Socal Mom by Donna Schwartz Mills

The Mitzvah

Thanks to the state's ongoing budget crisis, my daughter got an extra day off for the holiday weekend on Friday, while all the LAUSD schools were on furlough.

In another year, we would have used this extra time to go somewhere -- but our family has an ongoing budget crisis of our own, so the only thing I had scheduled was a visit to the doctor. The pediatrician we've known since the day Megan was born is not on our current insurance plan, and I can no longer afford out of network medical care. As she is now 14 years old, I piggy-backed her annual checkup onto my own appointment with my general practitioner.

We arrived on time and were dismayed to discover that it was standing room only in the tiny waiting room. This did not bode well for a speedy visit. I tried not to listen in on the cell phone conversations of the other patients, but after 20 minutes, I'm afraid I got to know all of them better than I wanted to.

As we left the doctor's office, we ran into one of those other patients. She walked slowly with the aid of a cane and the support of a younger man whom I assumed was her son. She was obviously in a lot of pain.

"Could you give us a ride home?" she asked. "My husband isn't able to get here and I've got to go back for my medication."

For a moment, I flashed on my husband's disapproval. "You let two total strangers in your car," I imagined him scolding me. "How did you know they wouldn't try to carjack you? How did you know they didn't have a gun? And you had Megan with you? How could you endanger HER like that?"

I put his voice out of my head. They did not appear dangerous, and we did have the same doctor in common. I told her to wait while I got our car.

"We're doing our good deed for the day," Megan said, oblivious to the mental lashing her dad was giving me in my head.

"Bless you for doing this," the woman said. She looked a little like Jan Hooks -- not as I remember her from Saturday Night Live, but as she appeared on her recent guest spots on 30 Rock. She out a painful little moan as she slowly lowered herself into my back seat. 

"Yes, thank you," said her son.

Their house wasn't much out of our way. During the 10-minute drive, we made small talk. It quickly became apparent that my passengers were a lot more religious than I. The conversation went something like this:

Jan: "How old is your daughter?" 

Me (wary of giving out too much information): "She's 14."

Jan: "Praise Jesus. I can tell she's a nice girl."

"Yes, she is. I'm really lucky."

Jan: "Praise the Lord."

And so on.

Now, I do have friends who are devout Christians - but they know I'm Jewish, so I'm not really used to such persistent blessings -- and I'm ashamed to say I forced myself to keep looking ahead, because I knew that if I caught Megan's eye, I would start to laugh.

As we turned left onto Jan's street, she pointed to a building on the corner.

"That's our church," she said.

"Oh, that's really convenient," I replied -- which was all I could think of to say.

"Yes, it is. Praise Jesus."

Jan and her son got out of the car and thanked us again. As soon as they were out of earshot, Megan and I looked at each other and we did both laugh.

"I think that's the first time anyone has praised the Lord so much in this car," I said. At least, in English instead of Hebrew.

Megan was thinking the same thing.

As we drove away, I felt we'd performed a Mitzvah. We'd done a kindness for someone else for a change. And that felt really good.

Bad Mom Again

As mothers, we are used to criticism.

No matter what we do, someone is happy to call us out on it and tell us (a) we shouldn't do it, (b) we should do more of it, or (c) we're doing it all wrong.

When Megan was a baby and I was unable to breastfeed, I had someone actually tell me that my daughter would NEVER form a lasting bond with me. Of course, it would have been worse if I hadn't used formula, because the kid would have starved to death with the mere droplets of milk I was able to produce.

I've been told by well meaning friends, families, teachers and strangers that I should check my kid's homework before it goes out the door (I never even look at it unless she asks), that I should not have allowed her to spend so much time in gymnastics (the jury is still out on that one), that I should not allow her to eat junk food, etc., etc., etc.

I don't like it - but I'm used to it.

However, lately, the criticism is coming from another source, and I have to admit I'm finding it unnerving.

That source is my daughter herself.

I've been getting an earful of it this week, beginning with the phone call from one of my mom friends, who wanted to know what Megan thought of that day's counseling session at the new high school.

