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tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17290083192432557682023-12-09T02:33:36.075-05:00my convertible lifethe blog formerly known as junius & pippi take the cakeConvertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-64087804630642119252018-01-14T18:48:00.001-05:002018-01-14T18:48:37.705-05:00Sometimes it's the little thingsI've got a lot going on these days (don't we all?!) and am having a hard time stopping the spinning in my brain. Most of it is good things, there's just a lot of it and some of it is pushing me way beyond my comfort zone. I'm neglecting things left and right (and not just this blog), snapping at my kids (more than they deserve), and spending more than the usual amount of time trying to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing or what it was I came into this particular room to get.

 But for about five minutes tonight, I had the sense to step back and see the actual moment I was in. And it was glorious.

 It looked like this:

 My children are making dinner. They know I'm overwhelmed, so they volunteered. They've already followed my recipe for crab cakes (gluten-free, of course) and actually cleaned up as they went. Pippi is forming patties and dropping them into the hot pan while Junius cuts up broccoli crowns and places them in the steamer. At the same time, I'm prepping ingredients to make oatmeal muffins so that we have breakfast and snacks for later in the week. Once the crab cakes are cooking, Pippi comes over to stir the oats into the bowl of wet ingredients. Out of nowhere, Junius starts singing "Eye of the Tiger." None of us knows all the words, so it's a funny blend of humming and words, but it's some kind of perfect.

 In this moment -- maybe just this one, but at least this one -- I realize I am crushing it as a parent.

 My husband wisely told me to go write it down. So I did.

 (Note: My children are now watching "Danger Mouse" on the Kindle at the kitchen counter and we haven't started eating dinner yet. Even parents who are crushing it need Netflix sometimes.)

Convertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-90395709195879915902017-08-07T21:48:00.001-04:002017-08-07T21:48:09.629-04:00Raising a strong girlOne of the kindest, smartest, loveliest women I know assures me that she was a total bitch to her mother growing up. She emphasizes this fact with words like "awful," "unrelenting," "horrible" and "embarrassing." She uses a capital B.

 Today this same woman loves her mother deeply and profoundly, and I am confident her mother knows that. I can't even picture her being horrible to anyone, except maybe in a Julia-Sugarbaker-put-you-in-your-place-bless-your-heart kind way that's actually just badass and they probably deserved it.

 This fact gives me no small amount of consolation in the present moment and tremendous hope for the future. Because if being unrelenting in tormenting your mother as a young person is an indication of greatness as an adult, then Pippi is going to be one spectacular grown-up.

 It's no secret that I didn't want to have a girl -- at least not if you've read this blog or attended the first Raleigh-Durham Listen to Your Mother show. Actually, just to be clear, that's still a secret from my daughter, so no one tell her.

 As I admitted back then when Pippi was only 5 years old, I was right to be afraid. Like so many girls -- even rule-following pleasers like myself -- she saves her worst behavior for her mama. (Thank goodness her father seems to bring out the best in her.) Four years later, she's even more amazing and more challenging than she was back then. There are times I'm able to unravel her thinking and understand for a moment. But there are so many more times when I send myself to my room to keep from losing my ever-loving mind with her.

 That's when having a village of other mamas also raising strong girls is so critical to survival -- for both of us. Do not underestimate the value of being able to text a friend in a moment of desperation and getting back a message that I'm not alone and that I'm "raising her to be strong and that ain't easy."

 After reminding me of my daughter's many good qualities (and there truly are many), my father recently told me that Pippi had picked the right mom. I shook my head in doubt, feeling completely unprepared for the task. "You let her be herself," he said. "And you won't try to break her."

 Honestly, I don't think she would let me. But I treasure the idea that he sees us both that way -- as a strong, beautiful girl and a mother who loves her just as she is.

 So tonight, instead of pouring myself a glass of wine to recover, I'm turning to this neglected blog instead. On the off chance that someone else out there just survived dinner and bedtime with a stubborn, defiant young girl (or boy, for that matter) and is feeling beaten down, know that you are not alone.

 It takes a damn good village to raise a strong girl, and I am ever grateful to have both.Convertible Girlhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-45072897117786841872017-05-23T14:14:00.002-04:002017-05-23T14:16:01.070-04:00Now she is 9Earlier this year, my baby girl turned 9.

 She is a force of nature. A force to be reckoned with. An unstoppable force pressing and pushing against an unmovable object. The eighth wonder of the world. She is headstrong, sensitive, unyielding and tender all in the span of an hour. Within the same day, I am the best mommy in the world and also [eye roll, hip cocked, head to the side, foot stomp] the single person most ruining her life. She is 9 going on 19.

 There are days I am in awe of her and just as many days that I do. not. know. what to do with her.

 At some point on the way to turning 9, she had a big growth spurt that stretched her legs to new lengths. This spring, when the weather started to turn warm, she pulled out her sporty shorts from last year -- the running shorts style, elastic waist with the unders built in. When they were new, they fit her fine, but now a year later, they barely cover her bum.

 "Are those too small?" I ask when she tries them on. "Do you need new shorts?"

 "No," she says, then pauses and looks down at herself. "Well, maybe."

 So we head to Target, source of all things, to look for new running shorts. I point to shorts after shorts in the girls section, only to watch her shake her head at each adorable pair. She tells me she doesn't want the short kind, but instead is looking for the longer, basketball style shorts. You know, she tells me, like what Junius wears.

 By now, I suppose I should expect the opposite of whatever I expected when it comes to Pippi. There's so much about her that I don't understand and can't predict. Often it seems she chooses the contrary answer just for sport.

 "Why do you want to dress like your brother?" I ask, still somehow surprised.

 She has her answer ready: "Because his shorts have pockets."

 * * *

 Growing up, I was an "outfit" kind of girl. I loved dressing up, for play and for real. There was no throwing on whatever was clean -- each night, I would plan my outfit for the next day. As soon as I turned 16, I got a job at the Limited Express (hello, late 80s) to support my shopping habit. I rarely wore jeans to school, owned very few t-shirts with writing on them. I was a lot of things, but sporty wasn't one of them.

 When Pippi was born, once I recovered from the shock of having a girl, I reveled in all the adorable tiny outfits. Baby girls get so many fun options that just don't exist for baby boys. She was like the best dress-up doll I ever had. Once she was old enough to dress herself, she quickly exerted her own opinions over her wardrobe -- but the results were so spectacular that I couldn't say no. In fact, I bought even more colorful and patterned and sparkly pieces to give her better options to mix into her preschool fashionista fabulousness.

 After she completed kindergarten, however, she drifted away from the adorable outfits and the layers of ruffles and accessories toward a daily uniform of sporty shorts and oversized t-shirts paired with Nike socks and running shoes. At first I pushed back, continued buying matching sets of patterned shirts and skirts or sweet, twirly dresses. Eventually I realized I was wasting my money and waging a losing battle.

 One day, as I looked at her in all her sporty glory, it dawned on me that she was comfortable -- literally and emotionally -- just the way she was. Why was I trying to force her into the self-conscious fashion rules that still plague me? Did I really want to be the one to teach her to worry about how she looks?

 I made a conscious decision to let go and let her be in charge of her wardrobe. We bought leggings and running shorts, no skirts or outfits. If it wasn't church or a special event, I stayed out of her closet. Which brings us back to buying sporty shorts at Target...

 * * *

 Pockets. She had me at pockets.

 I might not understand wanting to wear basketball shorts and oversized t-shirts, but hell yeah I understand the desire for pockets. My favorite dresses, skirts, even pajama pants and one chambray tunic all have pockets. Compliment any woman on her dress and her first response, if it has pockets, will be to smile broadly and announce to you, "Thanks! It has pockets!" Through the magic of Twitter I recently learned of one woman who had pockets in her wedding dress, which almost made me want to get married again because that sounded so brilliant.

 So off we went in search of basketball-style shorts with pockets, only to discover that those sons of bitches don't put pockets in girls' basketball shorts.

 And that is how I found myself shopping with my daughter in the boys' section at Target, where she selected two pairs of knee-length shorts with pockets that look so exactly like her brother's shorts that I had to write her initials on the tags so that I know they're hers when they come through the wash.

 * * *

 When Hillary Clinton metaphorically broke the glass ceiling at last year's Democratic Convention and when Elizabeth Warren persisted in spite of those working to silence her and when women (and men) all over the world marched together this January, they were fighting for women on a very grand and global scale. I won't pretend that one trip to Target deserves the same significance.

 But I'm more than a little proud of my fierce daughter who is not deterred by the fact that some clothing designer thinks girls don't need pockets or even by the fact that her mom wishes she would wear some of those pretty skirts shoved in the back of her dresser drawer. With any luck, she and I will continue to connect over clothes with pockets and maybe discover some other things along the way that will bind us closer together. I'm trying to remind myself to listen more and love better, even as she pushes me in ways I don't understand.

 So, you be you, Pippilotta. Be patient with me. And I'll do my best to keep up.Convertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-1938587643519033082017-01-20T12:03:00.000-05:002017-01-20T12:06:17.286-05:00Cold, Rainy DayLast week I realized that I'm in the glory days right now.

 My parents are in their 70s, but still independent and healthy enough that they don't need any extra care from me. My children are old enough to do most things for themselves, but still young enough that I'm not worried they're out drinking and driving. It suddenly occurred to me that I only have a handful of years like this and I'd better appreciate them.

 Then yesterday my uncle died.

 He was also my godfather and the first in that generation of my immediate family to pass away. That's hitting closer to home in ways I wasn't prepared for.

