Sisters and Brothers

It is amazing to watch my boys fight. Kyle constantly makes "ugly" jokes about Will. And Will has finally figured out how to defend himself and now is armed with "stupid" jokes about Kyle. And so it goes. They never bore of their endless put downs. They seem to thrive at this game of one-up-man-ship. Hard to believe, but this is almost more fun for them than killing Nazi Zombies.

But then I notice the little things like Will proudly showing off his armpit hair to Kyle. Or Kyle trying to hook Will up with the right music so he won't appear to be "such a geek" with his friends. Will loans Kyle cash, so Kyle has the money to take out his girlfriend. Kyle includes Will with his friends. Sometimes they actually seem to like each other.

And then there are the hours that Kyle spends trying to improve Will's mastery of the James Bond oo7 video game. To Will, Kyle is the video game God and no matter how hard he tries he can never be as good as his big brother. Eventually, Will shuts down. Kyle clumsily and inappropriately tries to tease Will out of his bad mood. Will stomps out of the room crying and slamming doors.

Immediately I get mad at Kyle. Will comes to Kyle's aid. And I am left confused.

Before I can sort everything out, neither kid remembers anything that has happened.

They call it unconditional love. And as a Mom I sure hope they have each other's back when they have to pick turns changing my diaper.

I know all about unconditional love with a sibling. My sister once sprayed PSSSSST (the dry shampoo that supposedly dyed your hair grey) in my hair. I was so mad I actually knocked her down and started pounding on her back. She still loved me. Another time, I got so mad at her I took my fingernails and dug them into her arm. Blood came and I freaked out and ran home to tell my Mom. She continued to love me.

As we got older, Georgie was the only one who could quiet an emerging panic attack. She would tell me to ride the wave in her calm and loving way. She was right there, running after my gurney when I emerged from a surgery, telling me everything was fine. She got to me before even the doctors could. And she never judged me. Ever. We laughed at our mother when she would fart in the grocery store and whiff the smell around. She had my back always. And I tried to have hers.

But today I want to remember my sophisticated, conservative sister dancing on the table at a night club in Ibiza with one long gold earring dangling from her ear. I smile, thinking about the adventure we had ending up on the back of two boys mopeds late that same night. I want to think of Georgie's laughter and remember the time I took out a bright red lipstick and smeared it all over my mouth.

"Who do I remind you of?"

"Mom, of course." Georgie said laughing so hard I thought she was going to barf.

Thank God for Georgie.

Today would have been Georgie's 55th birthday. Instead of buying her a present, I go out every year and buy my boys a small gift. I need to celebrate today because Oct. 2 represents something special to me. The biggest gift of all. The gift of a sister who loved me unconditionally and with one look could make me laugh until my sides hurt.

My Million Dollar Hair Cut

Finally, I made an appointment to get my hair colored and cut. I was months overdue for a haircut and my grey roots were dramatically exposed causing me to look my age. Now we can't have that!

In my younger years I have been to some of the best known stylists in the world. I have had my hair cut my Vidal Sassoon, Jose Eber, and even Frederick Fekkai. I would make my appointments weeks, sometimes months in advance, for the opportunity to have a master snip his way to the perfect haircut. Of course, I always went with the hope that the haircut would change me completely. I expected to come out of the salon transformed into a beautiful model and as I exited the front doors, after paying hundreds of dollars, I expected to have shed 20 pounds as well. I don't know what made me so delusional.

Now, I hate sitting in my black smock, waiting for the colorist to take me to her chair and paint the grey laboriously out of my hair. I hate sitting and waiting for the color to set, and I hate when they shampoo me. The water is either too hot or too cold, they tug at my hair and it seems to take forever. They always give me directions, like lean further into the bowl and I arch my back and hope it will be over soon.

