Where are your manners?

I have recently received some strange social invitations that have had me longing for the practical and old fashioned wisdom of Emily Post. 

I was standing there at the market knocking on watermelons to check for ripeness when a woman I am friendly with approached me.  “Hey, what are you guys doing tonight?  We have tickets to Cowboy Junkies and Sun Volt at the Zoo Tunes.  Do you want to go?” 

 What an invitation I thought.  I had been meaning to buy tickets for that very same show earlier in the season but didn’t get around to it until they were completely sold out—they went fast. 

 “Sure we’d love to go.”  I responded, thinking she was offering tickets for my husband and I or at the very least offering to sell us her spare tickets. 

 “Well, she said, you’ll have to scalp some tickets but I am sure you can get some at the entrance.” 

 Hmmm.  I felt like I had just been let in on a bad joke.  I don’t want to scalp tickets for anything.  I am a 40—something year-old woman and the idea of getting a babysitter lined up “just in case” I can covertly scam a few tickets to a concert doesn’t sound like fun to me.  I politely declined, “no, on second thought we’re busy tonight.” 

 I think she could have said something like this instead.  “Hey, we’re going to the zoo concert tonight.  I know it’s kind of a risk, but if you and Mark (my husband) want to try and go I think you might be able to scalp tickets.  We’d love to see you there.” 

 About a week later another friend asked my husband and I, “Hey do you guys like theater? We have two tickets to the 5th Ave. theater tomorrow.”   My husband and I both responded at the same time, “Yes,” I said.  “No,” he said.   “I’ll take them I said, I would love to see the play.  I’ll invite one of my friends if he doesn’t want to go.”  Now in my mind I was doing them a favor, taking the two tickets that might not otherwise be used, off their hands. 

 “O.K.,” she said awkwardly, “well we were hoping that we could do dinner first.”   It was then that I realized that they wanted us to attend the play “with” them.  I suddenly realized that they didn’t want just one of us they wanted the two of us or the plan was a no go.  It was uncomfortable and weird but I squirmed my way out of the invitation and I am hopeful that they found another heterosexual couple to share the tickets with. 

 Now why didn’t this woman say, “My husband and I are going to the theater and we have two extra tickets.  Would two like to attend and join us for dinner beforehand?”

 It was the third invite that really stumped me.  A good friend of mine called to say she had an extra ticket to a concert  because her husband was traveling and couldn’t make the show.  She asked if I would like to attend with her.  I jumped at the chance.  Following the concert she asked that if I could pay her for the ticket.  Huh?  I was shocked and surprised.  I thought I was going as her guest.  Weird!

 What has happened to good old fashioned communication, to etiquette, to manners?  I think what we need is a little Emily to the rescue!

Tales from a White Collar Recession or is it a Depression?

A recession is when your neighbor loses his job. A depression is when you lose your job.   (Anonymous Economist)

Last week a friend of mine was laid off from her high paying management job.  It sucks. With three kids in tow and a husband who is an entrepreneur it will be hard for her to make up for that loss. Firing the cleaning lady, laying off the nanny and eating mac and cheese isn’t going to cover the missing six figure income. 

Another friend of mine, in her mid-fifties, just got laid off from the world’s largest software company.  She is the lead bread winner in her family and has made a lot of dough in the past.   Her husband has been Mr. Mom most of their married life due to a serious, ongoing but manageable illness.  She has two teenagers, one in a swank private school and the other heading off to college shortly.  It sucks.

Houses are popping up for sale in our coveted white collar neighborhood like pimples on a teenager.  It leaves me to wonder “is everyone getting laid off?”   It rattles my nerves to hear the stories about well educated, well heeled friends, and friends of friends who have been given “pink slips.”  They are people like me who thought that somehow they would be sheltered from the economic downturn.   

The talking heads on the networks and cable stations are advising people to “retrench,” and “hunker down.”  Let me remind you…these are war terms.   With mortgage payments equaling 50% of a household income…people may have to retrench or hunker down in a different neighborhood.   

I know Obama and his peeps are saying this is a recession but when I see my hard working neighbors putting their houses up for sale because someone lost a job it makes me wonder if it isn’t a little worse than we’re being told.   

Good article if you’re wondering if this is a recession or a depression.

Consider a Career Shift? Lice Knowing You

A few weekends ago I had the pleasure of going on an all-girl’s weekend with a group of friends sans children.  The social coordinator of the trip has a marvelous house on a remote island in the San Juan’s.  It was lovely and the weather, which can be iffy in early spring, cooperated beautifully.  The company could not have been better and the food and libations were nothing short of gourmet.  Let’s just say the only thing any of us suffered that weekend was a hang over and a few extra pounds.  That was until late Sunday afternoon on the drive home.  