 And then this morning I found myself watching CNN from the elliptical at the gym, as all the former presidents made their way to the inauguration. I was mostly doing fine, thanks to the fact that I was listening to a podcast instead of the television audio. But when Bill and Hillary Clinton walked down the stairs and out to the waiting motorcade, my feet just stopped moving. Couldn't tell if I was going to start weeping or vomiting, so I left.

 I'm not going to waste word count on my thoughts about the President-Elect. But what I will tell you is that Hillary Clinton is my hero. Any person who can do what she is doing today -- with such grace and composure -- is the kind of strong I want to be. And that is all I have to say about that.

 My uncle and I didn't agree on politics. At all. At some point I'm pretty sure he stopped emailing me because I responded to nearly every one of his forwards with a barrage of links to snopes.com or legitimate news sources using actual research to refute the click-bait craziness he was perpetuating. He liked to needle me for me fun, but that wasn't an area I was willing to play along.

 But I did love my uncle and he absolutely loved me. And while I knew I'd never change his mind with a candidate campaign, I always knew that his heart was in the right place. I'm sad that I didn't do more to be sure my children knew him well, and I will spend the coming days telling them stories about him.

 Today is cold, rainy and hard. But if Hillary Clinton can put on lipstick and white pantsuit, take a deep breath and go out into the world, then I suppose I can, too. I just might be wearing yoga pants instead.

Convertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-3050352832203176132016-08-17T21:34:00.000-04:002016-08-17T21:36:24.075-04:00Back-to-school is awesome

 In about 10 days, my kids will go back to school -- and just in case you run into them in the next week or so, please do me a favor.

 Do not ask them if they are sad about it.

 Seriously, until you pose that leading question, it never even occurs to them that they should be sad. In fact, they're actually quite excited about the start of a new school year -- just look at their happy faces on the first day last year.

 Setting aside the hard reality that, for some kids, school is the one place where they feel safe, fed and cared for, let's remember the promise that comes with a fresh set of school supplies and a brand new year ahead.

 Think about it -- they get to spend time with their friends learning interesting things from adults who care about them, they get to play sports and run around at recess, they get to read and draw and experiment and explore, they get to ask questions and investigate answers. What's not to love?

 Now, will they be sad when the pool closes in a couple weeks? Yes. Will they wish they could have a few more lazy mornings watching last night's recorded Olympic events? Of course. Would they like an extra week's vacation at the beach? Obviously.

 But they are not sad about going back to school.

 When you ask them the question that way, it implies that school is boring or hard or generally not a nice place to be. When you ask that question, you put the idea in their head that perhaps they shouldn't be excited after all.

 So instead, here's what you can ask them:

What good books did you read this summer?

What are you most excited about for the new school year?

What did you miss about school over the summer?

What advice do you have for someone starting school for the first time?

What was your favorite adventure or experience while you were out of school?

 I promise those questions will do a lot more to encourage them -- and the answers to those questions will be much more entertaining for you.
 Convertible Girlhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-21843823721135858752016-07-09T14:27:00.000-04:002016-07-09T14:27:19.291-04:00And now he's elevenMy breath catches in my chest each time I look at this photo, taken earlier this year.

 That's my son, who I've seen nearly every one of the past 4,015 days, but there's something about this picture that just stops me in my tracks. I realize the tuxedo -- rented for his junior cotillion ball -- is cheating a little, but it's his face more than his ensemble that really does me in.

 Seems like every year I've written a post on or (ahem) around his birthday simultaneously celebrating and bemoaning the way he just keeps on growing up. In many ways, this year is no different. He's older than he was, younger than he will be -- and growing faster every day.

 Over the past year, he started going to the pool on his own, spent his first week at sleep-away camp, competed on the swim team, played more hockey, joined the Battle of the Books, learned the fox trot, took his first out-of-state school field trip, got his own email address, taught himself to make chocolate cupcakes from scratch, graduated from elementary school, went kayak-beach camping with his dad.

 And in August he will start middle school, an event which seems both thrilling and terrifying -- at least to me.

 There are so many things, both big and small, that I cannot protect him from. The world around us seems like it's going to hell in a hand basket -- so much fear, anger and ugliness that I cannot explain and feel powerless to stop.

 Maybe that's part of what I love about this picture. In his sweet, handsome face, I see both the baby he was and the man he will be -- and in that, I see hope.

 In this particular moment, I'm not even exactly sure what that means. He's still just a kid who forgets to put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, purposefully torments his sister for sport and has started having tween-age mood swings that threaten to undo me. But when he's not occasionally sulking in a corner for no apparent reason, he's a really nice guy with a creative mind, a big heart and a fierce sense of justice. That all seems like a good start.

 Plus he looks great in a tux.

Convertible Girlhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-4178036826075299682016-04-05T12:18:00.003-04:002016-04-05T12:21:16.802-04:00The truth about neighborhood schools

 It's no surprise that respondents to a recent Charlotte-Mecklenburg Schools survey say they want their kids to attend school close to home. Of the more than 27,000 people who completed the survey, 86 percent said that a school's proximity to home is very or extremely important.

 As a parent, I get that.

 From a purely practical sense, being able to get to my kids' school in about 10 minutes certainly simplifies my life -- particularly on the days that I'm dropping them off in the morning, then back for a lunchtime reading group, then back again in the afternoon to pick them up. And knowing that my children don't have to spend an extra hour on the bus to get home each day certainly makes them happier.

 What's important to note, though, is that the question specifically asked about the value of "location/proximity to home." It did not ask about "neighborhood schools." This may sound like semantics, but it's an important distinction.

 While the question is fine, how the answer gets translated causes apples-to-oranges problems. My house is exactly one mile from two different elementary schools, although technically neither one is in my neighborhood. But the idea of having a school that belongs to the neighborhood where you live -- an idea fed by continued use of the phrase "neighborhood school" by media, researchers, parents and politicians alike -- is one that parents often cling to.

 The real truth is that "neighborhood schools" -- that Norman Rockwell vision of every child in a 12-block radius skipping down the sidewalk to attend school together -- don't really exist for most families anymore. Just within the few blocks closest to my house, the elementary-aged kids attend two charter schools, three private schools, three magnet schools and two base schools. Particularly as districts like Wake County offer more theme-based and magnet programs and with the cap lifted on the number of charter schools that can open across the state, parents have more choices than ever -- and they're taking advantage of those choices to find the right fit for their families.

 As education innovators try to move away from outdated classroom approaches that aren't preparing students for today's world, why should we cling to this Rockwell imagery that supports old thinking?

 Here are some other problems with the notion of "neighborhood schools"...

Neighborhoods tend to be economically isolated -- that's not really news, but it does impact school demographics. In recent years, the Charlotte area was named on the top 10 list of large metros where the wealthy are most geographically segregated and Raleigh isn't dramatically better. That means that pulling a school's population from within a specific neighborhood is likely to give you only a specific economic group. That tends to create a system of low-poverty schools and high-poverty schools.

If your high-poverty neighborhood creates a high-poverty school (those that serve more than 50 percent of students on free and reduced-price lunch), you're more likely to have higher teacher turnover rates, lower volunteer rates and lower academic scores (see here and here). In North Carolina's new letter grade system, schools' grades essentially became a proxy for poverty levels. Note that it's not a question about how successful low-income students can be -- it's an issue of how well a low-income school can function.

Researchers have documented that students' exposure to other students who are different from themselves and the novel ideas and challenges that such exposure brings leads to improved cognitive skills, including critical thinking and problem solving. Creating diverse schools -- racially and socioeconomically integrated -- results in benefits for students as well as the communities they live in.

In the same CMS survey, more than 70 percent of respondents said they valued exposure to children from diverse racial, ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds. Wanting proximity to home doesn't mean that respondents don't care about diversity.

 Now what?

 Unfortunately, I don't have an easy answer, any more than I did six years ago when my son was in kindergarten or 20 years ago (gulp) when I was teaching in a predominantly black high school. But I do have a suggestion:

 Stop complicating the matter by continuing to use the phrase "neighborhood schools" -- the term is loaded with more baggage than any kid can cram into a backpack and suggests an us vs. them divide that won't help any community. (I'm looking at you, reporters, researchers, politicians and even parents.)

 Instead, let's try the following:

Talk about student assignment plans that minimize travel time from home as much as is reasonable without isolating students into neighborhoods.

Allow educators to focus on how we can get the best academic and social learning experience for all students.

Engage parents, businesses and communities in the conversation about how to ensure successful graduates -- check out this Wake County event on April 29.

Start building up our whole community rather than walling off into subdivisions.

 Convertible Girlhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-60795379869578930102016-03-25T20:30:00.000-04:002016-03-25T21:37:24.669-04:00#WeAreNotThisIn case you missed it, the Pope is on Instagram now. Pretty sure he's just copying my favorite @circuspadre, but it works. Today, for Good Friday, he posted a photo from outside the Colosseum in Rome with this caption: "Everything in these three days speaks of mercy."

 If only the North Carolina General Assembly would speak with mercy this week.

 Instead, their legislative voice spoke only of fear and discrimination as they went into special session on Wednesday and voted to (among other things) prohibit cities from passing nondiscrimination laws, exclude groups of citizens from protection against discrimination in North Carolina and ban transgendered people from using public bathrooms that correspond to their gender identity.

 As I binged through Twitter and Facebook yesterday (see #WeAreNotThis), searching for some reasonable answer as to why my state legislature has its head up its collective ass, I found nothing to help -- although this clip from John Oliver at least made me feel less alone. Then I saw a post from my friend Mamie, who happens to be a Presbyterian minister and a generally fabulous person. Although she no longer lives in North Carolina, she's still very much a Tar Heel -- and she's still fighting for those of us who are here.

