Take a Memo

Image courtesy Pixabay.com.

Image courtesy Pixabay.com.

Now that my son can read, his listening skills have deteriorated to the point that verbal instructions are almost useless. I’d like to write this off as a typical male inability to multitask. Or I could give it a positive spin, and claim that he must have so much testosterone running through his veins that he’s developed the ability to focus so completely on the television set that the rest of world disappears. Whatever the cause, I would bet a bag of M & M’s that he gets this genetic mutation from my husband’s side of the family.

No matter what the reason is, I’m sick and tired of repeating the same simple instructions 957 times each morning (brush your teeth, grab your backpack, take your underwear off your head) and having him feign deafness. I’ve already had his hearing tested, and the pediatrician said he’s fine. Though, there may be some latent inner ear damage if I have to keep yelling in his ear every morning till he’s 20.

Rather than turning immediately to my usual parental dilemma solutions of wine and chocolate, I decided to try a method honed by centuries of office workers who needed to get their colleagues’ ears. I decided to write the kid a memo.

To: Son

From: Mom

Subject: Your Room

A recent inspection revealed that all of the floor space in your room was completely obstructed by a variety of dirty clothes, small plastic Legos, coins (mostly pennies), birthday party goodie-bag detritus, art projects, Pokemon Cards, comic books, and other reading materials. You are directed to remove these materials from your room immediately. Please acknowledge your understanding of these instructions via inter-office memo.

To: Mom

From: Son

Subject: Reply-Your Room

What?

To: Son

From: Mom

Subject: I don’t want to have to ask you again

Clean up your room immediately. Not only is this a violation of your employment agreement, wherein you are required to keep your work space clean, it is also a potential worker’s compensation violation, as I tripped on one of those stupid Legos this morning when I came in to wake you up and may have permanently damaged my right heel.

To: Mom

From: Son

Subject: Ask me WHAT again?

Are you talking to me?

To: Son

From: Mom

Subject: You’ve got to be kidding me

Yes, I am addressing you. Please turn off the television and proceed to your room immediately to clean it up.

To: Mom

From: Son

Subject: Correction

I’m actually not watching television. It’s a DVD and there’s only five more minutes to the end.

To: Son

From: Mom

Subject: TV/DVD who cares

I don’t care what you’re watching. Turn it off and get to work.

To: Mom

From: Son

Subject: It’s not fair

I already took out the recycling yesterday and you didn’t ever give me my allowance yet.

To: Son

From: Mom

Subject: Who do you think works to get your allowance money

Get to work. In case you’re blind in addition to deaf, I’m losing my patience. And honey, I put out the recycling yesterday, not you.

To: Mom

From: Son

Subject: So what?

Yeah, but you TOLD me to put away my clean laundry, and that’s not my job.

To: Mr. Debate Team

From: The Logic Queen

Subject: This is not open to debate

I need to get to the door to go to the grocery store. You must clean up your room in order for me to do so.

To: Mom

From: Son

Subject: Yeah, to buy WINE

Don’t be weak, Mom. Just step over all of that stuff. That’s what I do.

To: Son

From: Your Mother, who deserves some respect

Subject: It doesn’t matter why I am going to the store

Stop stalling and clean up your room.

To: Mommy Dearest

From: Your Baby Boy

Subject: Store

Can you pick me up some Pringles and another DVD while you’re out?

To: The boy whose room will be clean soon

From: Don’t forget who’s in charge here

Subject: Reply-Store

Clean up your room.

To: Mommy

From: Son

Subject: Okay

Okay, I’ll clean my room. But I’m hungry and thirsty. I think now would be a good time to drink some milk and eat some broccoli.

To: All Employees

From: L.Dinaberg

Subject: Vacation

Effective immediately, Leslie Dinaberg will be using her 37 weeks of accumulated vacation. She’ll be spending her time in a nice, quiet, clean room.

Send a memo to Leslie at email

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on July 28, 2006.

With a Hop, Skip and a Ro-sham-bo

Dodgeball image courtesy SUARTS, Flickr.com.

Dodgeball image courtesy SUARTS, Flickr.com.

They don’t tell you this in Lamaze class, but one of the most fun things about having kids is that you have the best of all reasons to behave like a kid again. As my son will testify to, I get just as excited as he does about dressing up for Halloween, hunting for treasures from the Easter Bunny and finding the M & M’s hidden in the popcorn while watching the latest Disney flick. And when Santa comes to town … don’t even get me started about all of the long-delayed pleasures a certain big bearded guy brings to a Jewish girl who has lusted after Christmas trees her whole life. Oy!

