doing stuff in front of people I don't know.  But I do know that it took lots and lots of hours of practice and performing before I was ready to get up there.  One hundred hours, give or take.  You know how they say you can't get time back?  I am really glad those 100 hours weren't spent on the couch or at the bar or in front of the computer or with my nose in a book.  Those 100 hours were well spent.

I love time well spent.

I should be on stage again in a month or so.  I'll keep you updated.

***

Speaking of one's nose in a book, I'm still plugging along (I hate that phrase.  I think it's because my mom calls tampons, "plugs".  Go ahead and puke now or puke later) with the John Irving collection.  I finished Hotel New Hampshire and I'm picking up Cider House Rules tonight.  I thought I still had a copy of CHR around the house, but I can't find it.  I most likely gave it away, I tend to do that with books.  I feel that they are meant to be passed around and loved rather than banked on a shelf.  So what if I don't get it back.  It's out there in the world somewhere doing good things, and isn't that what we want for everything and everyone we love?
The World According to Garp was a bit different this time around than it was last time.  The first time I read it I was probably a teenager, and was still in an invincible stage.  This time around I have a child and a crippling sense of doom and karma.  The combination of those two things made it a hard read, but I am glad to know that it must be a common theme among parents, since the book is so successful. 

***

Sometimes I catch myself doing things that are going to land Jacob in therapy.  He is in that strange limbo stage where he wants a little privacy in the bathroom, but likes me to be in there with him.  I hate being in there with him.  It's hot, and smelly, and small.  The only ventilation in the bathroom is a tiny window, and there is no AC in the house.  So you can imagine what a displeasure being in there is.  If I give in to him and I sit in there, I usually make use of the time and shave my legs.  I just sit there on the edge of the tub in my underpants and talk to him while he tries to poop and I try breathing whatever it is that I'm using to shave (soap? lotion? conditioner? shampoo? whatever) instead of his stink. 

Maybe that's not the most responsible thing to do.  Maybe that's how fetishes are born.

***

I have a blog award waiting in the wings.  It's from The Fabulous Bitch at The Joys of My Splintered Life in Smalltown.  Do you read her blog?  It's fun and serious and hilarious and righteous and full of awareness and justice and compassion and all sorts of things and I really wish she lived here because she would totally fulfill my fantasy of a gay man in a woman's body.  Trust me when I tell you, that is the highest order of compliments.

***

My mom and her friend were out on a walk the other day when my  mom really had to pee.  Lucky for her, she was right in front of her childhood home and the new owners were outside.  Because there is no such thing as shame when you are part of our family, she asked to go.  She said that the house was a bit different- the family room is now the living room and the living room is the master bedroom and the broom closet is now the basement stairs, but her room (the "playroom") and the second bedroom (the "eagle room") was the same and the telephone was still in the bathroom from when my grandad put it in there, probably 15 or 20 years ago.  I forgot to ask if it was the same phone, or just a phone on the same jack.  If it's the same phone?  Gross.  It was brown, and didn't show- um- dirt so maybe they liked that about it.  The new owners are moving and told my mom to feel free to come and dig up all the plants on the side of the house.  They have been there for my whole life, and I'm guessing most of my mom's whole life too.  She will take them and plant them in her yard.  Maybe some day I'll be digging them out of my mom's yard and planting them in my own.

(grab your cat or a small child.  Cue The Circle of Life.  Now hold your cat/baby above your head.  Good.)

I lived in that house for awhile, and it's my dream house.  Not necessarily the house I've always wanted, but the house that is the stage for all of my dreams when I'm in a house.  Does that make sense?  I don't dream about any other house but that one, and even if I dream of something that is set today, like if Jake is there or whatever, that house is the stage.  When I was little I called it "Pink Mimi's House".  Not to be confused with "Green Mimi's House".  Two different houses, two different Mimis.  Pink Mimi's house was pink.  Green Mimi had that low pile green carpet that probably 75% of all Mimis had.  Thinking back, I think that Pink Mimi had the same carpet.  Pink Mimi died when I was five, Green Mimi is still alive.