 With her permission, I'm sharing her post with you here. It's a letter she's sending to the CEOs and consumer affairs divisions of NC-based companies who have not yet spoken out publicly against the ridiculous discriminatory laws passed this week.

 ***

 As a Tarheel born and bred, I have been horrified to see the changes happening in my home state. Living now, as I do, away from North Carolina, I see the pity and concern people have for those who are "unfortunate" enough to live in a state wracked by hate and discrimination, evidenced publicly by the repugnant actions taken by the current legislature. Any doubt remaining as to their oppressive intentions were put to rest yesterday when House Bill 2 passed into law with the signature of Gov. McCrory. The law goes well beyond its name and supposed intent to monitor bathrooms around the state. It takes away local protections for LGBTQ citizens, veterans and pregnant women as well as flaunts the desire of our forebears to be free of discrimination because of religion.

 You have no doubt seen the threat that Walt Disney Studios has made to leave the state of Georgia if it passes a bill not unlike HB 2, and my neighboring state of Indiana lost 12 conventions and $60 million dollars after passing their "Religious Freedom Restoration Act" -- a law much closer to that just passed by North Carolina than its name would imply. The economic growth and prosperity of the state is now under threat, as is the reputation of any company who chooses North Carolina as its home. Red Hat CEO and President Jim Whitehurst, Biogen and Dow Public Policy all spoke out against this bill on the day it was hastily introduced. American Airlines, Wells Fargo and even the NCAA are concerned about this legalized discrimination. You can join their chorus in continued pressure to change the law so that equality and fairness are not undermined in North Carolina.

 You are a leader in industry in the state, and as such, I urge you to speak out in favor of diversity and justice and against the codification of fear and weakness. Being based in North Carolina, your name and balance sheet are also on the line, and any silence you choose will speak. Your ability to attract a full-range of highly qualified, critical thinking, flexible and compassionate work force will be damaged by this law, and no tax breaks are worth diminishing the humanity of others. Please make the weight of your voice heard by the legislators and the people of North Carolina.

 ***

 Everything in these three days speaks of mercy.

 Todo, en estos tres días, habla de la misericordia.

 Tutto, in questi tre giorni, parla di misericordia.

 Tudo, nestes três dias, fala de misericórdia.

 Au cours de ces trois jours, tout parle de miséricorde.

Convertible Girlhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-3915666337233069342016-03-21T13:22:00.001-04:002016-03-21T13:22:38.255-04:00Signs You Have the Right Friends, Part 1I recently emptied and reorganized the cleaning supplies/medicines/extra toiletries shelf in my linen closet. At left is the photo of items left over and no longer needed at my house that I then emailed to a select list of friends to see if anyone wanted something from the pile.

 Within two hours and a dozen email exchanges, I'd not only found homes for all the stuff, I'd also been treated to hilarious stories of children using tampons as toys, requests for an extra box of sanity if I find any and one friend who wondered what category of sponges I was offering because she couldn't see the photo at first.

 Nothing profound, but I couldn't stop laughing at the electronic trail we created based on a reject pile.

 These are my people -- friends who a) don't think it's weird that I'm trying to give them my linen closet leftovers, b) help me clear out my house and c) entertain and distract me in the process.

 Sometimes my life feels a lot like that shelf -- everything just kind of jumbled on top of everything else, much of it useful but not always accessible, some of it expired or unnecessary, all of it completely crammed in together. I'm just grateful I don't have to take care of it all on my own.Convertible Girlhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-85427900225652163002015-11-13T13:29:00.002-05:002020-10-04T21:48:06.491-04:00Learning the #$@&%*! languageAs one of the millions of big and small decisions my husband and I make as parents, we agreed that we wouldn't keep words a secret from our kids. And by "words," of course, I mean the "bad words." It's an age-appropriate, as-needed sort of lesson set, but we figured that all those bad words would seem less alluring, less powerful -- and (hopefully) less likely to get hurled at us -- if the kids knew what they were and knew they could ask us about them.

 So over the past few years, we (my husband, mostly) have been dealing out a few choice ones now and then during bedtime chats with Junius. We started with the less controversial ones -- like explaining that the S-word isn't actually "stupid" or that the D-word isn't actually "dumb." As he got older, the words got a bit stronger, including the F-word, the A-word and so on.

 Junius seems to savor these tidbits of verbal exotica and feels empowered not to use them. In fact, his favorite swear phrase, borrowed from this book, is to shout, "Curses and foul language!" Try it -- t's really quite satisfying.

 We've only just started sharing the first words with Pippi, or so I thought. Which brings me to a little story that just needed to be captured somewhere, so here goes...

 * * *

 One day this fall while we were standing around at school pick-up, my friend H was sharing concern that her daughter (Pippi's friend) had somehow wandered into another person's virtual house in Minecraft and read an inappropriate word that was plastered on the wall. H was consulting Junius, as a former Minecraft fan, about how her daughter could have gotten into someone else's space in the online game.

 Junius, after clarifying that he no longer played Minecraft (because I guess 5th grade boys don't want to get lumped in with 2nd grade girls), told H he wasn't sure how that could have happened. Then he asked the all important question: "What was the word?"

 My friend looked at me, I nodded, then she told him: "Well, it was the F-word."

 Junius gasped quietly and looked gravely concerned, immediately understanding why H was worried about her young daughter's experience.

 Somewhere during this conversation, Pippi had strolled up unnoticed and was listening in. As she watched her brother frown knowingly about the seriousness of the matter, she leaned in a little closer to H and looked up at her.

 "Mrs. H?" she asked in a hushed voice. "Was it fuck?"

 * * *

 So there you have it. No good parenting deed goes unpunished.

 If your kids are playing with my kids and come home with some new vocabulary, you're welcome. And my apologies.Convertible Girlhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-46011814182681424972015-07-31T16:34:00.000-04:002015-07-31T16:34:06.517-04:00Ten

 "Bye, Mom! See ya!"

 And just like that, he pedaled down the driveway and into the street, his drawstring pool bag bouncing on his back as he pumped his legs to catch up with his friend.

 I tried to act cool, like it was totally fine that he didn't need me. At all. And I immediately regretted telling him that he didn't have to call me when he got to the pool. I may or may not have texted a friend just now to let me know if she was there and could see him.

 Ten.

 Who knew it would be so big?

 Already, in his first three weeks of double digits, Junius has spent a week at sleep-away camp, filled his own Spotify account with Pitbull and Bruno Mars, and started going to the neighborhood pool by himself. He makes his own breakfast and lunch almost every day. He searches the young adult shelves at the library and calls his own friends to make plans to play. He occasionally employs Axe deodorant to combat the inevitable pre-teen boy smell.

 Someone please hold me.

 Walking away from him at summer camp earlier this month nearly broke me. But I survived -- and, more importantly, he thrived. He made friends, ate new foods, learned to sail, spent the night on the dock, earned a new nickname, did the whip/nae nae (how is that even a thing?). He claims to have mailed me the self-addressed, pre-stamped post card I put in his bag, but it never arrived. The other cards were still packed when he got home because he was too busy having fun to worry about them.

 At age 10, he is already stronger and braver than I was at 27.

 In spite of all his grown-up-ness, he still snuggles with me occasionally, tells me he loves me, lets me rub my hand across his fuzzy buzz cut, asks for us to read to him at bedtime. I try to remember to enjoy these moments instead of losing them in life's distractions.

 A friend recently pointed out that I have eight more summers with him before he leaves for college. That statement sent my heart plummeting into my shoes and my brain scrambling to make plans for every one of those summers so he'll spend them all with me.

 But then I remind myself that's what it's all about. Watching him grow and change and yes, even leave me behind -- that's why we're working so hard at this crazy parenting business. It's a gift to see him moving away from me, one bike ride and camp drop-off at a time.

 While I was writing, my phone just rang. It was Junius, calling to let me know he's heading home from the pool.

 He really does love me.

 _______________________

 In case you want to join me down memory lane, here are links to past birthday posts about the boy:

Nine: The Last Single-Digit Year

Eight: A Champion Boy

Seven: How Big Is 7?

Six: Mr. Big Stuff

Five: Things I've Saved

Four: Junius Fest 2009

Zero: The Official Announcement

 Convertible Girlhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-80308511009231290432015-05-01T22:28:00.000-04:002015-05-01T22:28:29.320-04:00Music from Lost TimeTucked way in the very back of my upstairs hallway closet, there's a storage bin filled with pictures, maps, brochures, coins and other bits from the year I lived in Cardiff, Wales. I filled that bin when I returned to my parents house after the year studying abroad and have moved it from house to apartment to duplex to apartment to at least three more houses over the past 15 years.

 My intent, of course, was to make a series of photo scrapbooks that would capture all the beautiful places I went and all the things I accomplished that year. I planned to have albums that I could flip through to treasure the memories or share stories with my children of the great adventure mommy had before they were even an idea.

 And yet, more than a decade later, everything is still shoved into that same plastic bin -- much to my husband's chagrin.

 Thankfully, treasured memories aren't dependent on neatly organized photo albums. Sometimes, a particular scent or sound -- or even a cartoon glass -- can be enough to conjure up the most vivid picture of a day long gone.