Given how much fun it is to yell “Yahtzee” at the top of my lungs, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that favorite childhood games like Four Square, Dodgeball and Rock Paper Scissors are being reclaimed by adults.

They actually gave away $50,000 at the first annual USA Rock Paper Scissors League Championship held in Las Vegas last month. Bud Light and A & E Network have signed on as league sponsors. I’m telling you, the duel may be all about the hands, but this sport has legs. Reportedly, Rock Paper Scissors is under consideration as an exhibition at the 2006 Winter Olympics in Turin, Italy. According to a fake press release on the official USARPS website (www.usarps.com), International Olympic Committee President Jacques Rogge is a huge Rock Paper Scissors aficionado who sees this competition as a tremendous way for countries to engage in mental battle and clearly determine which nation boasts the sharpest minds and quickest wrists. “The world will finally find out who has the mettle to medal,” Rogge says.

Sure. At least until Rock Scissors Paper gets ruined by steroids.

Hmm … I wonder if that Olympic archery competitor and actress Geena Davis will start training now that Commander and Chief has been canceled? She could always use her excessive height advantage to compete in Dodgeball, yet another childhood “sport” I hear is under Olympic consideration. Thanks in large part to the 2005 Ben Stiller movie, which played the sport for absurd comedy, the International Dodgeball Federation projects that it will have more than 300,000 sanctioned players by the end of 2007. According to the IDBF’s official website (www.dodge-ball.com) adults aged 25-35 are the sport’s largest and hottest growth segment. The Federation recently welcomed new leagues in Pakistan, Australia and Puerto Rico. Even though it’s also known as “war ball;” clearly the UN should be looking into incorporating Dodgeball as a possible peacekeeping measure.

Apparently my old recess favorite, Four Square, is back in vogue for adults as well. It’s one of the most popular sports in Cambridge, Massachusetts, with frequent tournaments and more than a dozen teams competing in an adults-only league. Norfolk, Virginia is a hotbed of adult Kickball, another of my childhood favorites. Stickball never made it to any of my Santa Barbara playgrounds, but apparently it’s big back east, where New Yawkers relive their youth in three different adult Stickball leagues. Kansas City has the Tag Institute, where kids of all ages indulge in variations of the game, Tag. Here in California, where we like a little showbiz with our sport, we have San Francisco’s Double Duchess Jump Rope Troupe, whose adult members do their acrobatic routines dressed in Catholic schoolgirl uniforms. My husband is not allowed to go.

“Not last night, but the night before

24 Robbers came knocking at my door…”

My toes immediately start tapping to the familiar rhymes. I’m having a flashback to fourth grade, where schoolwork seemed much easier to face after a few turns of the rope or kicks of the ball.

A little voice says, “Wanna play tag, mom?” brings me back to the present. “You bet,” I say. I may be older and slower, but I can still use my wits to dominate a six-year-old.

“You’re it,” we say simultaneously.

“One, two, three jinx. You owe me a coke.”

Anyone up for a game of Kickball? Email Leslie at email

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on July 21, 2006.

Cheers to Good Friends

Photo courtesy Pixabay.com.

Photo courtesy Pixabay.com.

Like clockwork, the same thing happens to me every year about this time. That one-two-punch of euphoria and melancholy that comes from hanging out with dear friends, repeating stupid jokes, rehashing old stories, and laughing, eating and drinking a lot. It’s great. It’s invigorating. It makes me believe all that cliched crud about friends being tied together with heartstrings or that they are the chocolate chips in the cookie of life. Good friends are the stuff that Lowenbrau commercials are made of. Tonight is kind of special.

And then they go home to whatever far flung corners of the country that they live in, and I’m stuck feeling sad and depressed and wishing that somehow, some way, all of my cherished friends from all over the place could come and live next door to me in Santa Barbara.

It happens every summer. They flock to our town for the charming little shops, the easy access to the beach, the random parades, and of course, to see us, their fabulously fun and witty friends who happen to live in a beach town. Somehow I don’t think people in Des Moines and Dubuque have out of town friends visit them every summer.

But once or twice a year just isn’t enough. Why can’t all my friends live right here? It would make life so much easier.

