Alone in the silence
Of her mind:
contemplating, considering, listening
for the first, for any explanation.
She listens to the sound of his breathing
and she waits...

A wrought iron gate swings on well oiled
or sometimes
rusty hinges,
but it is still a gate; still swinging,
keeping harm out
keeping safe in
What does he do when the hinges begin to pull, to bend, to rot?
He turns over then
and she waits...

Watching, biding, storing
time...
He whispers her name
it feels like a cold chill across her naked arms
piercing, unwelcome.
She did not want this place
She did not want this life
Yet she is here, every day
each night,
Waiting...

for something to happen.

Hope...

I haven't cried...
Not when my grandmother died or when a good friend's father passed; not even at his funeral. I didn't cry when I watched the news about Japan or in each day since; I didn't cry when I heard of the tragic loss of a friend's brother who was taken much too soon from a crippling disease. In fact, it has been a very long time since I've cried.

And the thing is, I've felt such tremendous sadness in this past month, a deep, profound weight upon my chest and heart that I haven't been able to release. Writing helps and talking helps, friends and family help. Running helps, but I haven't been able to find that place of starting over I guess; that place where I begin each day and from where I try to deal with whatever comes. But it was tonight, for the first time in a long time that the tears came, without warning and I couldn't stop them. I didn't want to...

I stood outside tonight, looking around our backyard and I thought about the past 13 years that this has been our home and I thought about those moments with the boys, playing with them when they were little, splashing in the pool, jumping on the trampoline and although I still get to enjoy that with Ty, the age differences bring a unique dimension to our backyard activities as the two older ones aren't really all about "digging in the dirt" anymore. I thought about Nick taking his first steps here and bringing Ty home from the hospital and I realized that for Jake, just like for the other two, that this is the only home he's ever known, even though he was just 13 months when we moved in. This is the only home any of them have ever known. And as I thought that, I began to cry.

Nothing is ever as simple as you want it to be, not a single thing. You put away the unused toys but you turn around and they've multiplied. You pull weeds in the backyard planter only to find more in the front yard. You clean the bathroom floor and that night, a sick kid throws up all over it. There is no "end" of anything. To simplify your life only means one thing; yard sale. No, really, it means attempting to redefine your previously erratic and overscheduled life while trying to maintain some semblance of who you were and what you once liked about yourself. I think it is the mere idea of "the possibility of" that keeps us young and dreaming and idealistic. But when that wanes or is gone, then what's the point anymore? If, at some juncture in your life, you stop and say, that's it, I have nothing left to learn or to teach or to give or to be, then, really, your life is over. I like to fall asleep every night while imagining a new story in my head; sometimes they involve me, but mostly they don't. They involve crazy scenarios where people act out of the ordinary and where the realm of ideas is never squelched or tainted by the mantra, "You're too old to do that..." Yes there are things that I'm not going to get to do in this lifetime and there are certainly reasons for my inability to be a major league baseball player or a pole dancer, but, at the same time, I like to imagine that I could be if I wanted and sometimes those thoughts lead to dreams and then it really gets interesting...

Catharsis... crying, weeping, emoting - all cathartic and leaving me feeling exhausted and hopeful and ready to start over again tomorrow, thankful and blessed that I get another day; even if it is one fraught with the repeated dilemma or boo-boo. Maybe the act of letting it out as the tears run down my face is nothing more than some area of my brain telling me that it's okay to let go of the frustration and fear and anger that has been building these past months. It has to be. I mean some people cry when they have sex and if it's a release for them... but, I digress...

I had a few moments today of sheer bitchiness too and I can't help but think that some of that comes into play here as I let my sadness overcome me. For all of my parent friends out there, "Yvette made some bad choices today..." and had I been in preschool, I most certainly would have spent some serious energy resting in the timeout chair let me tell you. But, needless to say, I am now ready to doze off, prepared to be awoken by the alarm beeping at 5:45 so that Rosh and I can head off to yoga, prepping for another day of Lord knows what.