 Today it was Spotify that served as my Proustian madeleine, courtesy of a playlist built around a mix tape that had been my sound track during that year in Cardiff. A fellow American scholar studying at Oxford became one of my favorite friends that year -- we visited each other and marveled that we, with our parallel lives and similar tastes, hadn't crossed paths sooner. The mix tape she made for me offered an entire Gravity's Pull album on one side, harkening back to the days when we didn't know each other at UNC, and a collection of tracks from Nancy Griffith, Nikki Meets the Hibachi, Shawn Colvin, Del Amitri, Shannon Worrell, Soul Miner's Daughter, Rebecca Riots and more on the other side.

 I listened to that tape, my walkman tucked into the pocket of my weather-proof coat, every day for months as I walked to class, to the city centre, to a friend's flat, to the train station, to museums and galleries and castles and pubs. The songs rang of strength and friendship, searching and wonder. They were my constant partner as I found myself able to live so far from home, able to succeed on my own in a way I hadn't been sure was possible.

 When I came back to the U.S., I was still listening to that same tape as I walked the halls again at UNC, where I found myself surprisingly ready to meet the man who would be my husband.

 This morning, more than a decade gone by, I listened to Dave Matthews hum out his "Christmas Song" on the Spotify playlist that I finally built based on that mix tape. There's no tape deck in my car anymore, but I didn't want to give up the tape -- iPhone to the rescue.

 Although I was driving roads in Raleigh, running ordinary errands on this ordinary day, I had the extraordinary sense of being transported through space and time I thought were lost. I felt the blessings of being known by a friend discovered in a moment when I needed that connection more than ever. I recalled the confidence borne out of finding my own way. I pictured the path I walked from my flat toward the capitol, the details of my room, the oceans of daffodils filling the gardens, the faces and voices of people I haven't seen since I returned home after we completed our degrees.

 And I smiled to myself, holding the treasure of that year and that entire dusty storage bin in my mind.

  Convertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-69027878257902144412015-04-28T21:02:00.000-04:002015-04-28T21:08:22.386-04:00Pillow TalkI love being married. It can be a helluva lot of work -- don't get me wrong -- but as a package deal, it's the greatest plan ever.

 Among the things I love most about being married? I'm like a kid at a sleepover. Every. Single. Night.

 I was always that kid at sleepovers, the last one whispering into the darkness "Is anyone else still awake?" I treasured the talking for what seemed like hours in the half-light of sleeping bags and pillows as my friends drifted off to sleep one by one. The conversations never really ended, they just got quieter and slower to be continued another day.

 Many nights now as the clock ticks toward midnight, my husband finally leans over, kisses me and says, "You can keep talking if you want to, but I'm falling asleep."

 My love of the (bedtime) chat seems to have been genetically passed on to my children, who talk continuously without breaking for breath during the day and don't really slow down at night either. So I probably shouldn't have been surprised when they started sharing a room.

 It happened at first as a special "sibling sleepover" treat one weekend when I was out of town. Junius moved up to his top bunk, while Pippi assembled her own pillows, blankets and friends on his bottom bunk. They had fun pretending to camp together, and my husband had an easier time putting them to bed when he didn't have to bounce back and forth between their two rooms.

 That was two months ago.

 Any day now, I keep thinking she'll want to go back to her double bed and all her own space. Or that he'll get tired of her stuff in his room and kick her down the hall. Instead, the only change they've made is to trade bunks.

 They even asked if we could turn her room into a play space instead of a bedroom. I said no, knowing that three minutes after I finish, I'll have to turn it right back.

 But it doesn't matter how long it lasts, this bunk-sharing approach. All that matters is that I will always know -- and hopefully they will remember -- that it ever was. That there once was a time when they shushed each other to sleep because they loved each other enough to tolerate the one sneezing and humming while the other tosses and rattles the beds in exchange for being together just a little bit longer.

 Convertible Girlhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-32295404283933485552015-03-13T21:47:00.000-04:002015-03-13T21:48:41.860-04:00Seven, going on seventeenDear Pippi --

 I completely missed your birthday month on the blog this year. Not your actual birthday, of course -- for that there was the sleepover party with your besties and the dinner with grandparents and the earlier dinner with your other grandparents plus the museum party with school friends and about 847 presents that were exactly what you wanted.

 No need to feel neglected, I just missed the writing about it in your actual birth month. If it makes you feel any better, I was even later writing about your brother's last birthday. It seems to be the state of affairs these days at My Convertible Life. (Although if you're using this blog for some sort of archival study one day, then apologies for having apparently missed last year's post altogether. At least I wrote about turning five.)

 You turned seven this birthday. Seven doesn't scare me so much, except that you seem to be seven going on 17 -- and that is terrifying.

 Right now, you still love me. You actually tell me that, almost every day. You give me tight hugs and pronounce me "the best mommy ever in the whole universe" on a regular basis. You ask for extra kisses when I drop you off at 1st grade, even when I'm running late for work and being short with you. You want to be my sidekick, want me to be your playmate, want to show me everything.

 Sometimes I catch myself wondering when it's going to stop. When are you going to be too big, too grown, too stylish and notice that I am too old, too embarrassing, too out-dated?

 I try not to worry, to stay in the moment. I hug you back until you let go first, fill your pockets with blown kisses to save for later, lie beside you and scratch your back at night. I admire how funny, smart and strong you are. Some days I remember.

 Then there are days when I forget everything except that, no matter how frustrated I am, I am not allowed to sell you on Craigslist. Those days -- when you don't listen, don't follow directions, don't want anything to do with me -- push me past my limits. And yet still, even on those days, you love me. I hope you know that I love you, too.

 When you ask funny questions like "What does Taylor Swift mean when she says she's a nightmare dressed like a daydream?" I know you're just trying to make sense of the lyrics you're shockingly good at remembering. But it also reminds me that there is so much you don't know about, don't understand, might not be prepared for. You are my baby and I want to protect you from all of them.

 There will be hundreds (millions?) of things in the coming years that I will get wrong with you -- things that will disappoint or infuriate you. I can already see some of them, but I'm not sure that will help me avoid the mistakes. When those moments come, I hope that both of us will feel some tiny pull back to these days to bind us together.

 You are my second child, my last born. When you were brand new, I was able to soak in all your warm, round, sweet babyness in a way that I couldn't in the early terrifying first-born days with your brother. So bear with me while I try to keep you small for just a little bit longer, keep telling me you love me and be patient with me on the days I forget.

 I love you, baby girl.
 - MommyConvertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-56561396948584704392015-02-06T21:09:00.000-05:002015-02-06T21:09:32.897-05:00How do you grade a school? See for yourself.Yesterday morning, a friend texted me following a tour of our assigned middle school. Our oldest kids are slated to go there after next school year -- she's planning ahead, visiting magnet schools as well as our base school.

 Her text: "VERY impressed!"

 After her visit, my friend happily talked about "the spirit" of the school and how the students were "so proud and so excited." When's the last time you saw middle schoolers excited about school? That sense of community, combined with a growing engineering program, connections with NC State and enthusiastic teachers is what won her over.

 This morning, the newspaper ran a full-page listing of the letter grades assigned yesterday to all public schools in North Carolina for the first time. According to that report, this same school is a D.

 So who's right?

 I'm betting on the assessment made after actually going to the school, hearing from the students and talking to the teachers. That barely passing grade from the state is calculated using only last year's scores on end-of-grade reading and math tests (80%) and a small measure of student academic growth (20%) -- it doesn't come close to capturing the full picture of what students and teachers are accomplishing in the school, where more than half the population lives in poverty.

 In a statement Thursday about the grades, Senator Pro Tem Phil Berger (R) basically attacked anyone questioning the validity of the labels. "We're troubled by early knee-jerk reactions that appear to condemn poor children to automatic failure," Berger said. "And we reject the premise that high poverty schools are incapable of excelling, since today's report shows numerous examples that are proving that myth wrong. We must give these grades a chance to work so we can learn from them and improve outcomes for our children." (WRAL)

 Berger seems to think that it's the grades that will change the schools, not leadership development, instructional supports or professional salaries for teachers. Despite Berger's allegation, no one believes that "high poverty schools are incapable" -- but decades of research and observation tell us that poverty creates challenges and obstacles to effective teaching and learning that have to be overcome. Slapping a letter grade on a school won't change that.

 Rep. Craig Horn (R), chairman of the House K-12 education committee, acknowledges that the formula might need to be adjusted, but says the letter grades are easy for parents to understand. "At least A, B, C, D and F, people have a much more definitive idea of how that school is performing and will make judgments accordingly," Horn said (WRAL).

 It's exactly those "judgements" that scare me.

 When parents see a D or F assigned to a school, it will be easy to remove that school from the consideration set. But when parents make decisions about whether or not to send their children to a certain school based only on that letter grade, they could be missing out on a great school. That decision can quickly turn into a vicious cycle for the school, where reputation becomes reality as more parents with the means to make different choices opt out of the school.

 That's not what I want for any school -- but especially not for the school my son is likely to attend in another year, a school that has worked hard to become a popular choice after spending years rumored as a school to avoid.

 Even Republican Senator Jerry Tillman, sponsor of the original bill calling for performance grades, predicted that the grades "may fall along demographic lines." Then the senator, also a former public school administrator, added this surprising statement: "If that's the case, I will be pushing to see some changes. I'd rather be in a D school making great growth than in an A school where growth is stagnant. I know if these kids are growing, there has to be good teaching and good leadership for that to be occurring." (The N&O)

 I don't expect to see changes to the law any time soon -- Sen. Tillman acknowledged as much, and Sen. Berger is far too pleased with the law as it stands.

 What I hope, though, is that parents and community members won't judge schools by this law. I hope that they will take the time to walk into these schools and judge for themselves. Look for the good teaching and good leadership that Sen. Tillman referenced. Get a sense of the community in the school, watch how students interact with each other and with their teachers.