Now don’t get me wrong. I have great friends here in town. More than I probably deserve. Plus, contrary to a recent Time Magazine article about reports by a topflight team of sociologists that found Americans to be more socially isolated today then we were barely two decades ago, I meet interesting new people all the time. I could make new friends if I wanted to. Really, I could.

But new people just aren’t the same as the old people. The old people have already endured a complicated vetting process that involves sneaking through bedroom windows in the middle of the night, playing songs on the sink, holding my hair back from the barf, and a long list of quotes that are only hysterically funny if you’ve lived through them. Killing machine, hit list, cartoon eyes, it’s just a phase? See what I mean? You had to be there.

And it’s harder to be there now that we’re getting older. Chances are good that once you have a job that requires you get more than four hours of sleep a night, you just don’t have the same amount of time to spend contemplating your navel alongside your friends. And once you add kids to that mix, you really want to keep that belly button as far out of view as possible.

So you still make friends, but it’s just not the same.

With old friends, we’ve already weathered and survived the eternal “What should we do for dinner debate?” a thousand times. They already know why bike rides are a bad idea and that they’d better keep that pickle juice away from my plate. And, if I were the type who farted, old friends would be the first I’d do it in front of.

Of course, old friends could also tell you about that not-so-pretty bi-level haircut I had in the 80s or the not-so-pretty way I made out with my husband on the dance floor when we first met.

Maybe it’s better that all my old friends don’t live here. I’d probably be tempted to write about them, and the last thing I’d want to do is publicly embarrass all the people who have enough dirt on me to fill a small park.

But it sure would be fun to hang out there.

Old friends, and new readers can lift Leslie’s spirits by dropping a line to email

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on July 14, 2006.

Feeling Festive on the Fourth

 

Carol M. Highsmith [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Carol M. Highsmith [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

“You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism.”  —Erma Bombeck

Assuming you’ve all had time to digest and burn off those patriotic helpings of hot dogs and Big Gulp buckets of beer (or cosmopolitans, in my case), and have seen enough fireworks sparkling up the sky to sate that appetite for another year, I’d like to reflect on why July Fourth is such a rockin’ holiday.

1. It makes me proud to be an American.

The Fourth of July is the one day of the year when I’m guaranteed to get a little bit verklempt about being an American. Sure it’s easy to get choked up at the ballot box on Election Day, but the results often make me want to gag. Where else but the Montecito Village Fourth Parade can you see the entire Taran Family dressed up like hot dogs, hamburgers, condiments, and Samuel Adams Beer? It’s not like they can repeat that ensemble for the Solstice Parade. They’d have to reinterpret with a tofu dog and veggie burger.

2. It makes me feel like an American…while I’m actually here.

Whether my sister and I are being stalked for photos like celebrities in Japan–because of our superior height, which is merely “kinda tall” over here–or marveling at the Balinese natives’ familiarity with George Bush–while the average U.S. high school student knows more about Paris Hilton’s latest bikini wax–I never feel more American than when I travel to another country. Maybe its that old adage about absence making the heart grow fonder kicking in, but in general, I feel much more patriotic when I’ve got a little distance between me and the good old U.S. of A.

3. I get to dress up like a dork.

If I had the hot dog outfit, I might actually wear it–that’s how much fun it is to dress up on this particular holiday. Unlike Halloween, where it’s expected, on the Fourth of July you can get big party points just for showing up in a star spangled outfit. Bonus points for a flag painted on your cheek, or a t-shirt that says, “Uncle Sam Wants You … To Have Another Beer.” Don’t get me started on my MLK Day costume plans.

4. I get to play with matches.

Nothing gets you in touch with your inner pyromaniac like the Fourth of July. There’s the inescapable lure of fireworks, both the big booming ones that shoot from the sky, and the cute little sparklers, whistling Pete’s and poppers that even my six-year-old likes to play with. I swear they invented sparklers so kids would have something to do on the Fourth of July while the adults are getting drunk and overeating. It’s like there’s a race to see who’ll lose a finger first: the kids with their firecrackers, or my husband when he doesn’t move his fork out of the chocolate cake fast enough. Personally, I like to reuse the sparklers to roast marshmallows, thus satisfying my needs to feel environmentally superior, play with fire, and replenish my sugar supply every hour on the hour.