Yesterday was a unique experience. I was done with my color my 12:45 and was waiting for my 1:00 hair cut. My hair stylist was not in the shop. She was probably finishing lunch. My stomach growled with hunger. I waited. I noticed one other woman waiting with me. At five past one, the hair stylist jaunts in looking overly styled. Her assistant takes the other woman to a chair and my stylist begins to cut her hair. Soon after, I am brought to another chair--to wait. I sat there looking at myself in the mirror.

I remember all those appointments from years gone by where I waited patiently for Jose or Frederick to grace me with his presence. I waited for hours, literarily hours as model after model would prance ahead of me because they were much more important than I was. They had a show to do and they needed to be on the runway in minutes. So I waited. And waited. All in the hope that I would feel like a model myself as I left the salon.

Finally, my turn would come. It would take the hair dresser all of ten minutes to cut my hair. I would end up with the same 'do' that I had seen on all the other non-models or actresses. I wouldn't feel transformed at all. In fact, I distinctly remember Frederick Fekkai getting mad at me for my eye makeup choice. I had displeased him with my choice of colors. I left that salon with a million dollar hair cut but feeling like a piece of shit. Even my trendy a symmetrical haircut didn't please me.

But yesterday, as I starred at myself in the mirror something had changed in me. I did not expect to leave the salon with anything but a few straggly ends cut off. I wasn't expecting to look young and gorgeous. And I wasn't prepared to wait.

As the minutes ticked by I felt more and more incensed. I couldn't believe that the salon had double booked my one o'clock appointment. It was only about 20 minutes after my scheduled appointment but it wasn't right and I couldn't wait any longer. I had waited for too many hours in my life. I was pissed and I rarely get pissed with strangers. This was a completely new feeling. My haircut and my beauty had ceased to be that important to me. My time was much more precious.

I got out of my seat and walked over to the front desk. Politely, I said I wanted to pay. They gave me the price for the cut and the color. I informed them that I didn't have the cut, the stylist was busy cutting someone else's hair. The woman at the desk looked confused. "Oh," she said, "She's just giving a bang trim, we do that here!"

I asked if the woman had bangs in the back of her head? She did not laugh. Instead the other woman behind the desk ran to the back room. She reemerged with a bag full of lovely strawberries and handed them to me.

The strawberries called to me, so I took them. Something I also would have never done before. By this time, the stylist was ready for me. So, I took my bag of glorious strawberries and let her cut my hair. When I was done, I paid my $160.00 and left the salon.

I didn't expect my $160.00 haircut to make me feel like a model, but this time somehow I felt transformed. For the first time in my life, I walked out of a beauty salon feeling like a million bucks.

The Passage

I know the time is near that Tom and I will have to place our dog Gordon in the car and make the fateful drive to the doctor's office. I know that very soon we will have to make the impossible decision. Everyone tells me that I will know when it is time to put Gordon down. But how will I know? Gordon still has life in his shinny, almost human eyes. He still wags his tail when he gets a treat or you rub his belly. He still barks when he wants to be heard. But he can't walk at all anymore and he sleeps most of the day. He can't control his bowels either, so I spend my time cleaning up after him. And he is so skinny now, his bones protrude from his once muscular frame. My instinct is to feed him steaks and ice cream and make him happy for the time he has left.

I slipped out of the house today to fill my depleted creative well. I bought a brightly colored scarf and immediately threw it around my neck. I felt alive. Then my mind drifted to Gordon. Driving home with my new purchase snugly tied around my neck I thought about how it would feel to bring Gordon to the doctor and stay with him until he was dead. I don't know if I have the strength to do this. But, I also know that I don't have the strength to let him die alone.

Gordon has been a part of our lives since the boys have been little and his pending death feels like a great marker of time.

We rescued Gordon when he was a puppy. Will was just born when one of our gold fish died. We promised Kyle a new fish. My mother, who already had Alzheimer's, her caretaker, Tom, Kyle, Will, and I all went for an outing to the pet store. Outside the store I spotted Gordon. He was with a few other puppies that needed a home. I took one look at him and knew he would be part of our family. He was sweet and quiet and beautiful. Tom looked at me like I was crazy, but I could tell in his eyes that he had fallen in love with Gordon instantly.