I like to sit and think about all of the things that make me happy and I know that's what I was doing tonight as I looked out at the trees and the sky and the stars, but I am the kind of person who balances it out by thinking about what pains me and hurts me as well. As if the equation HAS to be balanced in order for it to work itself out in my mind. And tonight I thought about the people who have been lost this past month and I thought about all of the volunteers and the people who are donating blood and money and supplies to help victims all over the world. I thought about a friend who will leave soon for over 2 years to make a mark in another part of the world as a member of the Peace Corps. I thought about a friend who is already changing the world through her generosity and giving spirit and who, when she finishes medical school, will certainly leave an indelible mark on society. I thought about Rosh and the girls and my brother Steve, who I've missed this past week. I thought about my best friend and a former a student who is visiting Haiti right now, designing housing for the displaced. I thought about an upcoming wedding and a student who is going to have a baby soon and I dwelled on how terrible I played in our soccer game last night. I thought about how much I miss ice cream (gave it up for lent) and how I'm looking forward to running 8-10 miles this Sunday. I thought about love and loneliness and, for some reason, the theme from Rocky as the notes bounced through my head. And I thought about how age really is just a number, always has been.

And so, I may not be better, but I do feel better and, overall what else can we really ask for? To feel good, well, happy, content, whatever it's called, however it's defined, is merely showing a desire to wake up and try again tomorrow; only this time, to be a bit better than the day before. Let's hope so... sweet dreams.

Grief...

I come in stages,
in places you could never imagine,
I come to those who need me yet who do not want me
I live in disaster
in disease
in heartbreak,
I thrive in those who meet me unexpectedly, unknowingly, when they are unprepared...
I change the way you live and think and even breathe
Sometimes I remind you of what is important and what not to take for granted
Other times I cripple you with my presence, leaving you to weep uncontrollably,
to take pills, to reach for the bottle or the razor blade,
anything to escape the crushing pressure of my fist around your heart...
You'd paint me black if you could,
as a deep, dark unknown factor, a pit, a symbol of isolation,
I am an umbrella under which you take shelter when the pain is too great and the loss is too profound
and I do help, some, but others won't survive me,
they don't know how to let me go, when to let me go
they hold me as tightly as I hold them,
not realizing that they have the power to chase me away...
in their traditions, in their ceremonies, in their love; it is in their sharing of joy and memories that I begin to dissipate,
never gone though, never fully gone,
I may return on an anniversary or on a warm day at the park when you close your eyes and think of your loved one, but I am not as strong in these moments,
in these fleeting moments, I am but a wisp of sadness, of longing,
Some call me a healer
they move through my lessons, difficult as they may be
and they come out better, stronger, more peaceful...
For those who do not, for those who cannot make their peace with me,
I can only say,
I am here, for as long as you choose, in your mind and in your tears and in the love that you carry for the lost ones,
I am here, for as long as you need me, want me and even when you don't... in those times, I hope that someone
is there for you and that
they chase me away while holding you in their arms,
tightly, warmly,
cherishing all that is good about you, about life, about hope...

I live so that you may move through the pain, but I will not be here forever;
let me go when you are ready...

Happy Birthday Mom! Love you...

And the volunteer award goes to...

Mother fucking son of a bitch referee... well, that one in Jake's game today anyway and yes, I know, he's a volunteer; he does the best that he can, he's out there on his own dime, blah, blah, blah, screw that. He made a shitty call and although it caused a tie between the two teams, it was one of those moments when you sit back and go, "What in the hell just happened?" I have nothing against referees and actually, I'm one of the tamer people out there; my team even won the sportsmanship award a couple of seasons back. Yes, I get emotional(woman) and yes, I change my mind(woman) and I've even been known to make some bonehead coaching manuevers on the field now and then(blonde), BUT, in my very narrow defense, I always have the kids best interests at heart, just ask anyone.

The penalty kick that the fucking ref called in the last minute of the game which was not a penalty at all as the defender clearly went for the ball and the kid looked like he dove over the defender was, of course, against my kid who was the goalkeeper today. And, bias aside, it was the best game I've ever seen the kid play in goal. He was on today; it just felt like one of those games where after it's over, you look at him, rub his head and say; see, that's what it feels like to leave it all out there. Phenomenal. Anyway, back to the shitty ref... earlier, my kid got a yellow card for shooting off his mouth (pause for the apple doesn't fall far from the tree thought here), but just before that, the left forward for the other team had completley rammed into my kid, after the fact and as the ref walked over to seemingly give #14 a yellow card, he turned to MY kid and gave him a yellow INSTEAD, leaving the forward as if he did nothing. Now, this kind of bullshit does not sit well with me, so I did what any non-self respecting, needing anger management parent would do and I screamed at the ref. That's my kid, I'm not going to stand by and just watch that kind of nonsense. After which, the coach asked me to calm down and told me that my kid had dropped the f bomb which is why he was given the yellow(I know, whole bushel of apples); that gave me pause and I said something like, well, he shouldn't have said that, but that kid shouldn't have gotten away with that either. I didn't doubt that Jake had said something and I told the coach that I would talk to him after the game, which I did and where he told me very clearly that he told the ref that the call was bs. Now, as a parent, I reminded my son that the next time something happens, he needs to keep his mouth shut. You might think that hypocritical, given my behavior today, but again, in my even narrower defense, he is my kid and comments or not, foul play warrants some kind of action; maybe it isn't a mother screaming on the sideline, but sometimes the moment gets the best of me. After the game I apologized to the coach and I sent him an email reiterating that notion and the fact that I sincerely appreciate his time and effort with the team, which I do, we all do. I certainly didn't intend to make a jackass out of myself or my kid, but if a line is crossed, my temper just flares. And this was before the penalty kick...