 The feeling you have inside the school will tell you far more than any letter grade -- regardless of what that letter happens to be.Convertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-44860817016461799392014-11-25T20:55:00.001-05:002014-11-26T00:03:31.159-05:005 Places to Shop Small Business Saturday in Raleigh

 I don't do Black Friday. Fighting my way through crowded stores filled with frantic bargain hunters does not put me in a holiday spirit.

 That's among the reasons why I love Small Business Saturday -- I'd rather rest on Friday and only visit smaller, locally owned stores on Saturday. I also love the idea of supporting stores in my community, including one where I get greeted by name when I walk in.

 Raleigh has lots of fantastic locally-owned small businesses. With a plethora of shopping areas outside the big malls -- like Seaboard Station, Glenwood South, Cameron Village, North Hills, City Market and other downtown spots -- there's no shortage of options. But in case you need help getting started, here's my pre-Friday's Five:

Stone's Education & Toys: I've already shared my kids' lists of favorites from this beautiful store. Go here for toys, book, school supplies and lots of fun, plus a great space with a great staff.

Quail Ridge Books & Music: One of the last, great independent book sellers, you just can't go wrong here. Books for everyone on your list, plus CDs, calendars, tote bags, note cards and other bits, with a knowledgeable, friendly staff.

Vestique: I discovered this shop last week thanks to my Instagram feed (because I'm not young and hip enough to have known about it sooner) and spied exactly the sweater I'd been looking for in their online store. I'm pretty sure the salesperson who advised me was Haley Dunphey, and she was super helpful. Plus, their prices are more reasonable than the typical fashion trend boutique.

Papa Spud's or The Produce Box: You might not think of your local CSA for holiday gift buying. But in addition to buying a membership for someone (or yourself), you can also use your CSA to get delicious locally-grown and locally-made treats. Jams, jellies, sauces and mixes make tasty stocking stuffers, or bring a prepared pie for your holiday hostess. I've written about The Produce Box before, but recently got to meet the fine folks from Papa Spud's -- use this link for a $15 off deal.

DECO Raleigh: If you can't find something you want at DECO, then you're just not paying attention. Every time I go in, I want to buy at least 47 different things -- jewelry, tshirts, pillows, prints, napkins, baby books, glasses, soaps, ornaments, you name it -- and loads of it made by local artists and designers. Be sure to look for items from my friends at Posy!

 Can't get to Raleigh for your holiday shopping? All of the above (except for #4) have online stores, so you're not left out of the fun.

 As a side note, if you have an American Express card, be sure to register it before you shop on Saturday to get a $10 credit at participating stores. Deco and QRB are on this year's list.

 Leave a comment below and share your favorite local stores.
 Convertible Girlhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-31826795229344482102014-11-05T10:47:00.000-05:002014-11-05T10:47:00.110-05:00Top 5 (or 20) Holiday Gifts for KidsLast week I took the kids with me to wander around Stone's Education & Toys store -- it's a beautiful, environmentally-friendly, sunlit space at the border of Raleigh and Cary near I-40. I wanted to get an idea of what they'd like for Christmas beyond their usual requests of LEGOs and an American Girl doll. There's nothing wrong with either of those -- it's just that we already have 8,473,922 plastic bricks and I simply can't bring myself to spend that much money on a doll that will wind up shoved in a closet.

 While in the store, I could barely keep up trying to follow the kids around to get their recommendations. Amazingly Junius only glanced at the LEGOs and Pippi didn't even notice the Frozen display at the entrance. They were too busy checking out everything from teacher-supply-sized packs of writing paper to sample sets of magnetic building toys.

 Not surprisingly, they wanted one of everything.

 When it comes to making Christmas wish lists, it turns out I'm no better than my kids at keeping it short. Particularly when I've spent an hour (or two, who's counting?) at Stone's, it's nearly impossible to pick just few favorites. But in case you're looking for gift ideas for elementary-school-aged kids, I'm sharing my top five lists in four different categories. (Yes, I realize that's actually 20 items. Shhhhhh...)

 For the record, all prices listed are rounded to the nearest penny to make them easier to read.

 Junius's Top 5

 Junius is 9 and in 4th grade. His room is littered with the aforementioned LEGOs, Snap Circuits, robot parts, biographies and hockey gear.

Snap Circuits Motion or Snap Circuits Light ($80 each, or $35 for the starter set of Snap Circuits Jr) -- Just look how excited he is in this photo! But seriously, he has the Snap Circuits Jr set plus an add-on set and he can't get enough.

Youth Football Goal Post Set ($40) -- I'm envisioning Charlie Brown, but all he sees is his future NFL career. Either way, he's outside burning energy.

MicroPro Microscope Set ($40) -- When I asked him why he wanted a microscope, he replied, "So I can study all the things in my room and see what they're really made of." I'm wondering if he'll start with the funk growing in his hockey bag.

Crystal Growing Experimental Kit ($20) -- He got a taste (not literally) of this project at science camp during the summer and he loved it.

Ultimate Dino Dig ($16) -- After a few science museum visits, I think he fancies himself an archaeologist. This seems cheaper and less messy than digging up the back yard looking for fossils.

 Pippi's Top 5

 Pippi is 6 (and-a-half) and in 1st grade. Her bedroom walls are covered in her artwork while the floor is strewn with clothes, stuffed animals, books and still more LEGOs.

Color a Dog House ($35 - link is to Color a House, but they have the dog house in the store) -- That face says "Mommy, I know you won't get me a puppy, but will you please love me enough to get me a cardboard dog and doghouse that I can color?" I don't know how she'll fit it in her room, but at least it won't shed or pee on the carpet.

Young Artist Essentials Gift Set ($50) -- She's almost 7, so I think she's finally ready to ditch all the broken crayons and nubby pencils for something nicer.

PlushCraft Pillows ($18 each) -- She wants the fox, of course. Another mom who happened to be in the store commented that her daughter had made one of the pillows and absolutely loved it -- it's become their favorite birthday gift for friends this year.

Fuzzy Wuzzy Knitting ($25) -- She's fascinated by the scarf that Nanna has been knitting during her visits. Maybe this way they can knit together without Pippi trying to take over Nanna's needles.

Goldie Blox and The Movie Machine ($30) or Goldie Blox and The Builder's Survival Kit ($60) -- She got the first Goldie Blox set last year after the Rube Goldberg video won me over. She still plays with it some, but she needs more parts to try out new ideas.

 Shared Top 5

 I'm a big fan of giving Christmas gifts that lead to fun family time. And by that I mean things that will entertain my kids at the same time so that I can actually sit down for a few minutes. These are the items that both kids wanted -- and all are things they could play with together (although we'd have to get two stunt cars to reduce whining).

Sands Alive! Sunken Castle Discovery ($40) -- Craziest feeling stuff you'll ever play with and shockingly not messy.

Turbo Twister RC Stunt Car ($28) -- Finally a remote control car that can break dance and doesn't get stuck on its back.

Doink-it Darts ($30) -- Magnetic dart board, so no sharp ends to poke an eye out with.

Squeeze Popper and Sticky Target ($20) -- Silly, competitive fun and the most satisfying popping sound ever.

Roller Racers or the EzyRoller ($100) -- Could not get them off the test racers they were driving all over the store.

 Stocking Stuffer Top 5

 How do you get small gifts for friends or stocking stuffers for the kids that don't involve a) candy or b) crap that you'll just want to throw away? Try these gifts.

MadLibs, coloring books and "Who Was" series -- Fun for days, alone or together.

Tapeffiti Caddy Set ($14) -- Last year we gave Pippi a roll of scotch tape and it was almost her favorite gift. Colorful tape is almost too much awesome to bear.

Toob ($.60-.90 per figurine) -- Anything you can think of in a tiny figurine, from the Arc de Triomphe to hippos.

Thinking Putty ($11) -- Impossible to put down.

Tornado Tube ($2.50) -- Junius recognized this from school and pronounced it "very cool."

 Okay, I'm going to stop now. Back away slowly from the wish list. But if you're heading over to Stone's, be sure to pick up their catalog and get the coupon on the back -- $10 off $50 purchase or $20 off $100 purchase through November.

 Full Disclosure: I was invited to visit Stone's to write a post about my top 5 or 10 Christmas gifts. (Yes, again, I know there are 20 here. Shhhhh.) They gave me a catalog, a $50 gift card and the same lovely customer service they offer to everyone. They did not attempt to sway me or my crazy children into selecting certain toys or influence the writing of this post.
 Convertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-16384316106414878302014-09-16T22:08:00.000-04:002014-09-16T22:08:31.559-04:00LossMy nephew Andrew died last week.

 That's not a sentence I ever expected to write.

 When I was maybe 13, a boy whose family went to my church was killed in a freak bicycle accident. I think we was probably 10 years old or so. And I remember my father being so sad, even though we didn't know the boy very well.

 At the time, I didn't fully appreciate what my dad told me: "When you're an adult, you expect that at some point your parents will die. And you know that there's a chance your spouse will pass before you do. But you never, ever expect to have to bury your child."

 Andrew was 22 years old and in graduate school studying entomology -- an adult by most standards, but still his parents' child. My mind will not allow me to comprehend the heartbreak that is bringing them to their knees.

 He was 9 years old when I married his uncle and became his aunt. We always lived in different states, so we mostly saw each other at weddings and biennial Thanksgivings. I'm sorry to say I didn't know him well.

 But the news of his death -- so sudden, so unbelievable -- seems impossible to process. As a parent, I now understand what my father meant all those years ago. When any parent loses a child, all parents join in their grief.