We took him home and quickly watched sweet, quiet Gordon turn into a wild puppy. He ran around chasing his tail, chewed on everything, and bolted out the front door at any opportunity. But he was always sweet. If I was sad he sensed it and would follow me in my room and lay by my bed to keep me company. I miss those moments now.

Gordon has not only watched my boys grow up, but their friends, too. He was so patient and gentle when the neighborhood children would come over and try and ride him like a horse. Now these boys are almost men and when they stop by the house, they always take a moment to bend down and give Gordon some love.

I am deeply moved my the passage of time.

When Gordon was a puppy, Kyle needed 'cootie' shots to protect him from the girls. Now, Kyle has a girlfriend and I am sure doesn't feel the need for a 'cootie' shot. When Gordon was a puppy, Will couldn't talk, now Will tells me wonderful stories filled with laughter and thought.

Gordon fell into the rhythms that became our lives. He mirrored our growth and echoed our love. Now he waits to die.

I am deeply and forever moved by the passage of time.

When Gordon was a puppy, his energy was electrifying. I must stop myself from chasing my tail and remember to sit with him quietly and appreciate the precious passage of time.

The Wait

So, there I sat, waiting. I don't do waiting well. Saturday night I didn't do it well at all.

Kyle texted us to say he was leaving Berkeley at 11:00pm. He was already past his curfew. But the day had slipped away from him. He went to CAL to visit with his wonderful girlfriend and take her to an "early" dinner for her 18th birthday. They walked into one of the most popular restaurants in Berkeley, Pizzaiolo on Telegraph, and waited for a table. They dined on the chef's special pizza and Kyle had made sure the waitress put a candle in his girlfriend's desert. Then he drove her back to her dorm.

By the time he was ready to leave it was 11:00. So I waited in my bed to hear the front door open and for Kyle to walk into my bedroom and give me a kiss goodnight. The minutes ticked by. I dozed off for a moment and awoke to a noise that I thought was Kyle walking through the front door. I took a breath of relief. But it wasn't Kyle. I awoke at the exact time he should have been home, calculating the time it takes to get from his girlfriend's dorm to our house. But there was no Kyle. I jumped out of bed and began to pace. I screamed to Tom, "Where is he? Don't you think you should go looking for him." "No," he said. "I am sure he just didn't leave when he said he would."

"Aren't you worried," I asked. "He's fine," Tom answered.

This made me angry. And I had no idea what to do with my anger. It was now past 12:00 and no Kyle. I could actually feel pain deep within my loins, the very place I carried him to life. I ached with worry.

I couldn't call him because he would be driving. I thought about calling his girlfriend, but didn't have her number.

So, I opened the front door and stood on the side walk and watched the cars go by. Clad in only a long tee shirt and underwear I stood outside, barefoot on the concrete as I tried to visualize Kyle in the headlights of each car that passed. Kyle did not materialize.

Finally, I spotted our car and a left blinker clicked on. Kyle turned into our driveway. Leaving the front door open, I slipped back into my room.

How was I going to handle this when Kyle walked in? Was I going to scream at him for missing curfew and for being so late? What was his excuse going to be? I knew I had to handle this right. I knew our open relationship depended upon how I was going to handle my emotions.

Kyle walked into the room. He told me he left Berkeley after he said and was afraid to call us because he knew that we would be angry at him. He told me he pulled over at Larkspur and texted Dad. Dad hadn't checked his texts.

"I was so scared," I sobbed to Kyle. "I thought you were hurt."

Kyle knew instantly that he should have called me before he left Berkeley--that his fear of making me angry was much less important than his inadvertent attempt of scaring the living wits out of me.

He realized halfway through his drive home what he might be putting me through and tried to make contact with us. Although, I never got the text, I was grateful that he had finally tried to do the right thing.