***

Ten years ago today I was on an airplane to Rome.  Dave went to summer school at the Temple Law Roma Campusa (I don't know how to say Campus in Italian, so I just added an -a) and I tagged along.  We stayed with five other people in an off-campus apartment and all the other students stayed in the dorms.  Suckers.  I think our address was Via del Corso, 81.  Quite sure, in fact, after Googlemapping it.  I dug out my journal and plan to read each entry on the day I stuck them in there.  If I see anything that's exciting or interesting, I'll tack it up here.  It was amazing, and I don't want to go anywhere anymore if I can't go for six weeks.  Every vacation I've taken since has felt rushed.  Funny how fast a girl can acclimate herself to luxe trips.

JMH, a fellow blogger and Urbanitist wrote a post awhile back about a shooting near his home.  I've been meaning to write something as a sort of response.  About what it's like to live in middle class bliss, blocks away from horrifying conditions.  The news doesn't let us forget what life is like over there.  Over there under the helicopters and police cameras.
I wanted to write something about how sometimes it trickles over.  The boy who killed the other boy up the street and around the corner.  They were both from over there.  One of the boys robbed the other's brother and beat him up so bad he'll never walk again.  So brother number two chased him down down down the street for a mile and finally caught up to him very near to my house.  My home.  And when he caught him, he killed him.  They were so young, 12, 13 maybe.  And poor.  And black.  And they were famous for 15 minutes but now I haven't heard mention of it for three or four years.  It happened right after Jake was born, in the spring when the weather broke.

Lots happens when the weather breaks.

And a young girl was killed two blocks away from here.  Her boyfriend killed her about a year and a half ago.  They were teenagers, parents of a child about Jake's age.  A memorial altar went up.  Candles that burn for days, stuffed bears, flowers that were half dead before they made it there.  It may have been in the news.  Another dead Puerto Rican girl.  Another being the operative term there.  Eyes roll when the story gets passed from neighbor to neighbor.  It never made the local paper and I didn't see mention of it on philly.com when I looked it up to see what happened.  "Perta Rickens", my neighborhood watch person said.  "You know how they are.  Always so passionate and quick to escalate a situation."

When you check the crime maps, my street is relatively clean.  Three blocks east and four blocks west is where the trouble starts.  Ten blocks up sees some trouble, but twenty up is where it really starts.  Twenty blocks in my town is equal to twenty miles in most. 

If something happens a quarter mile away, I rarely give it any thought.  If something happens last night, I dismiss it by noon today.  The time space continuum here is askew.  Here in Philadelphia, here in my mind.

But tonight it's a bit different.  Last night was different.  The night before that.  There's a killer out there.  One that gets white girls. 

A couple years ago a man was dragging women into alleyways and raping them.  Raping them in the middle of the day right off of Girard Avenue between Front and Fifth and walking away like nothing happened.  3 or 4 o'clock in the afternoon, 3 or 4 women, 3 or 4 years ago.  I forget if they caught him.  I stopped worrying.  I forgot all about the whole thing until a couple days ago.
Oh and hey, then there were the bodies they found up there with the organs harvested.  Two of them, I think.  Found in abandoned houses and precisely cut like surgery.  Who knows what becomes of that.  It's big news at first and then nothing.

That neighborhood isn't too much different than mine.  It's not as good, and I wouldn't live there, but it's okay for the most part.  It's half pretty good and half not great and about a mile from town and nearby to a place that I've worked in enough to know that it isn't decent for anyone at all.  There are lots of college kids and young educated families settling in, and the nightlife is pretty damned fantastic.  If you're into nightlife, that is.  The rest of everyone else has been there for generations.  The new folk live alright with the old folk and there's a sense of community that makes one feel safe and watched and appreciated. 
The turnover from shit to chic happened so fast.  That's the difference between my neighborhood and that one.  It happened so quick.  Maybe too quick.
If I lived there, I'd probably do what I do here.  Leave the house all the time and bum around.  Stop in for a drink or two at the bar with my friends and leave before they do.  Leave alone.  Walk home alone.  Aware of the people around me but not worried whether they were aware of me.

