Bfth's Boring Blog

Before my son was born, my husband and I bought a couple of children's books that we could read to him.  I specifically wanted Jamie Lee Curtis' "Tell Me Again About The Night I Was Born" written in 1996.  The little girl, who happens to be adopted wants to know all about what happened the night she was born.  It is a simple tale and a beautiful one which addresses adoption, but doesn't make it a big deal.  I read it to our son many times, modifying it so that it fit our situation.  (In the book, the girl's parents board a plane to get to their destination; we drove.)  Not to steal too much from Ms. Curtis, as today marks the 11th anniversary of the day when our son legally became ours, I present:  Tell Me Again About My First Months of Life. Tell me again about the night before I was born.  How you and daddy where asleep when the phone rang.  How you tried to see the caller ID and daddy cried out:  "You know who it is, just pick up

It's everyone's favorite time of year!  It's CCRAP week! Ok, so it's NOT everyone's favorite time of year.  If you don't have kids or you don't have kids in the local public school system, you may not even be aware of CCRAP (in which case you might be a very lucky soul!).  So what is this CCRAP that I speak of?  It is what in consider the PARCC ( Partnership for Assessment of Readiness for College and Careers) assessment to be.  Amazingly, I am NOT the only one who thinks/feels this way. Let me put it bluntly (as if I haven't already stated my feelings on the subject:   http://bfthsboringblog.blogspot.com/2016/04/somwad-ccrap-week.html), PARCC is complete and total bull**** in my book.  His schooling is essentially non-existent for the week.  He sits in a classroom in the morning and takes this standardized test.  Then he has lunch.  Then he has some classes and comes home.  The upside to all of this?  Well, at least in my son's book i

It should come as no surprise that this post comes the day after report cards were posted on line.  But my son is NOT failing anything, although he sometimes (most of the time?) feels like a failure.  Not something you want for your kid.  Not something I want as my son transitions from child to teen; a difficult age/time in life no matter how you slice it. This past marking period his grades slipped a bit. He was nowhere near to failing anything.  (Although he did come close with French, but with some guidance he managed to pull it up to a B-; nothing to sneeze at.)  But he was having some difficulty.   Most of this, I believe (and there is no hard core proof; I don't know if any would be possible) is due to changes in his life.  As many children in his age range, he is struggling to find his identity.  He wants to be independent.  He doesn't want help.  He wants to do things on his own, yet it is obvious that sometime he DOES need help.  (As we all do!)  He want

Grandparent's Day isn't until September (the Sunday after Labor Day), but it's never too early to sing their praises.  Grandparents have a mystical quality about them.  (Or at least they do in this mind.)  While my maternal grandparents were the babysitting kind, my paternal grandmother was more adventuresome.  I could rely on my maternal grandparents for nurturing and support.  My paternal grandmother was the one who would take me (and my brother) places (at least when we were younger).  As an adult, I can now more fully appreciate their gifts. (And I'm not talking about the kind that come wrapped with a ribbon, although both sets did present me with memorable treasures.) However, the grandparents I want to praise in this post are not mine, but my son's.  Of course I love my parents and my in-laws, but as "good" as they are (and have been amazing in that capacity), it is as grandparents that I see them shine.  Something happened to them the day t

Although I've lived on the same street for most of my life, I didn't TRULY get to know my neighbors until after our son was born.  That's not to say I didn't know them or wave or say hi, but things changed once there was a child in the house. I know that I became a more "active" neighbor and I'd like to think that I became a better neighbor. My favorite neighbor activity was the block Easter egg hunt.  I don't know when it "officially" started, but for me it started the spring after my son was born, which would put us in April 2006 (the exact date being the 16th, which is also when Easter falls this year).  My son was not yet a year old when the hunt was held on the Saturday before the holiday in a neighbor's backyard.  Unlike most of the kids he wasn't running around finding plastic eggs full of candy.  But he was given some eggs to play with and he really liked them.  I don't remember who gave them to him, but I suspect it

Today has been a day of mediocrity for me.  It seems like everything I've done is neither good nor bad, but just middle of the road.  Meh. Now there are things that I am good at (like writing...and I hope you agree on that).  There are things that I am BAD at (just about any sport...I'm just not athletic).  There are also plenty of things that I am mediocre at.  (Perhaps grammar might be one of those things?  How many sentences just ended in a preposition?) Just this morning, I got caught up in a web of mediocrity that I couldn't seem to shake off.  It started after my morning walk.  Yesterday a friend of mine, who is an avid gardener was "thinning her berry bushes. Who knew that was a thing? I think her blood runs green and not red.  She is a passionate environmentalist (although I think the two words go hand in hand) and LIVES her passion.  She offered to share her plants with anyone who wanted some. I love berries, but I am a mediocre gardener.  I me