I surprised myself and Kyle by not being angry. Kyle had made a mistake. He had poor judgement. He knew what he had done was hurtful to me. And I know that he will never make that mistake again.

In his adolescent brain, he was more afraid of making me angry than of worrying me. He knows now that the contest isn't even close.

The punishment for his hideous crime is knowing that he put be through a little bit of hell. And nobody wants to put a menopausal Jewish Mom through one of the longest nights of there life.

"Challenge Success"

Yesterday, I attended a seminar at Stanford called Challenge Success. Success is spelled backwards urging us as parents, students, teachers, administrators to challenge our definition of success. The purpose of the seminar was to both shed light on and learn from the effects of stress on our adolescents. It was amazing to hear the staggering stories and compelling statistics of the adolescents sitting around me. I couldn't believe that most of kids who attended the seminar, kids from schools we know in the Bay Area, get less than 6 hours sleep per night. These are both middle school kids and high school students.

As parents, we were asked to try to imagine what a day in the life of our adolescent might feel like. The weight of one day seemed unmanageable. And the kid panelists assured us that most of the high achieving kids were abusing drugs. I was surprised to hear that down any school hallway before any exam kids could easily buy an 'adi' or Adderall, a drug prescribed for ADD or ADHD. The kids need the drug to help focus during exams, due to lack of sleep. Kids who are prescribed the drug for their ADD sell them for cash. Medical experts are seeing sports injuries at much earlier ages. Tendinitis is seen in kids as early as 8 years of age. Eating disorders and disordered eating is on the rise. So is cutting, scratching and suicidal thoughts.

When I was growing up, it was clear that in our middle and high school days, our 'stresses' came from social issues, family problems, and our search for identity. In our children, overwhelmingly, the stress comes from where they are going to go to college. Kids today associate a good college with a good job. CEOs who attended the conference uniformly suggested that the kids in the work force today are not as creative as they have been in the past. To them, it was clear. Overbooking, over-scheduling our kids gives them less time to find out who they are, less time to play, less time to be creative.

The Challenge Success team assured us there is a college for everyone. But my question is this, is there really a college for everyone? We have been filled with fear since our children where in pre-school. There are so many kids vying for so few schools, from pre-school, to independent schools, to colleges. And I am not just talking about top tier schools. We have all heard horror stories about kids with solid GPAs and test scores who could not get into schools we attended. Our kids have heard these same stories and have probably picked up on our stress. So what is the truth in respect to the admissions process for college?

Will attended the seminar with me. He sat in a group of kids from 6th to 12th grade. He said that every kid said the overwhelming stress in their life was where they were going to college.

I find this amazing. Middle school and high school is meant to be a time of exploration and learning. It is a time to fail and learn from our mistakes. It seems that the stakes are too high to allow our kids to fail. Failure is probably more important than success. Through failure we learn resilience. In life, we all know we need to be resilient.

I'm not sure, that as parents or as kids we can rid ourselves of the fears until we fully understand the realities of the college situation. I intend to find out. I am not sure how quite yet, but I feel that we are grappling with issues that are affecting the well being of an entire generation of kids. We are committed to buying organic to keep our kid's bodies healthy, but what are we doing for their souls?

Promises Hard to Keep

Before Kyle started school this year, I had a serious talk with him. I asked him if he wanted me to help him keep on track with his work load, gently pushing him to stay focused on his dream to do his best at school. I hate this job and hoped that he would tell me that he neither wanted my help nor did he need it. But, he asked if I would continue to support him as he tries to balance all the many splendid activities of a sixteen-year-old boy.

This has is proven harder than I ever expected.

Last night was Back to School Night at his high school. I attended all his classes and listened to engaged parents and enthusiastic teachers for an evening that left me exhausted and confused. Immediately I was struck at how bright the parents were. There was no way I could keep up with the distinguished parent body and well educated teachers. I thought instantly, that I indeed was not helping Kyle in the most basic way--I had single handedly brought down the gene pool in our family.