Then there’s the highly amusing, and mostly masculine mania to stare at whatever’s cooking on the barbecue. My father’s newest gas-powered acquisition allowed me to eavesdrop on such conversational ditties as, “How many minutes do saber tooth tiger steaks have to cook on each side? I’m not sure. Let me check my GPS. How do you turn this thing on? I’m not sure. Let me check the Internet.” You go, grill.

5. The Fourth of July is when it really starts to feel like summer.

You can’t go to work that day, it would be un-American. Besides there are fires to be lit and drinks to be drunk. The Fourth is when laziness finally finds respectability, which is what makes a great holiday in my book.

With no holidays in sight, it looks like Leslie will be laboring away till Labor Day. Make her day by dropping a line to email.  Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound.

Can the Homeless and the Business Community Coexist?

An update on some of the latest efforts

California conjures images of endless summers filled with surf, sun and sand, but increasingly, those beach bum images of the past are being replaced by those of an entirely differently type of bum: aggressive panhandlers. After all, if you had to spend the winter on the streets, wouldn’t you rather be in San Diego than Detroit? While the attractiveness of the state’s mild weather is understandable, it comes at a high cost. Panhandling can have significant negative economic impacts on the surrounding businesses. Here’s a brief look at what some communities are doing to combat the problem.

Many cities are using legislation to crack down on homeless persons living in public spaces. According to the latest U.S. Conference of Mayors Hunger and Homelessness report, despite an overall increase in unmet needs for emergency shelter, there has been an increase in criminalization of the homeless between an initial survey in 2002 and a 2005 survey of 224 American cities. For example, the survey found a 12 percent increase in laws prohibiting begging in certain public places and an 18 percent increase in laws that prohibit aggressive panhandling–bringing the total number of cities prohibiting aggressive panhandling to 45 percent, while 21 percent have prohibitions on begging of any kind.

There was also a 14 percent increase in laws prohibiting sitting or lying in certain public spaces and a 3 percent increase in laws prohibiting loitering, loafing, or vagrancy–bringing the total number of cities prohibiting camping in particular public places to 28 percent, with 39 percent prohibiting loitering in particular public areas.

In addition to legal efforts, business organizations are working to educate the public about how to handle panhandling. For example, the downtown Chico Business Association is actively encouraging business owners, employees, residents and visitors “to redirect their generosity to the institutions best suited to helping the homeless and struggling citizens.” The organization provides a list of such institutions and encourages people to donate to them, rather than directly rewarding those people who beg on the street. Similar efforts are also underway in Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo and Santa Maria.

Most effective are a combination of two very different strategies, according to strategic planning firm Civic Strategies, Inc. One is a carrot-and-stick approach, which works best for the “temporarily homeless” that are down on their luck. In this instance, cities crack down on aggressive panhandling and other quality of life violations while offering easily accessible alternatives, such as 24-hour gateway centers that direct homeless people to shelters, job training and drug treatment.

The other strategy is aimed at the “chronically homeless,” people with serious mental illnesses, physical ailments, drug addictions or all three. The strategy that works for these people, who are the most disruptive groups of homeless people and most expensive (because they are frequently arrested and often end up in emergency rooms) is to give them access to decent housing, intensive health care and drug treatment facilities and accept that they’ll be long-term wards of the city.

Other constructive alternatives to criminalization include coordinated outreach efforts, where police and social workers or volunteers work together to place people in shelters and provide mental and physical health assistance, as well as job advice and training. The Pasadena Police Department and the Los Angeles Department of Health have partnered to form the Homeless Outreach Psychiatric Evaluation (HOPE) Team to work in this way.

There’s also another strategy that’s just taking shape: an end to “dumping.” In Los Angeles, officials discovered that police from other jurisdictions were driving homeless people from their jails to downtown L.A. and letting them out there because downtown had the services, and the suburbs didn’t. This has led to a demand that suburban areas take care of their own homeless problems, backed by a recent survey in the L.A. area that found there were as many people living on the streets and in the parks of the San Fernando and San Gabriel valleys as in the central city.

In Northern California, officials are also realizing that the homeless are not just an urban phenomenon. The Association of Bay Area Governments is working to attack the problem regionally, by tracking the homeless across the region to see how they move through institutions (soup kitchens, work programs, jails, hospitals, shelters, etc.) and among localities, with an aim to better understand the problem and design programs that work.

“If you want people to shop in your community, to come to your community, you have to address this problem so the homeless are not a barrier,” Berkeley’s Mayor Tom Bates said. “We can’t do this alone. We have to do it together.”