I've done it hundreds of times.  A thousand.  Here, downtown, on the other side of South Philly when I lived over there.  In my college town when I was there.  In my college town where I never felt very safe.  Too many trees and bushes and big yards and sheds and drunk boys and deranged townies.  Too many stories of date rapes and sneak attacks.  Nothing that ever made the news of course.  It was the suburbs.  No one wants to hear about those things out there.  But it made the people talk and the university ticker tick.  You can always find real crime reports in university records.  There are stricter reporting laws.  You just need to know where to look.  Being a Criminal Justice major, we knew everything about everything that was going on.  It was part of the program.  Awareness.  Knowledge.

So, there's a killer on the loose.  One that gets white girls.  Well, whitish.  Half white I'm guessing.  Her last name is Irish.  That's enough to cause quite a stir.  Bad stuff happens to black girls all the time.  And Asian.  And Hispanics.  But it never rallies a community.

Funny how that works, isn't it? 

On Wednesday a 20 year old girl left a friend's house after midnight on her bike and someone took her from in front of her house right there on 4th and Girard in front of God and everybody and beat her and sexually assaulted her and strangled her to death.  The police think she died two or three hours later.

Two or three hours is a very long time.

So now we are all on guard. 

I went out last night.  I stayed in South Philly.  I refused to take a cab home.  Not my normal cab boycott though.  Not the boycott that saves me $7 and saves me from leaving a bigger carbon footprint than I need to in a walkable city with an excellent public trans system.  I refused to take a cab because I didn't want it to be just me and a man in a car, alone together. 

Makes me wonder if that's why I really instilled the boycott in the first place.
 
I walked home alone, about a block and a half.  But there were plenty of people out and when I got home I locked the door and checked the house for anything amiss and found the cat and double checked the locks and text message everyone I saw between the bar and my house to let them know I was home. 

Even though I know bad bad things happen to women my age every day here, and in other places.  Other places like your town.  I know bad bad things happen in my town to girls and to women just like me.  Just like me except their skin is darker than my skin.  When bad bad things happen to people with darker skin I'm not reminded by news reports and watercooler talks and facebook groups and and and so I'm not on guard like I am right now.  Like everyone is right now.

It makes me angry that not everyone - every victim- is given the collective community heart and sorrow that is going out for Sabina Rose O'Donnell.  That not everyone can be an adorable waitress whom everyone loves and misses.  That not everyone gets their name in the papers and in the internets like little Sabina does.  Or gets the entire police force on watch.  That gets all security tapes between the Piazza and the murder scene gathered and studied.  That gets funds and memorial groups and vigilantes organized in their name and on their behalf.

I'm glad that we women are on our toes.  That the men are stepping up to make sure we are safe and sound.  That fathers are calling their daughters and mothers are saying their prayers and kissing their babies these days.  That friends are banding together and neighborhoods are pulling close and families are staying in at night and enjoying the warmth and safety of each other.  I'm glad for that.

Tonight I've lit candles in my tightly locked house and I'm thinking about Sabina and everyone else who has been raped or beaten or killed or any combination of the three.  Saying my prayers and kissing my baby and letting my heart bleed for the victims and their families who have suffered alone.  Would you take a moment and do the same?  There are so many forgotten people and I'm just one person. 

It's a lot for me to handle.

I love June.  I get all nostalgy this time of year, and excited about the summer. I got married in June, so there's that. I spent a June and most of July in Italy one year, and that's fun to remember.  But today I'm going through old pictures from high school. I remember it fondly, though I'm sure it wasn't as rosy as I recall.  But I survived, and that's what's important.

Sixteen years and it's clear that not much has changed.

That's Martha there on the right.  She's my best friend.  We are still a couple of gum chewing asses.

So now what?  What are we supposed to do?  How are we supposed to change, supposed to act?  Supposed to react?