 So I've been reading the tiny, beautiful, honest and sometimes funny eulogies left by his friends on his Facebook page, getting to know bits and pieces of a life well-lived. I've been saying steady prayers for Andrew's parents, brother and grandparents, along with the rest of the family. And I've been squeezing my own children a little tighter, a little longer to remind myself of what a gift I have in them.

 I think my sister-in-law, another of Andrew's aunts, probably said it best, so I'll leave you with her words shared on his page:

 "Andrew touched the lives of so many people through his love, friendship, words and actions. You, in turn, have helped make the world a better place because of his influence on you. At the risk of sounding corny, go and do a good deed for someone. Take a hike or walk outside. Look at the roly polys and the ants. If you're so inclined, share a beer with a friend. Life is too short. Let someone know that they have made a difference in your life."

 Amen.Convertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-89682192950389863632014-08-25T21:36:00.001-04:002014-08-25T21:36:14.431-04:00Sampling Some Super SunscreenWe don't leave for the beach until Saturday, but I've already started mentally packing. Books, towels, chairs, swimsuit, sun hat, umbrella, gin, tonic, limes. What else could we need?

 Sunscreen, of course.

 If you're a regular Convertible Lifer, you know that sunscreen is serious business around here. After losing chunks of my forehead, part of my back and countless little spots here and there, I don't mess around with keeping my skin protected -- but I also still really like being in the sun.

 So when I got an email earlier this summer from a company offering to send me a sample of their new sunscreen in exchange for a blog review, I was intrigued. SmartShield claims to be "serious sun protection" -- sounded like a good fit, but wouldn't it have to be sticky, smelly and thick to really be serious?

 For the past two months, I've been wearing SmartShield's Rehydrating Face Cream with SPF 45 almost every day. Billed as "a luxury face cream with a unique formula for sports enthusiasts and professionals," it is the best everyday sunscreen I've found for my face. It's rare to find an everyday sunscreen with an SPF as high as 45 -- and this one isn't sticky, smelly or thick. In fact, it made my skin feel really soft and lovely, which was a total surprise. Make-up goes on easily over top and doesn't slide off halfway through the day because the sunscreen is oil-free. But even more importantly, it works -- even when I found myself in a sunny seat at the baseball game with no hat on (shhh, don't tell my dermatologist!), I didn't get sunburned.

 In short, it's great.

 Now you'll have to take my word for it that this is an honest review and in no way tainted by the free sample. If I were just sucking up to SmartShield, I probably would have written this review two months ago when they first sent me the sample, so maybe that helps with my credibility (or maybe it just shows that I've missed nearly every deadline all summer). And I will add that there are a few items on the ingredient list that might not appeal to those who are cautious, close-readers of labels, but I have to balance that with finding a product that works well.

 Actually, I'm hoping they'll send me some of their other sunscreens, lip balm, insect repellent and the self-tanner to try out -- but I'm probably just going to have to buy them like everyone else.Convertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-61118815907568294692014-07-31T22:28:00.000-04:002014-08-06T07:30:18.359-04:00J-Fest 2014: The Last Single Digit YearDear Junius --

 Technically it's still your birth month for a couple more hours, so I'm going to just call this a victory. If you're reading this years later and you don't remember, I promise we didn't miss your actual 9th birthday -- I just missed writing about you on the day, that's all.

 When you were younger, I remember thinking that I'd have so much more time to write once you and your sister were older and in school. That's just one item on a long list of things I've been wrong about when it comes to parenting.

 I'd like to claim that the reason I haven't written a whole series of posts about you and your birthday this month is because I've been so busy spending time with you and treasuring the fantastic little man that you're becoming. But the truth is that I've been overwhelmed doing pretty much the opposite of that -- ignoring you in order to squeeze in more than my scheduled hours at work and then collapsing on the couch when we are finally home together again.

 It hasn't been the July I was hoping for.

 We are both first borns, you and I. Not just any old first borns either -- we are textbook cases. We want everything to be fair and everyone to love us. We want the whole world to be happy and we want at least partial credit for making it that way. We want to know the plan in advance. And sometimes we just want to be home where we can control the little space in our own rooms because everywhere else is too crazy. I watch you crumble sometimes as you wrestle with reality and I ache for you. It is all painfully familiar.

 But there are some things you've already figured out that took me much longer to discover. Even when you'd rather stay safe at home, you put on a brave face and walk into spaces where you know no one in hopes that it might be worthwhile. You volunteer to be the first to fight Darth Vader, or skate onto center ice and fist bump NHL players before the national anthem. You're developing a tough side that you can hold together for at least a few minutes. You attract friends among strangers easily. It is all quite impressive.

 This crazy July, in between the billable hours, I have managed to teach you a few things that seemed worth passing on. You're now hooked on solitaire, a perfect game for the kid who likes rules and fairness. You've discovered the power of the pointy elbow, that family trait useful for boxing out and pushing through. You can fry an egg and cook chicken nuggets, which gets you two of your favorite meals. And you've learned to keep a book in your bag at all times, just in case you've got 15 minutes to spend reading while you wait.

 I am hopeful that we will find times to slow down and appreciate your being 9 this year. Your next birthday brings double-digits and I don't expect I'll handle it well.

 But I worry that life is going to get in my way, so I'm asking for your help. Maybe now and then you could remind me to say yes when you ask me to play horse or Monopoly. Maybe sometimes you could let me skip Monopoly and play solitaire at the kitchen counter while I make dinner. And maybe some days you'll just tuck in beside me on the couch when that's all I've got left.

 I love you, my firstborn. Thanks for being patient with me.
 - Mommy

Convertible Girlhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-7390772767210745672014-07-03T15:25:00.000-04:002014-07-03T15:25:50.036-04:00A Friend In DeedTwo weeks ago, a dear friend of mine sent me an early morning email that was exactly what I needed. She's one of those friends who has known me long enough to love me anyway, despite the fact that I almost never call and rarely visit. We've been roommates in more than one country, seen each other through boyfriends who turned out not to be husbands, stood together at weddings and a funeral.

 I don't know what I did to deserve her, but I'm so very grateful. In fact, I could never have earned all the wonderful friends that I have -- and thank goodness we don't have to earn them. This particular message was too beautiful to leave in my inbox, so I'm sharing it here with you (names changed to protect her boys). May you all have a friend (or two or twenty) who can show you in small ways that she loves you.

 ***

 Some days you just need someone else to make your coffee. Or tea. Or, Jonah's recommendation, chocolate milk.

 I must feel that way often. At least, Starbucks has been keeping track because, to my surprise (though perhaps not my husband's), they sent me a gold card which meant I had visited their fine establishments 30 times last year. I don't know whether to be boast or cringe about my new status. Regardless, there were 30 days last year when I just needed someone else to make my coffee.

 Two times had to do with rites of passage. Right after I dropped Cam off to big kid school because the bricks I placed on his head didn't stop him from growing, I drove myself to Starbucks and stood in line behind a mom and dad who had just undergone the very same knife-to-heart ritual. That day called for a Venti, with extra caramel and yes please some whipped cream on top and why don't you stock alcohol here?

 Weeks ago, I stood in that same line -- where they now know my name and my usual -- just minutes before picking him up for summer vacation. Not my usual, but it was a Venti day again, somewhat in celebration that Cam and I would be back together for the summer. But mostly because I needed that big of a cup to soothe my insides drained raw from a year of missing him. It was a "Whew, I can't believe I made it. I'll have a Venti."

 During these 30 visits over the last year, Jonah became well acquainted with the love of someone else making mama's coffee. The benefit to him was a more aware and relaxed mama. As I market the deal
 to my husband, it's cheaper than therapy. And sometimes at these visits, on the whims of mama, Jonah would score a milk, usually vanilla but once in a while, chocolate.

 Even if all mama gets is a straight coffee, Jonah likes to be hoisted up in a spot right beside the sugar-in-the-raw cubby where he can peer behind the counter and "watch the magic happen." His word choice has won him many barista friends. Also a dead giveaway that mama saved on therapy 30 times in the last year.

 Well today, with your dad having his procedure, I thought you just might need someone else to make your coffee. Or tea. Or I won't tell if you get chocolate milk. I hope it will soothe your insides and let
 you know that you all are loved. This Venti's on me*; after all, I need to keep going to maintain my gold card status.

 * Starbucks e-card will be coming to your inbox.

 ***

 That afternoon, while my kids were at camp, I left work early and headed for Starbucks. I'm not a coffee girl, so I seriously considered Jonah's chocolate milk recommendation before opting for a fruit smoothie. Dropping into a sunny seat, I savored the sweetness of a rare moment alone to say a quiet prayer for my dad (who is fine, thanks for asking) and one for my friend (who is far too good to me). Convertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-18881413916225649452014-05-09T13:58:00.001-04:002014-05-09T14:01:47.709-04:00Mother's Day GiftsIt was the verbal equivalent of the old yawn and stretch maneuver that you see a teen-age boy use in 1950s movies to inconspicuously put his arm around a girl's shoulder.

 "So… mom… What's your favorite breakfast?" he asked casually on Tuesday night. "I mean, if you didn't have to make it."

 When I started to tell Junius my preferences -- two eggs over medium, bacon, fruit, maybe half an English muffin -- he asked me if I could write it down. You know, casually.

 "No," I replied with a smile. "But you can."

 The conversation continued as he carefully wrote down my breakfast menu, then moved on to asking about my favorite restaurants for dinner. You know, just because, no reason. Not like Mother's Day is coming up or anything.

 When he finished writing, he folded the paper in half, turned away from me to write "Mothers day" with three underlines on the outside and took the page upstairs.