Originally published in California Centers Magazine on July 1, 2006.

At This Office, It is OK to Show Up Late

The Office, courtesy Wikipedia.

The Office, courtesy Wikipedia.

You know what I miss most about my day job — besides the paycheck? I miss the water cooler.

It’s not that we don’t have plenty of cold drinks and snacks available here at home. I’m perfectly well sweetened, salted, and hydrated–repeat–repeat again–with a special emphasis on sweets during a certain time of the month. Believe me, I’ve got the literal water cooler covered, except for the whole “free” part.

What I miss is the water cooler chitchat about the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy and The Sopranos. I looked forward to our Monday morning quarterbacking of Tony and Carmela’s latest relationship upheaval or Meredith’s most recent ill-advised conquests.

Our little chats were like standing play dates that lasted 13 weeks, not counting re-runs.

Now that school’s out, I can’t even kibbitz with the PTA moms about the latest episode of Sponge Bob. I’m already feeling withdrawals, and it’s only the first week of summer.

Ironically, now that I no longer have an office to go to, I’ve come to appreciate the pleasures of The Office on TV. I came a little bit late to this delightfully deadpan show, where inappropriate remarks, petty behavior, and zero productivity are all in a day’s work.

And unlike the real offices I’ve worked in, at the Dunder-Mifflin paper company, no one ever has the energy to go out to lunch, let alone talk about important political and social events like TV shows.

The workplace scenarios are oh-so adult and familiar, even though the humor is oh-so wonderfully, and quoteably juvenile. If only I still had a cubicle to toss lines over like, “This is our receptionist, Pam. If you think she’s cute now you should have seen her a couple of years ago!” Or another favorite: “You know what they say about a car wreck, where it’s so awful you can’t look away? This is like a car wreck that you want to look away from but you have to stare at it because your boss is making you.”

My teenage nephews appreciate the show as much as I do, which comes in handy, since I no longer have office-mates to discuss it with.

We can hardly wait for the July 13 “webisodes” to begin. I’m betting they’ll be about Toby, the HR guy, who is, in my humble opinion, a character with a lot of unexplored potential. As Michael (the boss) says, “Toby is in HR, which technically means he works for corporate, so he’s really not a part of our family. Also, he’s divorced, so he’s really not a part of his family.”

His HR-like HR-policies have been the driver behind most of my favorite moments at “The Office.”

For example, when Toby talks with Michael about inappropriate fraternizing with employees, Michael summons the troops to make one of his infamous announcements.

“Attention everyone, hello! Yes, I just want you to know that this is not my decision but from here on out, we can no longer be friends. And when we talk about things here, we must only discuss work-associated things. And uh, you can consider this my retirement from comedy. And in the future if I want to say something funny, or witty, or do an impression I will no longer, ever, do any of those things.”

Jim, who is actually the only character on the show who resembles anyone I’ve ever worked with, then says, “Does that include ‘That’s what she said?'” (See what I mean about the nephews appreciating it?)

Michael replies, “Mmm hmm, yes.”

Jim: “Wow. That is really hard. (My nephews are rolling on the floor at this point, as is my husband.) You really think you can go all day long? (On the show, Michael nearly bursts trying not to say it.) Well, you always left me satisfied and smiling.”

So much for dignity, I am practically peeing my pants by the time Michael finally says, “That’s what she said!”

Did you see that one? Wasn’t it hysterical? OK, you’re drafted. You are now officially my new water cooler buddies. I’m so happy that we can be that kind of friends.

That’s what she said!

Leslie is clearly desperate for some office humor. If you’ve got any to spare, email Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. That’s what she said!

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on June 30, 2006.

Obsessed (or Possessed) by Scrapbooking

Vintage Scrapbook, Tulane University, courtesy Wikipedia Commons.

Vintage Scrapbook, Tulane University, courtesy Wikipedia Commons.

The fine line between “fun hobby” and “neurotic obsession” finally blurred for me last weekend, as I stayed up ’til 3 a.m. hammering little metal plates printed with sincere sentiments like, “A teacher takes the hand, opens the mind, touches the heart” onto little scraps of paper that would eventually find their way into a scrapbook for Koss’s teacher.

I don’t know if it was hammering my already-blackened thumb for the 13th time or downing my 17th Hershey’s Chocolate Kiss and Red Bull cocktail to stay awake, but I had a pre-dawn epiphany: I may not be completely well in the head.