Well, it's not easy.  I don't have the answers, but I can tell you how I did it.  How I went from a person who assumed that I would spank, assumed I would lose my patience, lose my self, lose control to a person who is proud of the way I parent.

First, I attend parenting classes.  Lots of them.  I walk in and I sit down and I take out my pen and paper and I watch and listen and participate.  I attend parenting classes for parents who have children with special needs.  Children with delinquency problems.  Children with terrible traumatic pasts.  Children with perfectly normal pasts.  I attend parenting classes for parents who have special needs.  Parents with delinquency problems.  Parents with terrible traumatic pasts and perfectly normal pasts.  Parents with addictions, parents with abusive partners, parents with addicted partners, mentally ill partners, normal supportive partners.  Parents with adopted and foster children.  Parents with children who have been taken away from them.  Christian parents, Muslim parents, Buddhist parents, Atheist parents, Jewish parents, Agnostic parents.  Parents in jail, in rehab, in shelters, in project housing.  I attend parenting classes for every type of child and every type of parent. 
And (surprisingly? not surprisingly?) we are all the same.  I am no better or different at my core than a mother who is battling addiction and abuse and struggling with her children.  We all have an addiction of some sort.  We all have been mistreated at some point.  We all struggle with our children.  We want what is best for them and best for us.
We struggle with ourselves, we carry immense amounts of guilt, we don't know what to do.

But we come together and we learn from one another and we figure it out.  There is a highly trained parenting professional guiding us, and we sit down and figure it out.

I also attend professional development classes and conferences.  Emotional development, relational health, communications skills, anger management, best practices, current research, brain functioning, early childhood development, and and and.  I take anything that is offered, anything I can fit into my schedule.  I took this job so I could be a better mother.  I deal with so much shit and I see so much shit and I experience so much shit, but it isn't in vain.  It's so I can be a better mother.

Luckily for me, because of my job, these are free.
Parenting classes are free in most communities (hell, I get paid to go to them!).  Check out your child's school, your church/mosque/synagogue, your hospital, your pediatricians office, your obgyn, your community center, the Y, the library.  Look in the paper, online, call your local Children's Services.  They are there to help you.  They don't want to take  your children away.  Trust me. 
Also, don't be afraid or embarrassed to go to parenting classes.  Yes, some people in the class may be court sanctioned to go there.  Yes, there might be some "bad" parents.  But they are trying.  They are there because they want to be better.  Just like you and me.
Seminars and classes might cost you, but sometimes hospitals and universities offer them free or at low cost.  Look for college classes you can audit or slide into the back row unnoticed. 

Read.  Read read read read read.  There are so many resources out there.  My favorite books?  Some of you are reading them now, for those who haven't asked me directly here's my tops list:
Kids are Worth It- Barbara Coloroso
How to Talk So Kids Will Listen and Listen So Kids Will Talk- Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish
Liberated Parents, Liberated Children- Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish
The Anger Management Sourcebook- Schiraldi and Kerr
Growing Up Again- Clarke and Dawson
Your Child's Self-esteem- Dorothy Corkille Briggs
Emotional Intelligence- Daniel Goleman
You Can Go Home Again- Monica McGoldrick
Without Spanking or Spoiling- Elizabeth Crary
The Six Stages of Parenthood- Ellen Galinsky

Do I agree with every word of every book?  Of course not.  Some of them have ideas that I can't stomach.  Your Child's Self-esteem talks about ways to correct homosexuality.  That's billshut.  But the book has helped me in tons of ways.  You have to read a lot and try a lot and fail a lot until you finally figure all this stuff out.
Some of them are written a bit simply, some of them read like grad school texts.  But they are all manageable and have helped me so much.  Growing Up Again talks about ways you can give yourself the childhood that your parents may not have been able to give you while you help your child grow up.  It's huge.  I could type for hours on the way that book has helped me.  Some of you have read it, what do you think?
The Six Stages of Parenthood is like crawling into my brain.  I was floored by how much of that I could relate to.  And I'm only half way through.
You Can Go Home Again talks about rebuilding relationships that you may have let fall apart over the years.  I have let relationships crumble.  Very important relationships.  But I don't want to keep them that way forever and I certainly don't want Jacob to suffer from my past.  So, I read this book.  Often.
Without Spanking or Spoiling is a great guide to those toddler years when you want to tape your child to a wall.  It has gotten me through a lot of very hard times.
They are all great books.  I would recommend them to any parent.