When I was in the second grade, I saw a girl, a classmate, swipe another girl's pencil out of her pencil box. I saw it and so I told. Well, after school, the thief, Jo-el, was waiting for me and basically, she beat the crap out of me. I walked home crying that day and when I went in the front door, my parents were all concerned, but I remember my dad coming to talk to me and when I had calmed down a little bit, he took me out into the backyard and, he showed me how to defend myself. He didn't make excuses for Jo-el nor did he tell me that it wasn't okay to hit someone else. Instead, he put my hands up in front of my face and he showed me how to move and how to jab. My dad used to box and incidentally, we used to watch him do the speedbag in the garage. I never had to fight Jo-el although there are times and there have been times when I would have like to have seen her again, just so I could tell her off or basically crunch her spine in half, but I'm not one to hold a grudge or anything so... my point is, it's always been my dad and even though he has a fierce temper and I am a lot like that, he was always the one to say, do what you have to do to defend yourself and you will never get in trouble for doing that... when I was having trouble in middle school with another bitch of a human being, he flat out told me one day to go to school and to beat her up and if I didn't, if I came home without doing it, then I was going to "get it." Well, all I had to do was spread the word and she got the hint and then, after school, I walked up to her and I told her that my dad had given me license to kick her ass and that she better leave me alone from then on, and, she did... funny thing is, I get angry, but I'm not really a fighter. I defend myself, but I really don't like confrontation and most of the time, I try to avoid it. Most of the time; today notwithstanding...

I think the real point of something like this is that we all have to remember our place. When I've been the coach, it has been my job to protect the players, to keep the parents in check and to deal with the referees. Now, as a person on the sideline, it really is my job to cheer and to support and yes, to get angry or upset when someone is being treated unfairly, but it is probably best and most appropriate to keep my opinions to myself, at least for the sake of the team and for my son. It's never been about me; I don't want the spotlight, I don't want the attention, but it has been about fairness and when someone is unfair to one of my kids, all bets are off, even if said kid said something inappropriate which, in this case, was the case. Maybe it all boils down to the setting of an example, I mean, I know it does, but my dad always had a point too; you have to defend yourself and you have to do it when necessary even though it might not be appropriate.

I never worry about what people think about me, never. If people hate my guts, that's their right. I'm fine with that. But, I do worry and sometimes wonder if my behavior impacts how others see my children and how they are. For that alone, I need to learn to hold my tongue and curb my impulses in situations like today. Again, if it is about them, which it is, then that is something that I can certainly do. This reads like a confession of sorts which it is and which it isn't. I can almost always admit fault and I can assign blame faster than my dad could hit the bag, but mostly, I am comfortable in my own skin and that's how I am going to stay...

