Velveteen Mind

Perfec-she-yawn

Nothing like a slew of women in their twenties coming to peek in your life to make you feel, well, not in your twenties.

Welcome, vibrant new readers.  I am not Miss Musing.  I do not write about my beautiful piano room or my heroic boyfriend or my pink bicycle.  My life is not perfection.

Fortunately, for those of you that stick around, it appears that perfection can be wearing.

But it gets worse.

I don’t even post that often.  Period.  I own this baby, it doesn’t own me. 

So let’s just own it.  I’m a mom, at home, no longer living in a large city.  I live near the beach but no longer own a bikini.  I have stretch marks.  Because I have two toddlers.  And a new baby on the way. 

A new baby that I haven’t even written about because I am nauseous and tired.  Laissez les bon temp rouler!  No?

When I do post, it is rarely about controversy.  Instead, I’m usually pleading with women to stop worrying so much and to come out and play with us in real life, because seriously, it’s okay.  Reality bites but we don’t. 

For instance, are you going to BlogHer?  I see many of you have the BlogHer ad network on your much-updated blogs.  (Ahem, I did until they booted me for, um, poor update frequency.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)  Well, I’m co-hosting a party the night before BlogHer.  It’s called The People’s Party and this is our third year (which we’ve only teased so far, but more details to come).  The goal?  To make women feel at ease while out from under the cover of their blogs.  Imagine that.

But that’s about as glamorous as I get.  I do publish and serve as the Editor-in-Chief of a successful (aw, shucks) online magazine called Blog Nosh Magazine, but that thing is currently run without shoes on and, were I updating it this morning, without a bra on, too.  Ya deal?

I am not in my twenties.  Haven’t been for a few years.  And when I was?  I spent all but one year of it with my would-be husband, not exactly gallivanting around with a martini in hand.  Chick, I don’t even own stilettos.   The last time I wrote about shoes was to demonstrate my own dichotomous personality that seems to straddle between punk rock and Florida retiree.

We might not have a lot in common.  Other than the dichotomies that define us.

But I write to you from the heart because I don’t know any other way.  And I embrace all that is me.  And you might be surprised what bits of yourself you find in me.

I write this to you from my backyard because today is too gorgeous to not inhale deeply.   Our roses are blooming.  I’ve been so busy, I hadn’t even noticed.

When I ran inside to grab my camera just so I could show you our modest accomplishment (if by accomplishment, you will accept that we simply didn’t touch them and therefore did not kill them), my two year old decided a romp outside suited him, as well.  You haven’t lived until you’ve dated a two year old.

While chasing him around, I caught wind of a smell from my childhood in Illinois.  Wandering around old properties, gathering Queen Anne’s Lace to take home and dye with food-coloring-spiked water.  This smell, the one in my own backyard, was the smell of my mother, stopping at the side of a rural road to gather and assure us we could taste.

Honeysuckle.

I didn’t even know we had honeysuckle in this yard.  But this morning, it is blooming.  And filling our yard with the warm scent of simpler days, superseding the rich layers of the bayou, so close to our home.

I live in Mississippi.  On the Gulf Coast.  Not in New York.

Perfection here comes covered in powdered sugar and doused in sweet tea.  Our fingers hint at crawfish boils enjoyed with friends and the air wafts by with a hint of Zydeco.

Yes, there’s a hurricane party every time it blows.

My musing comes in very different flavors than you might be used to, but there is room for you here at my table, sugar.

Ya’ll come back now.

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Internet Fame is for the Nerds: Post-BlogHer Identity

(edited below for clarification on 8/10/08)

As I was packing for San Francisco to attend the BlogHer 2008 blog conference, I was confident of two things about myself:  I write a decent blog with one hand and change dirty diapers with the other.  I know who I am and I know right where I belong.

If anything, attending BlogHer would have one of two results for me: 

1) I would discover that more people read this blog than I realize.

or

2) I would be put in my place as an anonymous face in a sea of anonymous faces.

I was pretty good with either of those outcomes because the real reason I was heading to BlogHer for the first time was to meet other bloggers, not promote my own blog.  I can talk about me any day, but I can only meet you on the very rare occasion.

What I discovered is that most of the friends I have made online are my friends in the flesh, as well.  I also discovered that I have far more friends than I realized.