"I didn't think they set the appointments yet," I told her.

Actually, we did receive a call on the home phone, which I never answer because it's either someone trying to sell me something or one of about a dozen calls we receive each week from LAUSD. This turned out to be the latter -- and Megan answered it, as I was telling her NOT to pick it up. So while we're asking her who it is, she's yelling back at us to be quiet -- and all she heard was the name of the high school and the word "counseling."

Unfortunately, those school robocalls don't come with a "repeat" function - which is OK when I listen to them on voicemail, as (IMO) they're meant to be heard. So Megan got off the phone really angry at me because she didn't hear the message. I promised to call the high school first thing on Monday morning to get the information we missed.

And that's what I did -- only to be told that I needed to make an appointment for counseling off the school website. I looked at the page on their site, which was a Google spreadsheet, and remember filling it out already. There were two dates listed, both in the future.

Maybe I did and maybe I didn't. I'm told the school did not call to confirm an appointment time - it was more of an orientation meeting than a counseling session and the kids were supposed to just show up. So I signed her up for the next available date and no harm's been done - except my daughter did not get to hear the information at the same time as her friends.

That same night, Megan received an urgent email from the camp where she'll be working as a junior counselor this summer: There were forms that were supposed to have been turned in by last week.

"Why don't you ever remember to do anything?" she yelled at me in exasperation.

I don't know. Because I'm already overwhelmed just trying to keep my own head above the bills, my work, my husband's work, my husband's needs, my daughter's needs, my clients' needs, the house, the dog, her current school, her new school, the camp, the house, planning meals, sticking to a diet, the family calendar, and more?

All I can do is the best that I can and some days, I guess it's not good enough.

To Facebook or Not to Facebook...

...or if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

The furor over Facebook's change in default privacy settings -- and their partial backdown last week -- is another reminder of how powerful Mark Zuckerman's little company has become since they expanded past the high school and collegiate market and opened their doors to just about everyone else.

While I have more fun on Twitter (when I am able to splinter my focus away from work)... I find that Facebook is the service that more of my offline friends use the most, and I've found that it's the most useful for communicating with other women (and let's face it - that covers 99% of the people I think of as "friends."

It's definitely the one my daughter uses the most (as I mentioned last week). And it's one that is becoming increasingly important to those who wish to use social media to promote their business.

I'm not quite certain what kind of "business" I am, as I don't earn much in the way of money here. But  I've joined the rest of the blogging world by creating a Facebook Page for SoCal Mom... and so am begging my readers who like me to please indicate so over there.

Thank you!

I Found My Inner Andy Rooney...

...at least, that's how I felt while I was writing my latest post over at 50-Something Mom's Blog. Tell me what YOU think.

We All Scream for Low-Fat Ice Cream - Especially When it Helps a Cause

If you saw my video on volunteerism, you may have noticed the shout-out I gave to Maria Shriver and her family's new business venture: Lovin' Scoopful, a line of low-fat ice cream that raises money for the late Eunice Shriver's beloved cause, the Special Olympics.

I bought a half-gallon tub of the stuff to use as a prop in the video -- but I've got to tell you, giving it a taste was no hardship. It's yummy. And as I said in the video, it feels good to purchase products from organizations that give back to the community.

I think Maria Shriver has done a spectacular job as First Lady of California. Yes, she already had a high profile when she came into the job. But she has put her star power to work, by launching her umbrella WE Connect organization and by energizing the annual state Women's Conference into a must-attend event. I'd like to see her family's new venture succeed in raising money for Special Olympics the way Newman's Own has done for the Hole in the Wall camps.

So I'm working with the folks at Lovin' Scoopful on a giveaway: to receive free ice cream. (The entire package includes a totebag, t-shirt and coupons for five free cartons). All you have to do is become a Facebook Fan of Lovin' Scoopful - then leave me a comment here to let me know about it. Everyone who does so between now and next Saturday (May 29) will be entered into a random drawing.

Let the scoops begin!

DISCLOSURE: I received  no compensation, monetary or otherwise, for this post. This is just something I wanted to do.