So what do I do when I'm in that moment?  When my hands clench and my heart races and my scalp sweats and my stomach lurches?  I stop.  STOP.  I tell Jacob that I need a time out.  If he is truly acting in a way that warrants punishment (I always need to check myself.  Who is having the problem right now?  Is he just acting like a normal child or is he truly misbehaving?  I keep a comprehensive list of "normal" age-appropriate behaviors on the refrigerator.  Want one?  Let me know and I'll mail everything I have to you.) Jacob gets sent to the corner or to his room and I get sent to the couch or my room.

I say, "Jacob, I am really frustrated right now and I don't want to have a tantrum so I am taking a time out.  I'll come to you when I'm calm so we can talk about this".
And he understands that language and I take a time out.  As long as I need.  I lie down or I take a shower or I poop.  Sometimes I really need to poop if I'm upset.
These times most often happen when I'm alone with him, so I make sure he is safe.  If he's not being punished he can watch his favorite show, or I'll put a movie on.

Thanks to taking Anger Management classes, I can recognize my own anger.  Before that, I honestly didn't know I was capable of anger.  I've never cried or screamed or hit.  I thought that was anger.  But not always.  I didn't know the full definition of anger.  But now I do.  I learned.
My anger manifests itself in a smart mouth, a sharp tongue, and an ugly tone of voice.  The space between my eyes tightens, my biceps curl, and my neck gets longer and tense.  The first day of AM class we did an exercise where we closed our eyes and had to think of something that pisses us off.  We had these red dot stickers, and everywhere we felt our bodies change, we had to put a sticker on that spot.  These are our triggers.  Our hook points.  We were taught that every time we felt that tightening, that twitch, that heat, that pulse, we were to STOP.  Just STOP.  Remove yourself from the situation.  Before the tears, before the screams, before the hands, before the ultimate frustration and breakdown.  Before our amygdala is hijacked. (worth a click)
We all break down.  It's human.  We just do it differently.
My break down has always been quiet and relatively calm.  But I still break down.  And Jake can spot it in an instant.  All I have to do is speak, and my voice comes out different.  He can tell because my "eyes do this" and he pushes his brow around.  He knows. 
What is your break down like?
How will you stop it before it  happens?

I really want to go on and on about this stuff, but I'm sure I've already lost a few people.  There aren't too many tricks to parenting, but the one I strive to live by is living by the C's:
I try to be
Clear- I let Jake know the rules and I make sure he understands them.  There aren't a lot of rules in our house.  But the few that are in place are well understood by everyone.
Calm- I know when to stop.  I know when I need a time out.  I know to stay calm because by doing so, I'm teaching Jacob to stay calm.  Chaos is traumatic to a child.  When a child sees a parent fly off the handle, they are traumatized.  They rock back and forth, they suck their thumbs or bite their nails, they play with or pull their hair, they sing or hum to themselves, they stare off into space or into the parent's eyes and as they grow they become defiant and argumentative.  They lash out.  That is their defense mechanism against the damage their parents are causing them. 
Consistent- what is yes today is yes tomorrow and yes the next day.  Same goes for no.  What holds true with me must absolutely hold true with Dave and vice versa.  Rules and privileges will change over time, but we are clear when they do.  Rules and privileges change when we change locale, and Jacob is clear about what rules go with what setting.  Special treats and rewards outside the norm are okay, but regular routines and schedules and knowing that what is today will be tomorrow is the best gift you can give your child.  It's what makes them feel safe and loved.  When you care enough to be consistent, your child will flourish.
Concise- children have short attention spans.  They aren't capable of following rants and lectures and diatribes and tantrums thrown by their parents. 
Confident- show your child that you are confident.  That you are sure of yourself and the guidelines with which you are raising him.  Even if you aren't, act as if you are.  You will be.  Fake it til you make it.  In all walks of life.  I know that by acting and being confident, I'm giving Jake confidence and showing him that I can be trusted to care for him and love  him and do the right thing by him.  Every time.

