family | BulgingButtons

October 22, 2015
by BulgingButtons 3 Comments

Bar Mitzvah Dancing – Salsa Meets Horah

I had the wonderful privilege of celebrating my nephew’s Bar Mitzvah with him last weekend, and it was a ball. Oh sure, there were a few tense moments as I muddled through the Hebrew blessing during the actual service, but he did great, and after all, he was the one everyone was there to see, so no worries.

I love a good Bar Mitzvah. Extended family members and close family friends from all over the place come together to celebrate this milestone, and we do it with gusto. There are luncheons, dinners, and brunches thrown for these events, and of course there are parties.

My brother and his wife went through this wonderful celebration a little over a year ago with their daughter. They are pros by now. Their son’s events were every bit as enjoyable, but different and unique to him and his preferences. For example, the kid doesn’t eat real food. Somehow he has survived all these years on scrambled eggs, grilled cheese, white rice, and air. At the luncheon there was an entire table devoted to “his” foods, which proved to be surprisingly popular with many of the guests.

The big event, aside from the actual ceremony, was the evening party, and oh what a party! The kids started off in the ballroom of the venue, but we adults gathered in the lakeside bar to enjoy cocktails and a beautiful sunset. We joined the kids later for a fabulous dinner followed by dancing, and more cocktails. Open bar, you say? Yes, please.

There was traditional Jewish dancing, including a rousing Horah where my son joined the men in lifting celebrants high overhead as they sat in a chair. Even my mother was hoisted to the sky, gripping the chair for dear life! Then there was the real dancing. My sister-in-law is Puerto Rican, and the girl can dance! She does a smooth Salsa, and she’s managed to teach my brother. I have two left feet, but when they married they gave me a crash course, so I could dance at their wedding. Apparently my feet remembered, because when I was escorted onto the dance floor (by her equally smooth brother) I didn’t crush any toes.

I loved getting up to dance, it reminded me of my college years, when dancing was a part of every weekend party. Of course, as I said, I’m not a real dancer, but honestly nobody cares as long as you’re moving and having fun. My mother learned that long ago. She’s been doing the same little locomotive arm movements for as long as I can remember, but she loves to dance! I won’t reveal her age (because she would be mortified, as if people believe her when she says she’s 29) but she’s been dancing a long time. I want to get up and dance when I’m her age. I want to be invited to celebrations, and I want to shake it to whatever that generation’s Ke$ha and Pitt Bull have to offer. I owe it to my family and future generations.

This video is for weddings, but really, it’s the same thing.

October 13, 2015
by BulgingButtons 2 Comments

So Many Questions on the Path to College

This business of being a parent to a senior in high school is difficult, and I don’t even have one of those kids who’s involved in a million different activities. He’s not driving, he doesn’t have a job or a girlfriend, and he doesn’t even hang out with his friends outside of school. I’m lucky. I get to actually have him around.

Ok, so it’s not like we bond over hot cocoa and play scrabble, or take long walks around the neighborhood together, but he’s here. Yes, there’s a certain amount of badgering on my part (where’s your retainer? can you please pick up that towel? when are you going to walk the dog?) and a certain amount of grunting on his part, but I know where he is and what he’s doing. What will happen this time next year? Will I be able to handle it? I only have one kid, so it’s not like anyone will step up to fill the void once he heads off to the dorms (but in what state?).

Sure, it’s true that he’s gone quite regularly (as in weekly) to spend time with his father, but somehow that’s different. For one thing I’ve had a couple of years to get used to it. For another, the longest stretch that he’s ever away is four days, every other week. I can handle that. College is a lot longer than four days, and at the end, he’s not supposed to come back. I mean to stay, anyway. At least hopefully not.

In the meantime, there’s this craziness of getting in all the applications. Frankly it’s stressing me out. Not because of the deadlines, either, because I know that if I don’t stay on him it won’t get done. What does that say about college? Following is a list of questions that trouble me. Hopefully other parents who have lived through this ~~nightmare~~ process can talk me off the ledge.