The first time someone came up to me and asked, "Are you the Velveteen Mind?" I thought I was going to pass out from excitement.  How cool is that?  After sessions, during which I had to pipe up and hog the mic (being sure to say, "Hey, I'm Megan from Velveteen Mind" and hope someone would look me up on their laptop), there would sometimes be people lined up at my table to meet me.  Me.  How crazy is that?

It's bat-shit crazy, is what it is.

Then, somewhere around the 12th time someone approached me in the hall while I was talking to my elusive roommates and shared with me that they read my blog or follow me on twitter, it started to feel a little embarrassing.  It never embarrassed me if I was alone, but it kept happening in front of the same people and, honestly, I started to feel like a bit of a whore.

Like, "Gah, how much does she pimp herself on twitter, anyway?"  Yeah, pretty much just like that.  I could feel eyes rolling around me (not my roommates') and I felt like I should defend myself or explain away how these people knew me.

Because God forbid I have a popular blog or a heavily-followed twitter account.

Why does success feel so dirty in a platform like personal blogging?  It feels downright pornographic if you are a mom-blogger.

And before your eyes roll right out of your own head, let me clarify what I mean by "success."  On one floor, of one hotel, in one city, in one country, in all of the world, for one weekend...  a handful of people knew who I was and were excited to meet me.  Go up or down one level, step outside of our bubble, and it was all gone.

Internet celebrity is a farce.  It is meaningless.  It is fleeting.  And it is rampantly revered...  by people reading the Internet.

Ask your dad who Dooce is.  Then get back to me.

BlogHer was a schizophrenic's EEG.  Intoxicating high's (the recognition) and feet-to-ground lows (the blank stares in response to "I'm Megan from Velveteen Mind").  Trust me, my feet were solidly planted on the ground most of the time.  Half the time I wanted to say, "Yeah, I know, I totally made up that blog name.   I don't even own a computer." and the rest of the time I felt sure someone would ask for my autograph.

And that was all on that one floor of the hotel.  Step outside and I went right back to feeling foolish for admitting that I was at a blogging conference.  Surely someone would wonder where my Spock ears were.

The point of all of this is to reiterate that the deference given to big-name bloggers is laughable at best and damagingly naive at worst.  I thought I could let all of the post-BlogHer drama posts slide, but it finally came to a head for me today and I just have to beg you to stop.

These are real people.  They probably won't be "famous" next year.  Don't hesitate to reach out to them.  Don't hesitate to talk to them.  And don't be afraid to cross them if you disagree with something that they have said.

Engage them in a conversation.  Chances are, they are starving for real discussion.  No one respects a fangirl, but everyone loves knowing that their work is appreciated.  Get beyond that hurdle and you might be surprised at the human you find behind the blog.

I swear, I feel foolish even writing this because my in-real-life friends are going to be saying to themselves, "Is she serious?  These are just blogs."  Yeah, I am.  There were people who were too intimidated to approach me at BlogHer. 

That, my friends, is pterodactyl-shit crazy.

All of this is sort of ridiculous.  Yet, blogging has true value.  I learned that definitively at BlogHer.  And no matter your vitriol (I think it's a law that all bloggers use that word at least once), you can't change that for me.

By the way, I'm writing this on my couch, I haven't had a shower today, my sink is full of dishes, my boys may not have clean clothes for school tomorrow (working on that), and one of the highlights of my day is yet to come:  putting my sons down to bed, which includes reading a couple of books, rocking the two year old and singing "All You Need is Love," and then all three of us cuddling in bed for a minute while we talk about the stars projected on their ceiling.

I know right where I belong.

