My Summer Vacation
By Betsy Richter | 10:48 amTeen is home, eating me out of house and home.
Tween is off at sleepover camp for 18! Whole! Days!
She’s having a marvelous time doing Glee lip-synching, Harry Potter Quidditch game re-enactments, whitewater rafting, changing her name and learning her Torah portions for next year’s Bat Mitzvah. Yes, she’s at a very entertaining B’nai Brith camp that also provides Facebook updates for parents…
And while the tween is away and the teen is busy eating, well…I’ve been having fun. Tuesday night theater excursions. Wednesday night tiki drinks with a good friend, where we vowed to be each other’s “call me when your car breaks down” buddies. (Hmm…maybe I should have gotten her phone number already?) Tonight’s Plan A failed, but hey — I already have Plans B and C to fall back on.
There are pig roasts in my calendar, nestled up against a special Shabbat event (SFX: a few heads just exploded amongst some of my more observant friends). Shopping trips, 8 am caviar tastings (chased by chilled Stoli, of course), ‘just dropping in’ visits semi-scheduled, and more fun that can possibly be contained in 18 days…
…so I’ll finish off by scooping up the tween from camp on the last day & then doing an excursion up the Oregon Coast for a few days.
Bottom line: If I know you, haven’t seen you in a while, and you’d like to see me? Call me. Email me. Let’s work something in…
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Going behind the curtain
By Betsy Richter | 11:53 amOk, so that previous post (and all of the comments that I’ve received – thanks so much for that)? It’s now password-protected.
If you know me, you should know how to get in touch with me to get the password.
If you don’t? So sorry, but I’m restricting it to friends & family only…you understand why, right? Right.
And to everyone who’s commented, contacted me or sent good thoughts in some way, shape or form — it made a big difference in my attitude/outlook.
Thank you.
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Protected: Ripping off the Band-Aid
By Betsy Richter | 1:58 pmTopics: Boss Lady, Bossing the Kids, The Mogul | Enter your password to view comments.
While I Wasn’t Paying Attention…
By Betsy Richter | 1:25 pm…this site got mentioned in an aside in an article in our daily newspaper that focused on my friend and blogging idol Dave (of Dave Knows).
(Side note: If you’re an online PDX person and you don’t already know about Dave? Stop what you’re doing and read the article now, ok? Thanks…)
Apparently, a few of you read that article, wandered my way, and discovered that, no, I’m not really a parenting blogger any more. (At least, I’m not a parent you really want to take advice from…!) Both kids are old enough now that they’ve put the kibosh on any funny blog stories about them without prior approval first — and you know that just takes all the fun out of it if I have to ask permission first.
But Twitter? Let’s just say it’s opened up a whole new avenue for me…snark in 140 characters that disappears after two weeks? I’m so there…!
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Horribly Stilted
By Betsy Richter | 10:00 amSo. There’s been a bunch of stuff going on that I: Cannot. Talk. About. And it’s driving me completely, absolutely, batshit.
Because I *want* to talk about it. I think it might benefit someone else, you see. Or it might be cathartic — relieve some of the pressure that’s building up (oh, yes, it’s building up) in a way that’s guaranteed to blow soon. At the very least, it’d save me from telling what seems like the same story over and over and over again, or giving updates to the many caring people in my life who want updates.
But I know I can’t. Talk, that is. I’m either going to violate someone else’s privacy, do it in a completely inappropriate way, share too much information, or open myself up in ways that will End Badly — for me, for the people I’m involved with. Or my job. Or my family. Or some unnamed stranger out there who might, god forbid, Take Offense.
I’ve tried finding other outlets. But even the slightest bit of release boomerangs back in unforeseen ways (“She’s reading my Twitter stream? Even though she’s not on Twitter? Really???? Um, okay…”)
So instead, I sulk. Stifle myself. Let it build up inside.
And then, I get sick.
Can someone pass me a Kleenex, please? Thanks…
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