Will he be that freshman who NEVER washes his bedsheets?
Will be brush his teeth?
Will he lose his retainer the first week?
Or will he throw his retainer away?
Or will he be done with the stupid retainer by the time he goes to college?
Will he EVER call me?
Will he EVER pick up the phone when I call him?
Will he make friends?
Will he study enough?
Will he go to his classes?
Will he know enough to not schedule early morning classes?
Will he even have a choice in his schedule as a freshman?
Will there be co-ed bathrooms?
How do I feel about co-ed bathrooms?
How does he feel about co-ed bathrooms?
What will happen if he runs out of toothpaste?
Why am I so obsessed with his teeth?
Why is he so nonchalant about his teeth?
Why is he so nonchalant about deadlines?
Will he actually be admitted to a college that he really wants to go to?
Will he ever admit to being excited about any college?
How will we pay for college?
Will he receive any of these scholarships that I’m making him apply for?
How do people pay for college without getting into tremendous amounts of debt?
Will he make the most of his college experience?

and a bonus question

How will I survive this transition?

The truth of the matter is that no matter how much I worry, he’s going to do what he’s going to do. So far his choices have been mostly good. Still, I’m a mother, so that means my default mode is worry, but I need to remind myself that up until now he’s been about a million times better than I ever was at his age, and I survived college. Oh sure, there are a few instances that I will never ever admit to, but by the time I was a senior, I figured out how to get on the dean’s list (here’s the secret: don’t just do the assignments, actually go to class). But I was a SENIOR! He’s only going to be a freshman. My baby!

In the meantime, I’m going to insist on reviewing his essays before he hits the send button, and I’m going to hound him about that stupid retainer (I think I may hate it almost as much as he does). This stretch of life is a little complicated and full of unknowns, but I’m going to try my best to enjoy it, because I know it will be gone in an instant, and then there’s no going back.

October 9, 2015
by BulgingButtons 4 Comments

Feeling Invisible

I’m going to a Bar Mitzvah. I’m looking forward to seeing all my relatives and celebrating with them. I’m also looking forward to the trip back east, to the land where Autumn is an actual season. In celebration of this event (and the festivities that surround it) I decided that I might get a new outfit. Maybe. I would have to see what the store had and what my shopping tolerance was like.

Now this is a great outfit!

I had some time yesterday afternoon, so I headed over to a store at the outlet mall where I’ve had good luck in the past. I triggered the little “welcome” bell as I walked in and headed to my left. This store is split down the middle, with plus size on one side and “normal” size on the other. The fitting rooms are in the middle and the checkout is in the rear.

I veered off to my side and began to browse. I picked a few items, and expected that any moment a sales associate would be along to see how I was doing and put the items in a fitting room. I’ve shopped here before. That’s how it works. I glanced around but saw nobody, no shoppers, no employees.

I continued browsing the racks, working my way to the rear of the store. As I passed by the fitting rooms I noticed they were open, so I dropped off the items in my arms and carried on. I picked up a few more things along the way as I arrived at the sale rack, right next to the checkout. As I browsed, the two sales associates continued their conversation about vacationing with their boyfriends. How nice for them.

Meanwhile, not ten feet away, I was shopping with my arms full of merchandise.

“How are you doing today?”

“Can I help you find something in particular?”

“Would you like to try those on?”‘

“Can I put those in a fitting room for you?”

Any of those phrases would have been appropriate. Even a simple “hello” would have been nice, but nope, nothing.

Fine. I still wanted to try the clothes on, so I went back to the fitting room and proceeded to try on all nine items that I found. Naturally it took a while. In the meantime another woman came in and was trying things on. In breezed the sales associate and asked her if she was doing ok, and could she get her anything.

Love this look, and those shoes, killer.

Really?

I’m in the NEXT fitting room.

You can SEE my feet.

I’ve been in your store for nearly 45 minutes!

Am I invisible? I must be.

Fortunately I didn’t love anything I tried on, because at that point I would have hated actually buying anything there.

I got dressed, left the fitting room, and walked out. And no, I was not acknowledged then either.

I left with a bad taste in my mouth. Shopping is difficult enough for me. How hard would it have been for either of the associates to just say hello? Retail is a service industry, it requires that you put on a smile and be nice, even if you’re faking it. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because I’m fat. Was the other shopper trying on items from the “normal” sized collection? Is that why she received help and I did not? What else could it be? I wasn’t rude. I don’t look homeless. What then?

I’m a little embarrassed by how much the incident hurt my feelings. I felt devalued as an individual, which is silly because I know it wasn’t about me at all. I know I’m friendly. I know I’m approachable. I know I have worth. Still, I felt invisible, and that’s a terrible way to feel.