Because in two little hearts, in one home, on one street, in one city, I am the most famous person in all the world.  And there is infinite value in that.

~~~

(edited to add:  I was going to have a bunch of fun photos, but before I could upload them, I was flooded with emails telling me that a gracious yet very pointed comment I left on a big-name blogger's recent post was deleted.  I have never been censored in my life, so I'm sort of floored.  You know me.  Can you imagine what I would have had to write to get deleted?

Ah, the irony.  This post suddenly looks very naive to me.

That being said, unless the natives settle down considerably, my post on Monday will be called either "Inciting the Queen & King" or "Utah is the new China.")

***Final edit added 10:30pm 8/10/08: The comment deleted was my final comment made on a blog written by a Utah blogger named Jon Armstrong.  He is dooce's husband.  I do not care that Jon deleted my comment (one of 4 that I left as the conversation progressed), but rather that Jon evidently deleted the vast majority of all dissenting comments submitted to his post, none of which appear to have been hateful or malicious, but rather just disagreeing with his presentation of a story that had long since been settled.  His call, our opinions, his censorship.

Ultimately, his blog.  Again, he has the right to hide my opinion from you, as well as dozens of others.

Silencing dissenting opinions has never been a good thing.  As you will see in the comments of this post, I refuse to silence dissenting opinions as long as they do not attack my readers.  Regardless.  Transparency and humility are integral to this platform. 

Here are the facts, for your consideration:

1. Jon and Heather Armstrong live in Utah. 
2. China is infamous for viciously censoring all dissenting opinions.

Here is my opinion, for your entertainment:

Utah is the new China.

But it doesn't have to be.

Side note:  If you are here looking for drama, you might want to move along (after leaving your requisite hateful comment) because I rarely enter these frays.  If what you take away from the above post is that I actually think I am famous, then you probably won't "get" this blog.  You'll be disappointed when I start writing about "community" and "morals" and my kids again.  Good Lord, half the time I talk about the Discovery channel and Matt Lauer.  Move along.  Or don't.  That's your call.  You might want to consult my "comment policy" at the bottom of the page, though.

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Debunking, Defusing, and Demystifying the Big Name Blogger; Mommy or Otherwise. And Delurking You.

"I feel out of my depth."

"I know I'll feel overwhelmed."

"This is way out of my league."

"I am so intimidated by this group, but..."

These are just a handful of the emails I have received regarding RSVPing for The People's Party, a pre-BlogHer party I am co-hosting with a handful of bloggers the night before the BlogHer conference at the Westin St. Francis in San Francisco this year. 

Because we need to keep loose numbers on how many drinks and goodies our sponsors need to provide, we have asked you all to RSVP if you think you'll be able to come.  That's the customary purpose of an RSVP, but some of you seem to think that we have chosen to use it as a torture device and have been hesitant (popular word:  intimidated) to even leave a comment or email that says, "I'll be there."

Lord knows what you think the actual party is going to be like...  Spotlights at the ready to point out your every flaw...  Live rankings of everyone's blog stats projected on the wall over the bar...  Buckets of pig's blood dangling from the rafters a la Carrie...

Well, we will require you to log into FeedBurner to verify that you have at least 500 subscribers to your blog before you are allowed to enter, now that I think of it.  Sucks for you blogging losers.

Okay, that was a joke. 

The People's Party is just that:  a party for the people by the people, because that is all any of us are.  Seriously.  No one should feel left out or not cool enough or not popular enough or not enough enough.

Because, enough already.

You know The Bloggess?  She is hilarious, right?  Almost intimidatingly hilarious.  But you know what?  She's not buying the hype for a second.  She knows that at the end of the day, she's just a woman with a foul mouth, a decadent mind, and access to the Internet. 

She is a lot like you.  Only with less censoring.  And possibly less underwear.

She wants to meet you.  And, better yet, she is just as nervous about meeting you as you are about meeting her. 

Now swap "The Bloggess" with any other big-name blogger and you end up with the exact same scenario.  Possibly fewer references to "vaginas" and "ninjas" and "vagina ninjas" and "ninja vaginas," but you get the point.

If I have learned anything from planning this party it is that "Internet Celebrity" is all of the following :

1. Perception.
2. A fluke.
3. Fleeting.
4. Rampant.

None of the above are a reflection of my co-hosts, as this lesson is simply a result of the entire process as a whole.  Mostly a result of being exposed to more opinions and perceptions regarding "celebrity" than I have ever been exposed to before.

What makes a "Big Name Blogger" is not necessarily based on merit.  It is occasionally just the result of sticking it out and being at the right place at the right time.   It is sometimes based on hard work.  It is often not deserved.  Or if it once was, it is no longer.  It is the ultimate contradiction in terms.

Simply put:  It is meaningless and often holds little real value.