But Kyle works hard. He wants to do well and go to a college of his choice.

I want Kyle to have a balanced life filled with girlfriends, goofing around with buddies, community service, political activism, being silly, having fun--basically being a kid and figuring who he is and what he loves to do. I want him to work hard and enjoy learning but not at the expense of living.

Kyle wants to go to a good college but doesn't want to give up the things he loves that take him away from his schoolwork. He has asked me to help him juggle this. And I don't know how.

Kyle wants to get good grades because he wants to have some choice as to where he attends college. Colleges care about grades. So, Kyle too must care about his grades. I am thankful that Kyle is blessed by teachers who are demanding Kyle to think deep and explore. But doesn't he need a more balanced life in order to fully process the level of thought expected of him? And how can he have that if doing well means getting an 'A?' Doesn't getting an 'A' mean hours of endless study and less time for the things that a sixteen-year-old boy needs to do in order to have a healthy, balanced life.

I am attending a seminar at Stanford this weekend centered around kids and stress. I hope they offer some insight into a problem that I feel is bigger than just me and Kyle. I think, so many of us feel the same frustrations as we try to help our children reach goals that might not be in their best interest.

When Kyle was in second grade, he was a little nervous about his first standardized test. I told him not to worry and just enjoy making pretty patterns with his penciled bubbles. As he gets ready for all the standardized tests ahead of him I wish I could offer him the same advice. In the end, does it really matter?

I'm Just Awful!

It seems that all my kids free time is spent in their rooms doing homework. Once in a while they will appear from their abyss for a glass of water, a trip to the pantry for a cookie or two or three, or even to tell us parental units a quick funny story or remind us of some important task we must not forget to do for them. This got me thinking about the amount of free time I had in high school.

It's hard to think that far back, but I really don't remember studying half as hard as my sons. I remember long telephone calls with girlfriends and boyfriends, playing hours of tennis just for fun with a friend, and I remember being done with all my homework most nights by 8:00pm, before the prime-time line up started. Of course, there were the inevitable nights I would have to study until 10:00pm because I procrastinated studying for a test or finishing a paper.

Times have changed. Stakes seem higher. The competition is on.

But what I do remember about studying in the olden days are the little breaks I would give myself. "When I finish chapter 5 from my Biology textbook I will get something to eat." Or, "When I finish my thesis I will call Joey or Susie back."

Cut to today.

Kyle is studying for a pre-calculous test, he needs a break so he turns to his computer and checks facebook. Then he studies a little more, needs another break, and he turns to youtube and catches a few videos, then back to the books. I have tried to watch him maneuver between studying and all the electronic toys he has at his fingertips. He browses the websites he loves, checks up with friends and texts, all from the computer, all while he is studying. Now, I am not saying that he does not study way too much, what I am saying is that if I had all these distractions I would never have made it out of my room for the prime-time line up. What takes Kyle six hours I probably could have gotten done in four without all the toys to distract me and get me through the endless hours of studying.

I'm not saying that this is a bad thing, it is just a new way of doing things. But here's what concerns me. As a result of all the distractions that undeniably help him get through the tedium of homework, I see him less. And that's what really bugs me. How nice it would be to end the day with a few relaxed hours before we all went to sleep. If I counted the minutes I actually see my kids in a day I am sure it would add up to less than an hour. And most of that time is driving them places. And that is just not acceptable.

Short of banning computer use and cutting off texting privileges I am not sure what I can do. I don't think their studying suffers from all their multi-tasking, I suffer. So what can I do about it?

Perhaps if I put up embarrassing photographs of them on this BLOG, then they will have to come talk to me. We could could spend time together as they try and admonish me for ruining their lives. I could text them, telling them that I have put up a photograph they might want to see, post the photos on my facebook page and tag them so it shows up on their facebook page, and then download a video of them as infants doing something really stupid and put it on youtube.

It would make a point. I would get their attention. But is it the kind of attention I want? I'll tell you tomorrow.