I wrote this off the cuff, over a cup of coffee.  That is the way I like to blog.  This is the stuff I'd tell you if we were sitting in my living room and you came to me and asked me these questions.  I hope it makes some sense.  I got some amazing comments and emails last night regarding yesterday's post.  I also got some not-so-amazing ones.  Asking me who I think I am and telling me that I didn't know a few particular children and maybe I should keep my judgments to myself.

*I think I'm well-read and well-versed in parenting.  It's my job.  At work and at home I make mistakes.  Every day.  And I suffer terrible guilt about every damned thing that I do.  I can't sleep at night.  I can't stay focused during the day.  I'm a mom.  That's what we do.
*I think- I KNOW- I'm not judgmental about this stuff.  I've seen too much to judge someone for spanking or yelling.  I've had the displeasure of working with people who have intentionally killed their children.  And I understand why they've done it.  There have been times when I wanted to kill my own child.  Literally.  Most people have thought about it, we just don't do it.  We have a filter.  Some people don't.  Having those thoughts are perfectly normal, by the way. 
They are called Intrusive Thoughts and they are a very normal response to anxiety.
Anxiety is a very normal response to parenting.
*I think that I have the power and the means to spread a few good ideas about this stuff.
*I think that I have a duty to share what I know with other people, and work with them until they can come up with something that works for them in their homes and with their partners and with their children.
*I think I have an obligation to help children.  I do know your child, and yours, and yours.  I know a lot of children.  Tens of thousands of them.  They aren't all that different.  I know children who are absolutely terrible.  Fruits of the devil children.  And I've seen them change because their parents take the time and effort to change.

Kids aren't born bad.  They are born into situations where bad things tend to happen.  No one sets out to be a bad parent.  We get frustrated and overwhelmed and we explode.  Work and bills and health and home and friends and partners and family become too much sometimes, and unfortunately our kids usually take the brunt of our frustration.  We wouldn't talk to our boss the way we talk to our children.  Or our friends.  Or the girl at the checkout line.  Or our partner.  But at the end of the day when we've had too much our kids do that one thing and they pay for everything that has been building up in us.  And we wonder why our kids lash back.  We punish them for lashing back.  And we don't know why they acted that way or we are acting that way.


That seminar the other day opened with a quote that went something like "when we hit an adult it's classified as assault.  When we hit an animal it's cruelty.  When we hit a child we say it's for their own good".
Wow, right? But so true.  I wish I could come up with a C word for speaking to and treating our children the way we generally treat friends, peers, strangers.  Hell, dogs.

I went to a conference yesterday.  A typical work one, public health/social practices/blah blah blah.  This one was on child rearing, teaching dignity and respect without yelling or spanking or fighting.  I would like to say that I go for work purposes, which is half true, but mainly I'm in this profession because I'm a mother.  I use this stuff at home.  If I wasn't parenting anyone, I'd get a new damned job.

Who knows what sort of mother I'd be if I didn't learn parenting from 9-5, that's for sure.

I'm definitely not a yeller (a voice-raiser sometimes? yes), so I don't think that the job has changed me on that front.  I don't scream.  I hate screaming.  I would almost rather see someone beat their child before seeing them yell and swear and pound on/slam down things.  To me, it's so pathetic and terrible and harmful to a kid.  I know this because when I was a kid and people were yelling and swearing and pounding on/slamming down things?  I thought it was pathetic and terrible and it was harming me.  I somehow managed to beat the odds and escape this sort of exposure without adopting it as my own practice.  Most people don't.  Screamers beget screamers.  Cursers beget cursers.  Pounders and slammers beget pounders and slammers.