It is all perception.  And that is up to us.

However, being a successful and popular blogger is something in which I know we are all interested, which explains some of the "celebrity" fascination that extends to bloggers.  The most popular link on my Mommybloggers: The Resource page?  How to be a Popular Mommyblogger by A Mommy Story.

Wanting to grow your audience and expand your reach is healthy.  Boasting a large readership is a good thing because it opens you up to more opinions and feedback, which helps you grow your own voice.  However, when you begin to think of "popularity" in terms of the "cool kids table," you lose me.

We give the concept of cliques power that they do not deserve.  After BlogHer last year, the number one complaint I heard was that it felt like high school.  That the cool bloggers hung out with the cool bloggers and the newbies hung out with the newbies.  That "cuteness" came into play, whereas it doesn't usually factor online.  Friendships through blogs did not always translate in real life.

People you thought you would hang with shunned you from the "cool kids table."

Enough, already.

After we announced the party, I received a lot of comments along the lines of, "I had no idea you hung with the big girls" or "How did you get in with them?" 

First of all, I am a big girl.  Second of all, I let them in with me. 

And you are, too.  And you should, too.

It didn't occur to me that I might not be cool enough.  That my traffic statistics might not be high enough.  That I might not be popular enough.  So I just did it.

The imaginary boundaries placed around cliques?  I figure, if my son can't see them, I shouldn't, either.

And now my blog name is on a gajillion badges on a spajillion blogs, right along with Oh, the Joys! and motherbumper and One Plus Two and IzzyMom and, yes, The Bloggess.  People at Parents Magazine's GoodyBlog know who I am.  People at Sprout® and PBS know who I am. 

People know who I am because I know who I am.

I'm a mom who writes her blog mostly in her underwear.  With a sink full of dirty dishes and piles of laundry staring at her from her peripheral vision.  I'm a blogger who puts on a good show, but whose numbers followed the fancy facade she put up for the world to ponder.  I'm a blogging mother that wanted and needed a way to reach out, get some things off my chest, and connect.

And I'm just like you.

Robin from Pensieve left a comment on my post about being interviewed by NBC Nightly News for msnbc.com (and my subsequent decision that I should be on the Today Show kissing with Matt Lauer) that said, "If 1/10 of Megan-the-blogger translates to Megan-live-and-in-person? The ratings would soar off the charts."

Megan-live-and-in-person is exactly like Megan-the-blogger.  Except with more pants and poorer spelling.

Want to meet me?  Come to The People's Party the night before BlogHer in San Francisco.  We are right below the newbie party that BlogHer is throwing, so you can float back and forth.  We'll have drinks and goodies and lots of compliments and questions and interest in meeting you.

And we'd love for you to RSVP so we can be sure to have enough of all that goodness, all for you.  Because you?  You are our people.

And me?  Well, I like to think that I'm your people.  Regardless of whether or not you are going to BlogHer.  Regardless of whether or not you are a mom.  Regardless.

Now, how about you stop lurking (reading a blog and never commenting) and take this second to connect with me. 

You.  Delurk.  Now.  Leave a comment.  Connect with a not-so-Big-Name-Blogger that may or may not be wearing pants right now.

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Hierarchy of Suffering. Who wins?

{Audioblog} Listen to or Download 'Hierarchy of Suffering' read by the author

Suburban Oblivion recently complained that her two year old had been replaced by demon spawn.  She welcomed any interest in buying him on eBay. 

As luck would have it, someone took her up on the offer.  Someone that apparently can not have children.  Sara responded with an exercise in gratitude, expressing that it sometimes takes getting bitch-slapped in the comments to remember how good you have it. 

What followed was a discussion in Suburban Oblivion's comments that touched on a topic that I take very personally.  The topic of gratitude and our right to be ungrateful some days.  This is something that I've been meaning to write about for some time, but always back down.  Sara is a great fire-starter, so here goes.

In response to Sara's post on gratitude, CharmingBitch said that "some days off-handed comments about selling children hurt worse than other days. Just like most days with your kids are great but some suck..."  I'm paraphrasing.  Apparently, some of Sara's readers took part of CharmingBitch's comment to suggest that she wanted Sara to be a man and stop complaining.  Again, paraphrasing.  Actually, that's conjecture.  Nevertheless, CharmingBitch was inundated with emails telling her that Sara has a right to complain about a bad day and to back off.

You've got to be kidding me.

To paraphrase my own comment left on Suburban Oblivion:  of all people, CharmingBitch knows that playing the "who has the worse life?" game is pointless.  More specifically, the “I have no right to complain because your life is worse than mine” game is ridiculous.

Bad days are bad days. 
The hierarchy of bad is irrelevant.

CharmingBitch further responded (this was before my comment, by the way): 