It was the third quarter of a CIF soccer game and we were playing at home. I was a sophomore and although I don't remember who we were playing, I remember that forward, the blue of their uniforms and the snarl of her mouth when she came after me. She took shots at me the whole first half of the game and the ref called nothing; elbows, pushing, she even tripped me once and I just played. I marked her the best that I could and I kept telling myself to stay calm. But, by the third quarter, I'd had enough and I told myself that if she touched me one more time that was it, she was going down. Sure enough and I can still feel her fist hit my jaw and it really was like it was happening in slow motion, she shoved into me and I grabbed the collar of her shirt and threw my fist into her jaw and, the next thing I knew, we were both on the ground throwing punches, yelling and her face looked like one of those distorted images in a funhouse mirror. It didn't last long as the coaches and the ref came to break it up. And I remember shaking as I walked back to the bench to put on my sweats. I had my back turned so I didn't see him pull the red card even though I knew that he had. I turned back to sit down on the bench and our coach came over and told me that I had to leave the field and go sit in the stands; red card, somewhat of a humiliation. I grabbed my things, he was none too happy as we had to play short for the rest of the game, and I meandered up, through the full stands, principal of the high school included, toward my parents... my mom didn't even look at me, didn't even acknowledge me which hurt, but now I understand why that was. But I also remember, clear as day, looking at my dad, sitting next to him and hearing him say, "Way to go Yvette." He might have said something else, but that's all I needed to hear, that it was okay to defend myself and anger or not, CIF game or not, sportsmanship or not, sometimes it's okay and necessary to cut loose and to do what you think you need to do at that moment. It wasn't okay for Jake to say something to the ref and I will tell him that every single day for the rest of his life, but it was okay and justified for him to be angry and outraged at the call and at the lack of fairness that was shown by that referee today. Just because someone is in a position of authority does not make them an authority figure or role model or someone whose judgment we should automatically trust or even defer to in this case. Whatever the situation, I will always tell my kids the same thing that my dad taught me and I will never be ashamed or humiliated or angry with them for defending themselves or their principles. Hell, everyone makes mistakes and most of us learn from them, maybe?

That referee can... sportsmanship Yvette, sportsmanship... great game today boys. You won it regardless of what the score was. See you on the field.

A natural disaster...

There is beauty in devastation, in tragedy, in sadness, in loss. I think we forget that in order to rebuild, something first has to fall, first has to be destroyed and, as much as I don't like to watch people running for their lives, dying, suffering, I am not convinced that it won't one day be me, be us, be everyone who has been watching CNN for the past 24 hours and who has begun to lose hope or faith in what is happening in the world, to the world...

I am looking at my 4 year old who is laying naked on my bed, holding his blanket, watching the Power Rangers and it is hard in this moment to think that there is probably a mother, near Japan, in Japan who is weeping for a lost relative, maybe even a child, who was taken in yesterday's devastating earthquake. And in this moment, the fleeting nature of time and of perspective has taken hold of my heart, gripping, squeezing; making it difficult to think of anything else. And in that fear, in that moment of unity between she and I, there is beauty and hope and faith. Because really, without that, what is there? The world waits when tragedies occur, but we wait for the opportunity to help, to speak up, to pray, to make ourselves part of the larger picture that we call life. And if we don't do this, if we don't weave ourselves into the pattern, then we feel lost and isolated and not connected to other people. As I listen and watch and as I read the paper today, every single one of those people was someone I knew; it could have been off the coast of California... it still very well could be one day. My home, my city, my world crashing down and who will be there to respond, to pray, to hope? I like to think that there will be a mother somewhere thinking exactly what I am right now; have strength, have faith; after the hurt comes the healing.

Maybe it's a naive way of looking at what will be considered one of the greatest natural disasters in the history of the world thus far, but, like anything that is complicated to understand or like a concept that is too abstract to grasp, one needs to find something tangible, something that helps you relate to the immensity of a situation. Otherwise it becomes unreal, surreal and too much like a television "show" where disaster has struck but that which is then cleaned up in the remainder of the hourlong show. Survival doesn't mean just taking your next breath. It means knowing that the next breath is another chance to move forward, to begin again, to try harder, to hope. Naive? Idealistic? Ridiculous? Maybe, but the next months will tell how our role and the role of other nations in the world will help the rebuilding of lives for the families that have been devastated. I just wonder, will it be enough? And do we even think about Haiti anymore or New Orleans or Thailand?

Ty is asleep next to me right now, his little hand on my arm, silent, dreaming, peaceful and, that's all there is, that's all there needs to be really. People, children, families, safe, alive, free. Sometimes it doesn't seem like that much to ask and other times it seems like such a ridiculous idea. But it's in how we respond to what is thrown at us, how we help, how we rebuild that shows our character or lack thereof. It is how all of those who are suffering tonight will attempt to get through the tragedy. We are compelled to help because we know that each person out there is us, is this 4 year old asleep next to me, is our friend or our neighbor. And, they don't need to ask, no one should ever have to ask; they should know that someone will be there.

I send my love, my faith, my hope to all those who suffer in the world despite their predicament, their illness, their tragedy and I do so in the hope that when I need it from them, when I need it the most, that it will indeed be there for me...

A passing...