My fascination with scrapbooking began about 13 years ago. I was planning my wedding, a sentimental time of life known to turn even the hardest heart to mush, and you all know that I’m pretty mushy to begin with. Plus, I had recently quit my 70-hour-a-week job, while my husband-to-be’s career was gearing up. In other words, I had a lot of time on my hands, and for the first time in well, ever, the money to match.

I was fish in a barrel at that first Creative Memories workshop. Talk about easy pickings. Cardstock. I must have ten of each, in every single color. Squiggly-edged scissors? I’ll take a dozen. Stickers? I get to buy stickers, and I don’t have to share them with kids? I’ll take two — of each — in every single design and color.

Visions of perfectly ordered memories danced in my head as the U-Haul pulled up to haul my stuff home.

Once home, I immediately got out the merlot, the M & M’s, and the dental floss. No, I wasn’t being attacked by plaque. The scrapbooking teacher said that I was being plagued by something much more sinister: acid.

That’s right, acid, the evil culprit that’s working right this very minute to deteriorate your precious memories into puce yellow, burnt orange and avocado green (no wait, those are just my pictures from the 70s). I tore my old-fashioned, outdated, worse than a shoebox, adhesive-style albums out from under my bed and used the floss to free what pictures I could from the evils of acid.

I went through two bottles of wine, a case of dental floss, seven bags of M & M’s, and three boxes of Band-Aids that night. I saw the sun come up and made friends with the guys on the graveyard shift at the 24-hour Ralph’s down the street. I was definitely hooked.

Having rescued most of my childhood photos, I carefully, painstakingly found them a safe and pretty home in an acid-free environment. There my memories can express themselves freely, creatively, and often elaborately.

So what if that acid-free album costs three times as much as the one with the 40-year life expectancy? And who cares if my son will need a climate-controlled, five-car garage to house all of the scrapbooks he’ll inherit?

The great thing about scrapbooking is how it brings families together. Or, at least it would, if my husband wasn’t actually a man, or if I let my child touch any of my things.

I’m not crazy. My head is well. I’m making memories, here, so back off. Just one more page and then I’ll get some sleep.

Is Leslie obsessed or possessed by scrapbooking? You be the judge, and tell us what you think at email.

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on June 23, 2006.

Some fine marriage advice

Marriage of Walter John Beckwith and Myrtle Ellenor Brown, 1920. Item is held by John Oxley Library, State Library of Queensland. Courtesy Wikipedia Commons.

Marriage of Walter John Beckwith and Myrtle Ellenor Brown, 1920. Item is held by John Oxley Library, State Library of Queensland. Courtesy Wikipedia Commons.

Last weekend we celebrated my in-laws 50th anniversary. Can you imagine being married for 50 years? Remember how long that movie Titanic was? Now watch it 127,750 times. That’s how long 50 years is. Drop an iceberg on me now.

It’s not that I don’t love my husband, I do. And even though I’d had a glass of champagne, I still meant what I said when I vowed, “till death do us part” some 12 years ago.

And I only dream about his death once a week, maximum.

But 50 years of marriage. Fifty years. I had to find out their secrets.

To understand the challenges of this quest, you have to understand that my mother-in-law, lovely and easy-going as she is, is not exactly a fount of personal information. I know more about the complete strangers I eavesdrop on at Starbuck’s than I do about my mother-in-law. She’s not exactly what you would call a talker.

In my family you have to talk about everything. And talk, and talk, and talk, until you’re so tired of talking you forgot what you were talking about. We talk so much that my dad sometimes has to take little naps while the rest of us talk.

Then we talk about that.

My husband’s family doesn’t get the whole talking thing. They’d rather play games, rhyming their words rather than actually communicating with them.

A sample conversation with my in-laws, as we drive by the Madonna Inn: He says, “It’s very pink.” She says, “Do you think?” He says, “Should we have a drink?” She says, “That wouldn’t stink.” He says, “Wink, wink.” She giggles.

She giggles a lot, which brings me to the first marriage tip I’ve gleaned indirectly from my mother-in-law: Marry someone you think is funny.

If it’s too late for that, try to find things you both think are funny. Babies and the disgusting things that ooze from their various orifices are great for this. I’m told that teenage puberty, particularly when coupled with mom’s menopause, can also be a hilarious bonding experience for couples. I can’t wait.