"I never said Sara (or anyone else for that matter) doesn’t have the right to complain or vent about a bad day. I know that one life cannot compare to another and that we all have our own crosses to bear; I get that, honestly."

Amen.  I have a right to complain about my house washing away.  I also have a right to complain about my car looking like a ghetto-fabulous poop heap.  It's all relevant because it is all me.   

My problems can not compare to yours, but they are mine.

Do you read CharmingBitch?  Let me tell you, my problems could never compare to hers, and yet I don't hesitate to share my problems with her.  Why not?  She never tries to "one up" me in the problems game.  She could always win, but homey don't play dat.

After Hurricane Katrina, there developed something of a hierarchy of suffering along the Gulf Coast:

• You lost the bottom floor of your house?  I lost my whole house.
  
• You lost your whole house?  I lost my house and my job. 
• You lost your house and your job?  I lost my sister. 
• You lost your sister?  I lost my whole family. 
• You lost your whole family?  I am dead.

That's right, the ghosts of the dead walk the streets of the Gulf Coast.  Their presence is always there, reminding us that it could be worse.  We could be dead.

Bullshit.

Your life could always be worse.  Someone will always have it worse than you.  Seriously.  But does that mean that we have no right to complain about the mundane?  Hell no.

I'll complain about our Bar exam woes and the fact that I haven't had a manicure in forever...  all within the same breath.  Because they are my problems.  They are important to me.  Screw you if you don't think I am grateful enough to keep them in perspective.  Your insinuating that I am not keeping my problems in perspective is an insult.  Your suggesting that I am not grateful is an outrage.

I got gratitude for you right here.  Bend over, let me show you.

The next time someone tells you, "Well, it could be worse..."  just slap them for me.  What they are saying is that they have no idea what to tell you, you are making them uncomfortable, and they would like to deflect the conversation and preferably end it right there.

"Our bills are killing me.  I don't know where I expect to get the money this month." 

"Really?  Well, it could be worse.  Your child could have an incurable flesh-eating disease and be deathly allergic to painkillers."

Wha-what?  Um, yeah, you're right...  I don't know...  I mean, I just...  Uh, okay, I, uh, well...  Okay.

Conversation killed.  Now let's talk about how your mother-in-law insulted your housekeeping, because that is important.

Look, our problems are our problems.  We own them.  They are ours.  I'm not trying to beat you in the competition for who has the worse life.  In the end, if you win, what have you won, anyway?  Hey, I'll just give you that one.  Congratulations.  Your life sucks. 

Now I'm still going to talk about how my diamond shoes are too tight.  Because they are and I don't like blisters.  So sue me.

I am grateful for everything and everyone that I have in my life.  I know how good I have it.  But damn it if I have to couch every single fookin' thing that irks me with "I know it could be worse but..."  Hell.  No. 

The other day, I guest posted over at moosh in indy and dared to complain about how being the wife of a young lawyer sucks.  Ass.  A big hairy ass.  I said that I'm sick of my life being about my husband and had the balls to ask, "When is it going to be about me?" 

I then demanded a Volvo wagon, an annual spa vacation, and a housekeeper.

Oh yes I did.

And you know what?  I'm going to complain freely when my Volvo breaks down.  I'm going to whine when my massages aren't deep enough.  And I'm going to bitch when my housekeeper doesn't scrub my toilets the way I like it. 

I don't expect you to care.  But I do expect you to listen.  Because if you love me, you know me.  You know that I am grateful and you know that I am not a raving idiot that has no perspective.  You know that I know what is important. 

And yet you will still let me vent about the small stuff.

Because if you don't let me vent about the small stuff, I will utterly blow my lid when it comes time to deal with the big stuff.

Get it?

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I Am a Have but I Happen to Have Not

{Audioblog} Listen to or Download 'I Am a Have, But I Happen To Have Not' read by the author

My husband considers himself lucky because I am not into spending money on clothing, makeup, shoes, or other material possessions.  Particularly after Katrina, I am in no hurry to put our money into anything that can go *poof* and simply disappear. 

Rather, I research interest rates of money market accounts online, study the bios of companies whose stock I'm interested in buying, and listen to Clark Howard on talk radio with an avid interest I used to reserve for BOP articles about Corey Haim.  As much as I might like, deep down, to spend a huge chunk of cash on a new wardrobe from Saks Fifth Avenue, I just can't get all fired up about it.  I can get all fired up about earning a 10% return on the cash that would buy that wardrobe, though.

This is an easy, responsible financial approach to take for me because, well, I don't really have any money.   Therefore, I don't really have any temptations.  Not right now, anyway.

Due to a combination of factors that came simultaneously crashing down on our heads after the storm, we find ourselves in the position of living, more or less, month to month.  This is remarkable, given that we still don't have a home again, yet.  Fortunately, due to a combination of factors that have simultaneously lifted burdens from our shoulders, we are currently sitting on the precipice of hopefully never living month to month again.  It has taken two years, but we are seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