I have never been someone who emotes freely or instantaneously... if I read a story in the paper or if someone shares a story that is devastating or tragic, I will usually take and need time to internalize it before I let myself feel it. I don't know why I am that way, I just feel it. Maybe it's a defense mechanism, but there have been moments when I've wished that I could just burst into tears or when I've hoped that my face expressed the sentiment that should have matched the situation; for myself and for the other people involved. If I had a better idea of why I feel this delayed reaction of emotion, I think that I would have a much stronger grasp on living in the moment instead of holding things in and then having a hard time letting them go...

I'd never seen someone die before, not in real time, but last night I did. I watched my maternal grandmother take her last breath and as I did, I found myself, once again, holding the feelings inside. My Grandma was old and she had a series of health problems that would have made chemo look rather easy to some. The last couple of years had been particularly hard on her and on my Grandpa and on my mom and aunts as they helped and as they had to watch her struggle to walk, to move and to deal with the symptoms from ailments that would have already taken a lesser woman. My Grandma was farmstock I tell you; that woman's heart could have given Paul Bunyan's a run for the money and even last night, even after she stopped breathing which, we were told was normal, her heart continued to beat slower and slower until she passed away. As I was driving home from the hospital today, early this morning, I thought about all of the times that I'd been at my grandparents house including the most recent visit with my kids a few weeks ago and I started smiling, thinking of all of the holidays that my cousins and aunts and uncles and parents spent eating huge meals, opening presents, playing in their backyard, sitting around their dining room table playing cards... my Grandma didn't mess around when it came to cards and I was doing a mental inventory of how many years of my childhood and adolescence were wrapped up in the idea that I had all four of my grandparents until I was 27 years old and up until yesterday, I still had three; now at 41. My children and my niece and nephews will have memories of great-grandparents and in the world today, that in and of itself is unusual. I was thinking of all the dirty jokes that my Grandma used to tell me and how it took me awhile to "get" some of them, but how she'd always crack herself up telling them. And how, no matter what, no matter the time of year or how badly she felt, she never missed sending a birthday or holiday card to any of us or our children. She never forgot, never made an excuse; she just did it. And I've saved those cards, every single one and I made a promise to myself that I will go through and put them all together and every year from now on, maybe on my birthday or on hers, I am going to take them out and look at them. She'd like that I think or maybe I'll just buy a new deck of cards and break it out every year instead. She loved Crazy Eights just as much as Gin Rummy and she took the whole thing seriously...

But I didn't cry, I still haven't cried and I don't know why. It's not that I didn't feel sad or sorrowful; I did and I do right now as I sit here. But there was something comforting about being there, about stroking her hand for a few minutes and in kissing her cheek, in saying goodbye that gave me and everyone else in the room a sense of well being and of peace. My Grandpa leaned over and spoke to her at one point and she opened her eyes a bit more; she knew and she could hear him. A marriage of 67 years is a balance of spoken and unspoken words I suppose. I heard him say two things that will stay with me. He was holding her hand and he said softly, "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you" and then he kissed her cheek. Later, he was holding her hand again and he said, "I won't be far behind you." I'd never really seen that kind of interaction between my grandparents, but now that I have, I know that it will stay with me forever. There is much to be said for the kind of love that endures "all things."

My Grandma was a robust, loud, strong, funny woman with a big laugh. She baked the best stuff and every Christmas, for many years, before it was too much work for her, she'd bake a huge platter for each family of all the best treats and when I told her that I loved the M&M cookies the most, she'd always make extra of those for me on our platter and no, I wouldn't share them. My Grandma never struck me as the kind of woman who had regrets and if she did, she sure as hell didn't show them or say anything to that effect out loud. And I know, looking at my mom and my aunts that passed down a quiet kind of strength that I hope I have and that I see in my siblings and in my cousins too, maybe even in our children. A definitive matriarch, my Grandma helped define me as a woman as she did all of the women in our family, in some way or shape.

Her blood pressure dropped over the course of the hour and a half that I was in her hospital room and her breathing became labored and then, longer intervals of time between her breaths and then, she was gone. It was calm, peaceful, no fanfare, no frills, no bargaining or desperation, no sense that she was taken before her time or that there were things left unsaid. She just went. And as I pulled into the driveway last night and as I went up the stairs, I went and checked on my boys, each one and I thought about the day when, God willing, they will see their mother pass, will bury their mother and I thought about my mom and it wasn't morbid, it wasn't frightening, it was just... life. I think my Grandma would have said the same thing. Why worry about something until there is something to worry about? And even then, if you can't change it?