If February was moderate, then March was quite brutal. Thankfully we are finally here in April and spring has finally arrived.  Although today it seems like we will have a quick transition to summer before falling back to spring.  Temperatures in the NYC area are supposed to hit 80+ and for me that is cause for rejoicing!  It is time to free the toes! Shoes may be a necessity, but there's nothing like going barefoot.  Warm weather means sand and sea between the toes.  Green grass tickling the bottom of your feet.  And it's the perfect excuse for a pedicure.  (As if one needed an excuse to get a pedicure.) Those toes have been cramped into boots for too long.  Shoved into shoes with no fresh air and sunshine.  Is it any wonder they ache? Free toes means the coming of lazy summer days.  (Or at least one can hope for them.)  Sitting outside and basking in the glorious warmth of the sun.  (Perhaps with a tropical drink in hand?) Free toes mean vacations!  Travels to pla

When I say I'm going to do something, I try to stick with it.  This year for Lent I said I was giving up alcohol and chocolate.  (http://bfthsboringblog.blogspot.com/2017/02/an-early-lent.html).  So far so good, although I did invoke my "break clause" the first weekend in Lent when my husband I were away.  I'm not sure if I had chocolate as I did have a White Chocolate Mocha Latte that Saturday morning.  In looking at the Starbucks ingredients for that one I don't see chocolate listed, but it could be part of "natural flavoring" I suppose.  I DID indulge that weekend with wine in the evenings and several wonderful Mimosas at our Sunday Brunch.  Our friend, Duncan, made a fantastic bartender, especially considering that he had to travel quite a ways with a cooler of champagne and orange juice.  It was a delight that even Klaus Voorman couldn't turn down (non- Beatles fans should Google that one.). On the last day of March, I declared a &quo

"Back in the day" when I was in college, in order to graduate I had to do an internship. It had to have something to do with my major (communications) and it had to be at least a semester long. There were several available, but my number one pick, the only one I interviewed for and the one that I got, was for a "Community Relations Intern."  It was a non-profit and I thought it would look good on my resume.  It was, in my mind, an extremely reputable organization and would show that I was a "responsible adult."   Along with the part time job I had in public relations at my college's theater, it was the only "real" job I would have to put on my resume when I graduated.  (I made money throughout high school and college by babysitting and that didn't seem to be like something that I could populate a "real" resume with.  It was hard work and required a great deal of dedication, so maybe it SHOULD have been on my resume.  

I used to work with a woman who was a smoker.  But she didn't want anyone to know that she smoked.  She'd say she was going out for a breath of air (no comment), to the ladies room, to get something from her car, etc.  She didn't want the boss to know that she smoked.  Do you think he knew, even though she never told him?  EVERYONE knew, and no one really cared. (Ok, I did care a bit because I knew it wasn't good for her health, but that's a whole other story.) I could tell you that I'm 35 years old.  I could say it convincingly.  It doesn't make it so (although I might wish it was so).  Maybe if I told you I was 42, you might take my word for it.  What I say or imply doesn't make it true.  In the same vein, sometimes what I DON"T say doesn't make it true either.  (For example:  I lost 42 pounds.  True statement, but the real fact is that since I lost 42 pounds, I've gained back 12, so I've only truly lost 30.)   The fact is, you SH

Facebook:  It's a relatively new thing, right?  A 21st century sensation.  Maybe.  Maybe not. When I did my Fiction Pulitzer Project (where I read as many of the winners that I could find electronically), the first book I read was by Ernest Poole (have you ever heard of him?  I hadn't!  Shame on me!).  He won the very first Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1918 (at that time the category was known as Pulitzer Prize for Novel) and his book was   His Family .  The story of a widower and how he relates to his family stunned me with how relevant it was to current times. (How could life in the early 1900s have ANYTHING to do with life in the 2000s?)   Things may have changed, but they also have stayed the same.   Case in point, Roger the main character, owns a clipping service and by the end of the novel is making more money than he thought because everyone wants their clippings.  (For those of you who are too young; when you got your name in the paper, you'd "clip&