I was in the front seat driving when one of the women in the backseat of the car took a call from her husband.  He gave her the report: their youngest child, she has three under the age of eight, had lice….again.  This wasn’t the first time the subject of head lice had come up that weekend.  We had spent at least an hour discussing the topic over gin and tonics the previous evening; my friend in the back seat’s three little darlings had had it no fewer than three times.  

As I write this I am hesitant to say, knock on wood, that our family, (three boys aged 6 to 17) has not yet suffered from the Seattle School lice epidemic.  That said all of this lice knowledge is new to me.  

Apparently there is a whole arduous regime that needs to be followed in order to rid one’s head and house from the nasty mites.  And there is quite a stigma that goes along with it. “When we found out we had it, we felt like leapers,” said one mom while throwing back the last of her gin and tonic.   “No one wants to play with a child who has lice.”  

Another mom in the group told the story of going to see a hairdresser in the neighborhood who would only see her little boys “covertly.”   The stylist and business owner demanded that my friend come in after hours and through the back door, lest her customers find out that she had been harboring and helping lice victims.  

After my friend in the backseat hung up with her husband she was distraught; it was as if all the Kum Ba Yahing, from the girl’s weekend had suddenly vanished like a glass slipper.  Nit picking, sheet washing, and itchy children filled her brain before we hit King County.  

One of our friends, an experienced and organized mom who had her own lice infestation story to tell, was riding shotgun next to me.  She suggested, with a practical tone, that our friend call in the professionals. “I have heard they will come to your house,but it’s not cheap.”  “Well, hell,” lice mother responded.  ”At this point I will pay anything!”

A few days later I ran into my friend in the neighborhood, she was surprisingly yippity skippity—hardly the image of a woman who had been slaving over a comb and picking out nits (or is it nats?).  “We did it, we called in the professionals,” she said proudly, with a bright smile stretching from one ear to the other.  “It cost $500 but it was worth it!” 

Who knew?

Apparently there is a business, yes a certified business called Lice Knowing You .   I have heard some crazy business ideas floating around lately but this one really takes the cake.  Talk about filling a niche.  The online brochure states: As the premier (are there others? I wonder) head lice removal company in the Seattle area, we arrive discreetly (thanks for that) with all the necessary items (hmmm. what might that be?) to make head lice removal as quick and painless as possible.  During the removal process, Lice Knowing You will provide free consultation on taking care of your home to ensure that the head lice will be gone for good. .….All of our consultants are trained in the most up to date methods of head lice removal.  Our bilingual staff speaks Spanish, French, Japanese and of course English. Our staff consists of teachers (special ed and general ed), medical professionals and counselors.

God bless her…see what women can do!   What a relief!

Frittering the Time Away Twittering

I just signed up for www.twitter.com. Just the name itself makes me think I might be frittering the time away twittering. That said, I now have a presence on, www.twitter.com; www.facebook.com; www.linkedin.com; www.sallybjornsenwrites.com; www.sallyreps.com; www.sallyreps.blogspot.com; www.sassystepmother.com; www.friendfeed.com; www.blogcatalog.com the list goes on and on. I think I’m covered. Whew! I hope that’s it for a while. Not sure I want to learn anything new after all that registering, posting and pass-wording.

I am not entirely sure why I am in all these “cyber places.” I guess it’s because all the voices—the talking heads, the magazines, the blogs, my tech savvy husband, my tech obsessed teenage boys, my painfully young IT guy, tell me that I should be. I’m not convinced that all this posting, “social networking” and twit, twit, twittering will pay off, but I’m there, here, here, there anyway—for insurance. After all, the last thing I want is to miss the speeding techno bus. For now, my presence on the socialnetworking-twitterorama- blogosphere makes me feel….secure? Vulnerable? Exposed? Over exposed? Lemming-ish?

Last week my wet-behind-the-ears tech guy almost feel off his chair when I asked him “what exactly does a twitter do.” He tried to convince me that somehow I was tragically missing out on the opportunity to keep all my followers, business contacts and friends up to speed on the daily moments of my life (I hate to disappoint). So whether or not using twitter and all that other stuff makes me money, makes me known or makes me overexposed, at least for now, my tech guy will be happy.

The Boy’s to Blame

This afternoon, my six year old son hit a six year old girl and then proceeded to throw her to the ground. I watched with horror from a distance, wondering if I was witnessing a vaudeville act or a testosterone infused taekwondo move. The scream that erupted from the little girl confirmed that they were not play acting. I was aghast. The little girl’s parents, who I sort of know in a “hi, how are you” sort of way and not in a “hey let’s go have a bottle of wine and get schnockered way,” were dumbfounded.

I ran toward the fracas screaming, “Cameron, Cameron, what are you doing?” I yanked on his arm and pulled him aside. Yelling apologies over my shoulder to the little girl and her parents, “I am so sorry, so so sorry. I’m embarrassed. Please, I am so sorry. He didn’t mean to do that. He’s usually such a sweet boy.”