I know I’ll never be a match for my mother-in-law’s impressive ability to zip her lip when it comes to complaining or even commenting on the eccentricities of her husband. They always manage to present a united front. My husband and I are pretty good at that too, although I do try to make sure that Koss loves me more by buying him candy. Nonetheless, we’re equally firm about disciplining him when he gets too sassy, even if I do sneak him a Reese’s for comfort every once in a while.

And I really do try not to laugh too hard when my friends agree with my complaints about my husband. Somebody’s got to stick up for the poor guy, and I know he would never complain about me to his friends. It’s nice to know that we’ve got each other’s backs. Right, dear.

I prod my in-laws for more marriage advice. “Three little words,” says my father-in-law.

I know this one. “I love you.” Right? They laugh.

“Honey, I’m wrong,” guesses my husband. More giggles.

“Buy me toys,” guesses my son, who’s good at math and gets the word count right.

“What is it?” I ask. My mother-in-law smiles and giggles some more.

“Everything’s just fine,” she says, knowing it will drive me crazy. My father-in-law laughs along.

But how do they really feel? I’ll never know. And that’s “just fine” with them.

Leslie is always eager for marriage advice. You can reach her at email.

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound.

Wading my Way Through Swimsuitophobia

Swimsuits of Binibining Pilipinas 2008, by Paul Chin from Manila City, Philippines, courtesy Wikipedia Commons.

Swimsuits of Binibining Pilipinas 2008, by Paul Chin from Manila City, Philippines, courtesy Wikipedia Commons.

“Mommy only goes in the water when we’re on vacation,” my son told his buddy when we ventured to the pool last week. The poor kid didn’t even realize I knew how to swim until a couple of years ago, when an unfortunate heat wave forced me to don a swimsuit for the first time since he was born.

It’s not that I don’t know how to swim; it’s just that I’ve got a bad case of swimsuitophobia. Scientists have still been unable to find a cure for this malady, despite my countless hours at the gym, and hundreds of pounds lost and found, and lost and found again, Swimsuitophobia affects nearly every woman I know. In fact, the fear of buying a bathing suit has replaced fear of public speaking and leaving the house without wearing clean underwear as the number one fear for women over age 30.

The rational side of me — yes, I do have one, dear — realizes that I’m a mom; my body has already done its duty for the survival of the species. I’m 30-12 years old, and I’ve got far more miles on me than were covered by warranty. Plus, I’m smart, and some people think I’m funny.

After all, it’s just a bathing suit, and everyone is going to be checking out the teenage girls anyway.

But still, the idea of putting on a bathing suit in public terrifies me. I can barely do it by myself.

Body image and Big Mac issues aside, I think the root of swimsuitophobia lies in the dressing rooms. Does anyone really want to know what their back fat looks like from 17 different angles? Think of all the homeless people Nordstrom’s could house if they had a companywide mandate to purchase only two mirrors per dressing room. As an added bonus, they would probably sell more bathing suits.

I was this close to whipping out my credit card and buying a tasteful turquoise suit there the other day. The color was perfect, and it seemed to fit most of my body just fine in the first 13 mirrors I looked at. Then lo and behold, parts of me oozed out disloyally on the sides. Apparently my rebellious body wasn’t willing to be confined by the 37-way stretch of this season’s Lycra. How did my left boob get under my right arm? And where did the other one go? How many people does that rear end belong to? It was like one of those clown cars, only buttocks kept piling out of it.

Within moments the store’s funhouse mirrors exposed every Hershey Bar and popcorn tub I had eaten in the past year — even the ones I had consumed standing up to avoid the calories.

All of the sudden the lights in the dressing room got brighter, bringing into full focus my stretch marks, my leg veins, and lack of a tan. I needed to shave my legs, wax, get a tummy tuck, pedicure, liposuction, therapy, and a spark plug change. This was rapidly becoming a very expensive swimsuit.

Meanwhile, my sweet little boy was squeezed in there with me, offering helpful little comments like, “Is it supposed to look like that?” And, “It’s okay, dad can always take me to the pool.”

Needless to say, we left without the suit.

My son told my husband about the shopping trip, and asked him why he didn’t help mommy pick out her bathing suits. He mumbled something about, “Finely honed survival skills,” and then reminded him that, “Mommy only goes in the water on vacation.”

My son nodded in agreement, but then looked a little perplexed. “Then why don’t we ever go on vacation?”