 It was about the cutest conversation I've had with my son in a long time. Even if he doesn't manage to use the list (although I suspect my lovely husband will help make it happen), watching him delight in his sneaky strategy to be nice to me was a gift in itself.

 For those of you wondering what to get your mom (or the mother of your children) to celebrate her day on Sunday, here's my suggestion: Think luxury.

 I don't mean a luxury automobile or a luxury vacation (although if that's within your budget, those are totally good options). Instead, think of the little luxuries that mom wishes she had time/money for and give her the means to enjoy them -- even if that little luxury is her favorite homemade breakfast or just a quiet hour alone in the hammock with a good book and iced cocktail.

 But if you really want to be impressive, here are my suggestions of everyday luxuries I'd love to have in my weekly or monthly budget -- and I'm betting lots of other moms would, too:

Housekeeper: There's nothing better than coming home to a clean house when you didn't have to do any of the work. Okay, maybe coming home to a clean house where the maid service didn't turn on your gas fireplace and leave it burning when they left the house hours earlier -- but that's a different story. Anywho, even if it were just an occasional deep clean, it's always nice to enjoy your house without having to think about the mess.

Car wash: I hate a dirty car. And with two kids (plus the occasional friend) in the back seat every day, there's no way to keep all the dirt on the outside. Between the raisins and the tissues and the string cheese wrappers and the leaves and the mud and… well, it's gross back there. Plus all this springtime pollen makes a mess of the outside, too. A clean car just feels more civilized.

Massage: Even when things are going well, life can be stressful and exhausting. Between keeping up a more regular exercise schedule, working at a desk and generally chasing my children around, I'd love an hour – okay, maybe 90 minutes – to close my eyes, listen to soothing (if a little cheesy) nature-sounds music and let go of the stress.

Mani/pedi: I love a pretty polish (especially on my toes), but this one isn't really about having colorful nails. It's more about having healthy-looking (and feeling) hands and feet. Again, between the exercising and the dish-washing, my extremities get a little rough. And it's just so nice to be taken care of by someone who doesn't need anything from me.

Haircut: If you have short hair, you know that you really need to get it cut at least every six weeks. I try to stretch it to seven or eight weeks to conserve cash, but I always hate my hair that last week or two. If money and scheduling were no object, I'd get a haircut once a month. That way it always looks fresh – and I'd look like I just stepped out of a salon more often.

Fresh flowers: Even if my house isn't really clean, it looks cleaner if there are fresh flowers by the front door and on the dining room table. It's like I can't even see the piles on the counter or the dishes in the sink when there's a vase of white hydrangeas in view. Shoes scattered around the foyer seem to fade away if I'm greeted by a wildflower bouquet. They don't have to be formal or fancy, just fresh.

 Let us know what's on your little luxuries list... leave a note in the comments.

Convertible Girlhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-64911942097973726502014-05-08T16:51:00.000-04:002014-05-08T16:53:17.847-04:00It's a GirlThis post is from my piece at last year's Listen to Your Mother show in Raleigh. You can watch me here, but I realized I never posted the text. Excited to go see this year's show tonight as an audience member!

 When she's older, my daughter will probably hate me for saying this, or even thinking it. But I didn't want to have a girl.

 My son was about to turn two that Father's Day morning when I peed on the stick and realized we were going to have another baby. Junius was finally starting to sleep more at night. Life was just beginning to feel manageable again. While I was excited to be pregnant, I was equally overwhelmed by the idea of beginning it all again.

 As the weeks went by, my second pregnancy mirrored the first. I was tired, but never sick and only occasionally queasy. Girth increased steadily with weight, matching the first pregnancy pound for pound and inch for inch week by week.

 This baby is a boy, I thought -- just like the first. If it were a girl, I would know. I would feel different and I would be vomiting. But everything was the same and I was relieved.

 I imagined we would become "Cyndi and the boys." Our sons would be buddies and build LEGOS and play basketball. My husband would take them camping and fishing on weekends while I stayed home and went for pedicures and read books. Yes, they might be loud or messy, but it would be worth it.

 It's the American way: boys love their mamas. They would love me, cherish me and never, ever turn on me.

 Because ladies, let's be honest. We save the really bad shit for our mamas.

 I wasn't a crazy or rebellious kid. I have always had a good relationship with both of my parents. But in my teen years, something changed. I was mean to my mother and treated her in ways that I never would my father. Even when I wasn't upset with my mom, I still held back my disaster meltdown moments until she was the only one around to deal with me.

 The best of daughters seem to go through rough times with their mothers. And that's the good ones. The rest wind up hating their moms, vowing never to be like them, and rolling their eyes and yelling obscenities at them.

 So when the ultrasound revealed that this new baby was a girl? I was terrified.

 And I hated myself for it.

 I was supposed to be excited. A son AND a daughter. One of each! Isn't that what everyone wants? Slugs and snails meets sugar and spice. The perfect family.

 Except that I wanted a matched set. Wouldn't it be so much easier -- and so much less frightening -- to have another boy? I was getting good at being a boy mama. Starting over with a newborn was scary enough without the specter of one day having to share my house with a hormonal pre-teen girl.

 For two weeks, my husband and I didn't tell anyone we'd found out it was a girl -- not even our parents or our son. We practiced at home saying "she" and "her" instead of "it" and "the baby." We talked about girl names. We thought about friends who had painted nurseries pink in preparation, only to discover on birth day that their baby had been hiding his little boy parts when the ultrasound tech was looking. Maybe the ultrasound was wrong?

 Of course it wasn't wrong. Our baby girl arrived as scheduled on Feb. 22, 2008, beautiful and round and perfect.

 It turns out that I was wrong about not wanting a daughter. The last months of my pregnancy gave me time to get used to the idea. When she was born, I already knew her -- and I loved her immediately. Five years later, Pippi is sweet and funny and crazy smart. She sings and dances constantly through each day, strutting her stuff in pink cowgirl boots and mismatched outfits. She possesses a powerful confidence at age five that will hopefully carry her far in life.

 But it also turns out that I was kind of right to be afraid. Pippi may only be five, but she's already giving me a run for my money. She saves her worst behavior for me and her best for her teachers. She tells lies and tests limits and pushes my buttons in ways that make me grind my teeth and bang my head into my hands. She is a Daddy's Girl -- apparently it takes one to make one -- and she already seems to know that she can be meaner to me than she treats him.

 She is the best and worst of having a daughter. And I am lucky to have made her.

 So I try hard to give her the most important things my mother has always given me. A patient ear. A loving heart. A shoulder to cry on. And a wonderful father for the many times ahead when she doesn't want any of those things from me.Convertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-65619459829084280952014-04-30T14:42:00.004-04:002014-04-30T14:42:58.249-04:00Road Trips

 My family didn't take many big trips when I was a kid. We spent most summer vacations at North or South Carolina beaches or visiting my grandparents in Virginia.

 On the occasion that we went somewhere more exotic -- like Washington, D.C., or New York -- we always drove and we always checked out any colleges that were nearby. But a college visit with my dad didn't usually involve an official tour or a trip into the admissions office. Instead, we mostly just drove through campus and saw whatever we could see from the car, then we kept going.

 These little side trips became known as The Dave Drive-By.

 Then the summer after my freshman year in college, my parents, brother and I took our first big family trip on an airplane – we flew to San Francisco, where we rented a big white Lincoln Town Car. I think the trunk on that thing was bigger than my first dorm room. Two weeks -- and four states, three national parks (four if you count Las Vegas), more than a dozen friends and relatives, and at least three colleges/universities -- later, we flew home from Phoenix.

 That trip went down in family history as the Official Drive-By of The West. It was kind of a strange trip – I was 19 and used to living away from home, my brother was 15 and probably used to having me away from home. All four of us shared hotel rooms (when we weren't staying with friends or family) and did pretty much everything together for the whole two weeks. I think back on it and wonder if my parents were crazy or clueless or both.

 But I also can't stop myself from grinning any time I think about that trip. My brother and I cracked endless jokes about the distance between the front seat and the back seat of the land yacht. We met relatives who last remembered seeing us when my brother was in diapers. My all ventured a little out of our comfort zones, saw places that were completely different than anywhere we'd ever been. We listened to a lot of Toad the Wet Sprocket.

 More than 20 years later, that trip stands out as a mile-marker in my family history.

 So far this year, my husband and I have taken our kids on our own version of The Drive-By in two opposite directions. In January, we drove to Pittsburgh (because who doesn't want to go to Pittsburgh in January?!) to see friends, tour the science center, ride the gondola, drive by the house my parents lived in when I was born, visit the Cathedral of Learning at Pitt, go ice skating outside and see the Penguins play hockey. In February, we drove to Disney World for the first time -- a more traditional kind of kid trip that still had that Drive-By feel as we whizzed through three parks in three days.

 I wonder if my kids will remember 2014 as the Year of the Road Trip. Actually, I wonder if they will even remember 2014 at all. I'm pretty sure we were crazy for driving nearly nine hours to Pittsburgh, spending two days there and driving what turned into more than 11 hours back through a snow storm. Pulling them out of school for two days to drive to Florida and back doesn't exactly seem logical either.

 Even still, I find myself wondering how our kids will remember these trips and how their memories will be different from mine. Will Pippi recall the long, boring drive, or only the fact that she got to swim in the hotel pool and order room service for dinner? Will Junius wish we'd flown to Florida, or just laugh when he thinks back to shouting "THAT WAS AWESOME" on his first roller coaster?