When I was out of earshot I dug my fingers in my son’s fleshy upper arm, “Listen Mr.,” I said wagging my finger two inches from his face for effect. “Never, ever, ever, beat up a girl. “But mommy, she threw dirt in my eyes and bark dust at my back and called me names.” “Well Mr., I don’t care what she did; there is never a reason to hit anyone, especially a girl. My son looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Why is it worse to hit a girl than a boy?” “Well,” I said walking him toward a park bench for a heart to heart, “when it comes to physical conflicts between a boy and a girl, no matter who starts the fight, the boy will always get blamed. “That’s not fair mommy,” Cameron complained. “She started it. You didn’t see her hit me first. She’s always mean to me. I couldn’t take it any longer.” I looked across the playground as the little girl’s mother consoled and protected her from the evil force standing on the other side of the play structure. All I could think is, “this is my little, sweet, baby. He didn’t mean to hurt your bratty little girl. By the way, she provoked him,” and then I realized that all that background noise and excuses didn’t matter because when it comes to hitting–the boy’s always to blame.

Weather Days from Hell

I have a bee buzzing under my trendy newsboy bonnet in the form of the proverbial Seattle “snow day.” It’s every working mother’s nightmare. The robo call comes at 6:30am, “Hello, this is a message from the Seattle Public School District. There will be no school today due to snow.” And if the powers that be are hedging their weather bets you will get the call—“Hello, this is a message from the Seattle Public School District. There will be a two hour delay today.” They might as well say, “This is the Seattle Public School District and your day is Fu#%ed.”

Now, if you’re not from Seattle you may not get this but we don’t have bad weather here. Oh sure, once in a while it snows so mcuh that we can get a sled to go downhill. But this happens about once every two years. Our snow days come in the form of one to two inches of very wet sno cone slush. In my book this is no reason to close school. I think we should have a “four inches or bust” program. I have been told that the knee jerk closures are due to our country’s litigious nature. “Imagine if someone fell on the way to school,” they say.

We are robbing our kids of the opportunity to forge ahead in inclement weather all because the fear of being sued. What will our children be able to hold over their grandkid’s heads when they’re old and gray? “I walked a mile to school in snow up to my waist. Wait; hold on…no I didn’t. When it snowed I stayed home, watched cartoons and tortured my mother while she was trying to get work done on the computer.”

This year we have had four snow days and five late start days. In our house the child care is pretty evenly divided between my husband and myself. My more flexibile work schedule, however, usually means the task of caring for our son on a snow day falls smack dab in my lap. I’m just thankful I don’t punch a clock and work for the man. Try telling your male boss that the ½ inch of melting snow on the ground means you won’t make it in to the office. You might as well just say “I can’t come to work because I just started my period.” Maybe there is a reason why dads get promoted more than moms do. Maybe the snow day in Seattle is really just a male conspiracy to keep working women barefoot and pregnant—with frustration.

And the Whales Kept on Swimmin’

I recently returned from a seven day trip to the Sea of Cortez. Well actually, some people prefer to call it the Gulf of California but I think that’s kind of misleading, especially for those who are geographically challenged and equate the Gulf of California with The OC, Sea World and South Coast Plaza.

The sea of Cortez deserves its exotic name for many reasons, least of all it’s lack of shopping malls, fake boobs and man—made glamour. For those of you who want to specifically put this place on the map, it is the body of water that separates the Baja California Peninsula from the Mexican mainland and it is absolutely paradise!

Geography aside, it was a trip of a lifetime. We saw so many dolphins, whales and sea lions that on the forth day at sea my first grade son complained, “I’m tired of whales.” We saw Blue–Footed boobies, Pelicans, Vultures, Egrets and Osprey. We snorkeled with baby sea lions, kayaked in mangroves, ate s’mores on the beach and found new constellations in the sky.

But the best part of the trip was the fact that we did not have access to radios, newspapers, blackberries or televisions. We barely had internet service and when we did it required a lot of money and patience with very little reward. While Obama was giving his speech to congress about the fragile financial precipice that we are perched upon we were adjusting shutter speeds to capture a blue whale’s enormous fluke, (by the way, the blue whale is the largest mammal to have ever lived on earth!) When the stock market hit 7,000 we were high-fivin’ the rare sight of a 70,000 lb. mother Gray whale nuzzling her 15 foot, 3 ton bambino. I was on an unintentional technology vacation and a CNN fast. I cleansed the nasty talking head toxins from my brain, banished my blackberry reflex and ousted my online obsession. And you know what…I was fine. No jitters, cold sweats or hallucinations. No one died, the world didn’t end and the giant whales…well, they just kept on swimming. http://www.expeditions.com/Destination44.asp?Destination=287