If you really want help Leslie with her swimsuitophobia, she’s available for free travel during the entire month of August. Email your itinerary to email.

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on June 2, 2006.

Courting Families

Dubai Mall by Nishat Khan, courtesy Flickr https://www.flickr.com/photos/nishatkhan/12033808253

Dubai Mall by Nishat Khan, courtesy Flickr https://www.flickr.com/photos/nishatkhan/12033808253

Special Events Attract the Family Market

Parents hunting for great places to go hang out with friends, grab a bite, shop a bit, or entertain their kids for a few hours, need look no further than their local shopping center. While malls are usually thought to be family friendly, some centers are pulling out all the stops to foster that image.

“In general, the entire industry recognizes the value of being family friendly,” says Alice Love, Senior Manager, Marketing for Pacific View Mall in Ventura and La Cumbre Plaza in Santa Barbara. But her centers, both owned by the Macerich Company, go the extra mile to court the family market.

For example, La Cumbre Plaza’s weekly Certified Farmers Market — which already drew hundreds of visitors in search of fresh organic produce, flowers and other gourmet goods– recently ran a promotion inviting children to experience the farmers market by offering them a special tour each week.

“They would stop at the different vendors and learn how that particular fruit or vegetable is grown,” says Love.

Upon completing the tour, they were taken into a store that happened to specialize in children’s furniture, where they got to do an art project. They created their own placemat, which was then laminated so they could take it home to use. Each child was also given a token to purchase something from the farmers market.

San Luis Obispo, has taken the farmers market concept a step further, regularly drawing crowds of 10,000 downtown during the summertime, and about half that during the winter. People of all ages flock to the downtown shopping area where the streets are blocked off every Thursday night for barbecued ribs, fresh strawberries, local wines, and of course, kid-friendly entertainment like puppet shows, balloon animals and live music.

Some very lively music, the clanging of budding young percussionists and drummers, can be heard at Ventura’s Pacific View Mall’s “Kids View” gathering. Children and their parents gather at the food court each week for what Love calls, “educational entertainment.”

The playbill varies. “One week it might be entertainment with marionettes, then we may have someone that comes in with musical instruments and all the kids get to play with them, which is quite a racket,” she says.

While programs like “Kids View” cater to the preschool crowd, who need parental supervision, other centers are finding that drop-off educational programs like SCORE!, Sylvan Learning Center, Kumon Math & Reading Center, and California Learning Center offer the perfect opportunity for kids to work their brains while mom gets her shopping done, unencumbered.

Working with nonprofit community groups is also a great way to bring families to a center, and engender goodwill for your business. La Cumbre Plaza recently drew large crowds when it hosted the local Girl Scouts’ Amazing Cookie Kick-Off event. In addition to cookie relays and games, there was a cookie rally where some of Santa Barbara’s top restaurants and chefs showcased creative desserts made with Girl Scout cookies that were then judged by a panel of local celebrities. The winning recipes were showcased at the restaurant, on television, and in the local newspaper, thus supplying loads of free publicity for both the Girl Scouts and the mall.

Signature family events can help create new community traditions, like Pacific View Mall’s annual Lemon Fest, held the weekend after Labor Day. Tying into the center’s heritage as a lemon grove in the 1920s, the festival features live entertainment, a kids play area, arts and crafts booths, and food booths.

“There’s something for everybody in the family to do,” says Love, whose team has been successfully running the Lemon Fest for the past five years.

Also drawing on their agricultural heritage for festival inspiration — and additional retail traffic — are downtown Watsonville, with its Main Street Watsonville Annual Strawberry Festival, and Carpinteria’s annual Avocado Festival.

Finally, there’s nothing like annual holiday events to bring out the kids and their parents. La Cumbre Plaza, Pacific View Mall, Main Street in Huntington Beach, and the Pismo Beach Pier are among the many shopping areas that feature in-store trick or treating. And it would be a challenge to find a mall that doesn’t have a photo-friendly Santa available the day after Thanksgiving.

While family friendly holiday activities abound in December, Pacific View Mall offers something unique, at least in California. The first Saturday in December brings “Holiday Traditions, Ventura Style” to the region, trucking in 30 tons of snow for the annual celebration, which concludes with fireworks, and Santa lighting the community Christmas tree.

It’s wet, it’s messy, and it’s incredibly fun, says one regular attendee.

Sounds a lot like parenting, doesn’t it.

Originally published in California Centers Magazine on June 1, 2006.