And it has been a long tunnel.

For superstition's sake, let me now say, "Knock on wood," for this entire post.

People comment to me all the time that our family will be stronger, and is stronger, for the obstacles we have overcome together.  I have been told that marriages dissolve over less frustrating circumstances than we have survived.  Quite frequently I hear, "I don't think I could have made it through what you have and you seem so fine."  This isn't talk about Katrina, but rather about money, career, and sacrifices.

My response to speculations about our financial situation is always the same.  I am not my money.

I don't define myself by how much money I have in the bank or how stylish my clothes are.  I don't see myself in how impressive my house is or by the model of my car. 

This is fortunate, because my bank account is anorexic, my clothes are from the outlet mall, my house is my parents' guest house, and my car is my dad's old Lincoln Town Car, a magnificent shade of Pimp's Suit Emerald Green, right down to the Florida Retiree's Emerald Green leather interior.

But these things are not me, they are just my circumstances.  And my circumstances don't begin to scratch my surface.

Despite my circumstances that suggest that my life is a bit in shambles, I am confident.  I am confident in who I am and in who I will be.  I am confident in my past decisions and my future plans.  I have faith and I have hope.

I am a have in this world, but I just so happen to have not. 

More than anything else, I hope I am teaching this perspective to my family.  We are not our money.  We have no reason to be ashamed or embarrassed when I have to pick Pants up in my bright green land yacht of a car.  We don't need to hesitate when we have to tell people that we live in my parents' guest house.  We are not here because of something we did wrong.  We are making the most of the cards we have been dealt and we will be stronger for it.  We have been given opportunities that the catastrophe-less around us may never glimpse.

And yet, it sure is easy to make these grand, noble, sweeping statements when I have no temptations before me.  I couldn't be a GAP mom right now if I wanted to, let alone if I tried.  Sure, I can be a GAP Outlet mom, but that still doesn't include the great car.  No, when you are broke, you decide to make the most of what you have.  You just deal. 

But then what happens when your circumstances change from mental fortitude toward financial strength?  The temptations of the GAP mom will rear their ugly heads and what keeps you from folding?  What keeps you from succumbing to the power of the Volvo wagon and the day spa?

I fully intend to succumb to the powers of the Volvo wagon and the day spa.

The difference is that when I have money again, when my circumstances change and I can breathe again, I want and plan to remember one thing:  I am not my money.

As much as I don't define myself by my circumstances now, I do not want to define myself by my circumstances later, no matter how glossy and glittery. 

If I do anything right as a mother, I want to raise children who view the world from the same financial perspective.  We are not what we have materially.

The guest post by Nell from meanwhile... reminded me of this objective.  While reflecting on how her daughter Matilda has become friends with Taylor, the daughter of a materially-focused, perfection-minded mother, she wrote:

Matilda and Taylor have become friends. I like to imagine them hanging out when they're older, like when they're fifteen. I imagine Matilda being jealous of how perfect Taylor's family seems, like a TV family. And I imagine Taylor being jealous of Matilda, of how wild and crazy her family is, of how she can make her own choices and be whoever she wants to be. And I know Matilda is getting the better end of that deal.

When Pants and Goose are older, I would love nothing more than for them to be able to seamlessly blend into groups of both the privileged and the struggling.   While hanging out with a kid whose home is a trailer, it would be great if that kid wondered, "Which trailer park is Goose's?"  While hanging out with a kid whose home is a beach mansion, it would be wonderful if that kid wondered, "Which manse belongs to Pants?" 

I had friends like that and I was usually more impressed by the ability of the kid in the mansion to conceal his wealth than by the kid in the trailer.  Perhaps this is because I think it is sometimes easier to cope with our circumstances when they are difficult or challenging than to defend ourselves against complacency when our circumstances are auspicious.

If I can raise my boys to define themselves with perspective and to see beyond the material, whether that be an excess or a dearth, I will have done a fine job.  If they can recognize what truly matters in this world and that recognition not include a glimpse of the latest fill in the blank trendy toy, then I can exhale.

When it comes to the things that matter, we do "have."  We are the greatest of haves in this world full of bitter have nots. 

We have tread the waters of the deep sucking divide between the haves and have nots and we have come out on the other side stronger.  I'll be damned if we are sucked back to the other shore, as all that we have experienced would have been for naught.

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Victor Vito

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