I don't hit.  Or slap.  Or pinch.  Or bite.  Or swat.  Or pop.  Or smack.  Or spank.  Or thump.  Or whack.  Or do anything else that means "intentionally hurt my child".  If I had a nickle for every time I heard "I don't spank my child, I just give him a pop once in awhile" I could take us both out for ice cream.  Double scoops.
Before becoming a parent, before entering this profession and seeing the evidence and reading the studies and giving it much other thought, I was definitely okay with spanking.  We got spanked and we turned out okay, right?  Yeah no.  We are not okay.  Just ask us.
But I did feel that spanking was sometimes justified.  Why?  Because that's what my mom and dad did.  That's what most mom and dads did.  It was just the way the world worked.  I didn't know any better.

Since then, I have done a lot of thinking, and a lot of living, and a lot of learning and I can 100% say with zero hesitation that I am not okay with spanking.  I've also learned that sometimes it's a struggle to keep my hands to myself.  I understand how and why parents hit.  I really do.  Really, really, really.

I've learned that when you yell at a child you are only teaching your child that yelling is an acceptable way to deal with things that are bothersome.  When you yell or scream or swear at another person or when you yell about a situation, you are teaching a child that the way to react to a person or a situation is to yell and scream and swear at it until you exhaust yourself or the other person backs down or the situation is over.

I've learned that laying your hands on your child teaches that child that the way you deal with a person who is not acting in accordance to your liking is to hit that person.

Children are watching everything you do, and will adopt it as their own.  We are their primary model for the way they will live their lives.  For the rest of our lives, for the rest of their lives.  It's huge.  The hugest. 

When a child sees mommy _____ he learns that _____ is the absolute most wonderful and correct way to act because mommy is absolutely wonderful and correct.
Babies and kids and even teenagers love and trust their parents and caregivers so much that they copy everything they do.

Do you hate that your kid yells and screams?  Check your own voice.
Do you hate that your kid hits?  Check  your own hands.
Do you hate that your kid freaks out at the drop of a hat?  Check your own freakmeter.
Chances are, they match up.  If not, check the people who are spending time with your child.

It's simple.
To say.
Complex to do.

Gah, this isn't even what this conference was about, really.  It was lightly touched upon because everyone in the room knows how true this is.  How we are raising a bunch of violent loudmouths.  How parents hate the qualities in their children that their children are modeling after them but they don't understand why the kids do what they do.  It is a struggle that I run into every day at some sort of parenting class or professional development class or Wal*mart.  Because we all know what a bastion of good parenting practices Wal*Mart is.

"Don't hit your brother" *SMACK*
"Don't you fucking swear"
"CALM DOWN!  DO YOU HEAR ME??  STOP SCREAMING AND CALM YOURSELF BEFORE I BEAT YOU!" (and then there isn't a beating like there always isn't a beating so junior knows it's all a bunch of crap.  Empty threats are useless.  Say what you mean, mean what you say, but don't be mean when you say it).

It's all so much.  I see it at work, I see it at the park, I see it in my own family.

I'm sure you do too.

I'll end with a little PSA from the Council of Europe.  I know it's a stupid Facebook link when you click on "a little PSA" but you don't need Facebook to see it.  It's definitely worth a watch.

Now, I'll admit I'm very new to Facebook and maybe I'm not down with all the lingo and procedure, but when someone writes (posts? faces? books? statuses? I'm not sure of the proper term) that their aunt just died, is it proper etiquette to "like" it?

"Like" being a function on Facebook, for you non-Facebookers.  When someone writes something, you have an opportunity to respond in real words, or you can take the easy way out and just click "like" and move on to the next piece of bologna sandwich nothing blurb written by your sister's friend from her old job that you met once but you remembered her name so you accepted her friend request.

Seriously, my aunt (okay, not my aunt exactly, but an aunt, my husband's father's sister's husband's mother's sister- so what does that make us?  Family.  This is South Philly) passed away and  my cousin made mention of it on Facebook and rather than any condolences in real words, a bunch of people just hit "like" and moved on.

I see this as a major problem.  A torpescent mark of societal ennui and celerity, if you will.
How do you see it?