For the family, for my family, for my children, as a generation continues to close down and the flames of the torches are passed on, I hope all of you know how much you mean to me and how much she meant to me. I haven't known a life without my grandmother and, now, it is another experience that she creates for me with her death... I've loved having you as a part of my life and I will miss you, but I will think of you often, in many ways and I will see you in the faces of my family and in every M&M cookie that I bake and eat. It is a gift that I will be able to think of you and that my kids will be able to as well. Goodbye Grandma, Rest Well... We love you very much.

Dorothy Maude Alexander

Boundaries...

Someone who I just met, literally a week earlier made an off the cuff comment that, at the moment I didn't give much thought to and because I tend to take things in stride, I still didn't think through it until yesterday when he made yet ANOTHER inappropriate comment. Now, my meter for what is PC and what isn't, is pretty damn high for a mother of three and from someone who grew up relatively conservative and modest; I use the word relatively here because everyone's freak meter, even on a scale of 1-10 still varies at least a point or two or three. So, 2 inappropriate comments in the space of two days with someone who I do not know from the corner derelict, well, it is something that I am going to have to address.

I find it particularly amusing that what offends one person doesn't even register on someone else's "meter." And, I'd be lying if I didn't say that it is really fun to watch the reactions of the person who is offended when it is happening. I told Rosh yesterday that I think I might be gay, deep down in my soul, that I might actually be or have been gay at some point in the history of my existence on the time continuum and she burst out laughing, telling me, "Yeah, I know what you mean, but I just couldn't bring myself to go South" and then I busted up laughing. Yeah, I know what you mean and then we exchanged a few other comments that aren't PG-13 enough for this space; my 13 year old is going to read this for crying out loud, well, maybe not this piece, but he reads some of it. Nonetheless, I have the soul of a gay man except for the fashion and the style. I'm styled by Target, shoes by Payless... I guess I just say that because most of the gay men that I've met and of course I'm generalizing a bit here, but, I can't categorize it, I just, just am in love with them. Kind, quirky, funny, driven, hoping for something good and loving, just like me, just like every human who craves acceptance and great sex and nice things and more acceptance, maybe I just identify readily with those notions. As a mom, as an oozing blob of quasi-focused, chocolate craving, red wine drinking (at noon sometimes), potty mouthed shell of a human. By the way, just off topic; I'm watching this show on Bravo about Bethenny something or other and she's a total wingnut. She's funny and sarcastic but she acts a little like a fucking lunatic. I'm listening to her drone on about how much she has "going on" but Bethenny, who the fuck doesn't have a lot going on and we all don't have a baby nurse to help us out...and her husband seems kind and caring, but it is television; I'm sure he's a bit of a wingnut too. Whatever, I digress. Like I said, one woman's offense is another woman's humor...

I don't want to hurt people's feelings unless they deserve it and I don't want to say something just to say it; that's what mom groups are for... come on, that was kind of funny. Actually, Ty has made some wonderful friends in preschool this year and their moms are, well for lack of a better word, awesome. I have never experienced this kind of "group" before; not with the other two. These are normal, warm, funny women and I can't think of a single thing to say or bitch about when it comes to them. And it is so nice to meet some women who just want to "be" and who just want to enjoy the kids and not have to worry about what they are saying or doing... refreshing.

So where are people's boundaries and how the hell are you supposed to figure it out without being highly intuitive or without asking them? And if you don't know, then you are surely going to offend someone. At least I'm going to. I just hope it's not someone who goes home and suffers in silence about it. Because truthfully, I don't want to be held responsible for someone's demise. Setting parameters with kids or with students or with husbands doesn't seem all that difficult. I decide what irritates me and what I won't tolerate and then, I draw a line in the sand. Sometimes they cross it and then, I am forced to consider the consequences for them and for me. So what do I do... what do I do? Face it, head on. Deal with it, swiftly, punitively, with an unforgiving and relentless diligence. I'm scrunching my face right now and trying to mimic Dirty Harry as I type this... Nah, really, I just blog or tell someone or drink more than I should. Or maybe go to yoga or run or laugh about it with someone who has an exorbitantly high threshold for rude, offensive commentary along with a side helping of sarcastic anecdotes.

I am going to have to address this issue, especially if and when this person makes another comment or says something that crosses my line in the sand. And, it wasn't so much what he said, it was the context of our relationship at the time and if I can't address the simple fact that I am an authority figure in this context, then I shouldn't have the right to say anything at all. I will set the boundary, I will make it clear what I will not tolerate and I can assure myself and you and this person that there will be no room for misinterpretation or misunderstanding EVER again. At least not on my end... Where's that wine opener?