 And will either of them ever know how lucky they really are? Guess we'll keep planning Drive-Bys to remind them.Convertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729008319243255768.post-61361254699343441382014-03-19T22:16:00.000-04:002014-03-19T22:16:27.590-04:00Good Sport

 For a woman who never played organized sports growing up – unless you count driveway kickball, which wasn't really all that organized but was highly competitive – I've made a real commitment to team athletics for my kids. Like many suburban moms, I drive them to and from practices, bring snacks, cheer for everyone and spend large chunks of my life sitting on bleachers in conditions that are often too cold or too hot to be pleasant.

 While it's nice to imagine that they might turn out to be college-scholarship athletes, I'm not overly concerned that they excel at the sports they play. As hokey as it sounds, I really just want them to learn how to be a good teammate, engage in healthy exercise, develop a few leadership skills, and have a lot of fun.

 It's more important to me that they learn how to be good sports than to be good at sports.

 In his most recent basketball season, Junius and his team had a perfect record – they managed to go eight straight games without winning a single one. Coming off an undefeated season with his hockey team, I worried that he might lose interest in basketball – or at least in his teammates – given their apparent lack of success.

 During the final game last month, Junius scored a personal best 14 points. But the game highlight occurred when the ball wasn't even in play.

 As he followed his team back into the gym after halftime, Junius ran in front of his team's bench, launched into a halfway decent cartwheel and burst out laughing as he bounced down next to the other boys.

 When I asked him after the game why he did the cartwheel – an unusually showy move for him – he replied simply, "I wanted to rally my team, mom!"

 That cartwheel rally didn't affect the game's outcome, but it made an otherwise losing season worth every butt-numbing minute in the stands.Convertible Girlhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com


text:
Winning the Corbyn way
12 September 2015
Jeremy Corbyn is the new Labour leader.
Three months ago, writing such a sentence was unthinkable. But Corbyn's victory first became plausible, then pretty likely, and finally inevitable. By yesterday morning he was 12-1 on to win.
Charity sector wonks will already be thinking about policy implications. When Corbyn opposes private contracts in some public services—most notably the NHS—does that mean Labour will ask just local and national government to deliver work, or will there be room for voluntary sector groups too? Might he pluck some advisers from charities with whom he's worked?
But the structural questions interest me more. How did Jeremy Corbyn pull this off, and what might the sector learn?
All change, please
Corbyn's most successful selling-point was his position as the change candidate. His supporters stressed that voters would get a new type of politician rather than more-of-the-same. It's a powerful message, well-used in politics, and one which charities too could heed.
From one angle, charities stand for something old-fashioned. There's nothing new about people clubbing together to help the less fortunate, or pressing for changes they feel strongly about. And I've blogged before about the risk that the sector appears to lack vitality or, more damagingly, to be drifting out of touch with the concerns of the public.
A new approach is already evident from some. Craig Bennett, newly-installed head of Friends of the Earth, struck a decidedly Corbyn-like tone when he said of his charity: 'I think we all got too much into a bubble, spent too much time with policy wonks and forgot about people'.
Bennett has a point. It will be enervating if donors and supporters (and beneficiaries) sense that they've seen it all before. Charities sometimes talk about innovation more than they actually innovate. It might be time to bring in new ideas—and to shout lots more about the effective innovations already in place.
Fresh blood
Politicians love to talk about 'engagement'. The jury is out on what exactly Corbyn has achieved: the numbers flocking to his events are very high for political rallies, but outside of this base he remains basically unknown. Nonetheless, he has fired-up people who would otherwise be at home, evidently driven by a desire to help their man into the top job.
In recent days we've had a useful reminder of how the charity sector can miss out on new people. The Guardian asked why well-qualified younger women are ignored as trustees; my colleague Andrew Weston wrote eloquently about why charity beneficiaries play a relatively small role at the organisations who help and represent them.
Evidently, there are people with whom charities should engage more but aren't. Excitement needn't get the better of us—increased populism in France (on the right) or Greece (on the left) hasn't obviously strengthened charity sectors elsewhere. But the audience for doing social good may be larger and more dynamic than we recognise. There is food for thought here for voluntary sector groups who want to expand their reach.
Back to the future
Jeremy Corbyn won as the change candidate, but the biggest hit against him is that he won't, in the end, change anything. If he isn't electable come 2020, as his detractors argue, then his policies will never actually leave the page.
Which poses charities an intriguing question. Like anyone advocating for beneficiaries or members, they will need to decide where their resources go. The obvious next step is to contact Corbyn's team and try to feed their priorities into the reviews and working papers which will shortly be under way.
But MPs less enamoured of Corbyn, who claim to represent the more electable wing of the party, are already on manoeuvres with new, informal policy groupings. Will anyone play the long game, and go direct to these groups, so that they are on the ground ready if and when the leadership cycle starts all over again?
It remains to be seen how Corbyn will do, but charities can learn from the issues of leadership that have manifested already, and should continue watch closely.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
If you have a question that is not answered here or elsewhere on our website, please feel free to contact us. We will get an answer for you. The answers to questions that are asked repeatedly will be added to our "Frequently Asked Questions" Section.
Q. How do I become involved in OPADD?
A. The work of OPADD is done through regional committees. We encourage people to reach out to their local regional committees. If there isn't a regional committee in your area please contact Sandy Stemp, Co-Chair of OPADD Collaborative by clicking here.
Q. What is the Ontario Partnership on Aging and Developmental Disabilities?
A. The Ontario Partnership is a collaborative group of like-minded organizations and groups that want to respond to the needs of persons with a developmental disability as they age. Together we identify priority issues in the area of aging and developmental disabilities and seek solutions. Participants in the partnership include the continuum of seniors supports and services, developmental service providers, government, educational organizations, regional and local projects. Our work is focused on achieving our Vision: that older adults with a developmental disability have the same rights to support and services as all older Ontarians. Our work focuses on building capacity in the service system to ensure quality of life for people with a developmental disability as they age. For more information click on "About OPADD" on our home page.
Q. What is the focus of the Ontario Partnership?
A. We are concerned with all aspects of the aging process and how it affects people with a developmental disability. Accordingly, we are working on a number of initiatives that will strengthen the capacity of individuals, their families and the service system to support people as they age. This includes, but is not limited to, ensuring that older adults with a developmental disability can access the full range of support services available to all older adults in Ontario. Our long range goal is a service system that has capacity to sustain quality of life for all older adults with a developmental disability.
Q. Is the Partnership attempting to have people with developmental disabilities moved to long term care homes?
A. The Partnership seeks to ensure that every older adult with a developmental disability is able to age with dignity and grace. An important piece of this work is supporting the right of older adults with developmental disabilities to access all of the services available to Ontario seniors and their families. This includes services and programs such as foot care clinics, older adult centres, municipal recreation programs for seniors, home support services, homecare via CCAC's, Alzheimer society services, Regional Geriatric Programs, adult day programs, supportive seniors housing and long term care homes. Our interest is not in long term care home placement but in the effective and appropriate access to services as needed. Some older adults with developmental disabilities, just as some of the general population may need to move to a long term care home.
The Partnership wants to ensure that every person aging with a developmental disability is supported to plan their transition to older adulthood and that such planning includes consideration of the range of services and programs that support seniors.
Q. The community living movement has worked hard to get people with a developmental disability out of institutions and living in the community. Isn't a move to a long term care home a backwards step which re-institutionalizes people?
A. The Ontario Partnership is very concerned that older adults with a developmental disability enjoy quality of life. Aging, while maintaining quality of life, requires planning for the transition to older adulthood. Transition planning, in addition to many personal factors, must encompass a consideration of the services and programs that are available to all Ontario seniors. These programs and services are geared to keeping people, healthy, active, connected to their communities and in their own homes as long as possible. Sometimes a person must consider an alternative living arrangement when the one where they have been living is no longer sufficient or safe for them and for others with whom they reside. A long term care home may provide the best option for some people in order to maintain quality of life as they age.
It is important to keep in mind that the very large facilities that were built in the middle of the last century, to house people with a developmental disability, have nothing in common with today's long term care homes. Residential facilities for people with a developmental disability housed hundreds and sometimes thousands of individuals in conditions that we no longer accept today. The last of these institutions closed in 2009.
Long term care homes have been designed to provide supervised care and nursing when a person cannot be adequately cared for in this/her own home. These homes are usually located in central areas and in addition to many in-house programs, encourage people to remain connected to family, friends and community life. The Ontario Partnership is working to ensure the long term care and developmental services systems can work closely together so individuals with a developmental disability stay connected to the people and activities in their lives no matter where they are living. The partnership also wants to ensure that any move to an alternative residential setting in the long term care system is done effectively. This means developing a proper transition plan that reflects all of the person's needs; finding a home that is right for the individual; that provides the type of care needed; and that allows him/her to remain connected to the community.
Q. Is the Ontario Partnership involved in national and international work on aging and developmental disabilities?
A. The Ontario Partnership is primarily concerned with aging and developmental disabilities in Ontario. We do however respond to information requests from other jurisdictions around the world and participate in national and international activities from time to time. The Ontario Partnership sees the need for a national forum on aging and developmental disabilities and supports the establishment of such a body.
Q. Is the Ontario Partnership a government organization?
A. No. We are not a government or other type of formal organization but a group of organizations, each of which maintains its own autonomy. We are not funded by government. Our work is done through the voluntary contributions of time and resources of our many participants. We have received a grant from the Ontario Trillium Foundation to accomplish some of our goals. OPADD has received a number of grants to accomplish some specific goals including: Health Canada, Trillium and MCSS Innovation and Modernization. OPADD regional committees have also received grants for specific projects.