We can no longer ignore that there is a host of reality television stars who are educating our kids.

I don’t like it and I’d prefer to bury my head in the sand like an ostrich. That tact however, will leave me starved for air and my nieces and nephews without the benefit of a moral and cultural counterpoint to the “GTL” (gym, tan, laundry) lifestyle.

I’m an aunt to forty nieces and nephews all by relation and many of them they love the “Jersey Shore.” Their facination with these pop-culture nitwits finds me reaching for my rosary beads. It’s gonna be a cold day in hell before I sit back and let these morally devoid characters corrupt my little darlings. So, what’s an auntie to do?

Here’s what I came up with. Read more

If you’re Catholic, like me, you probably know that Sunday was the Feast of the Assumption.

Did you put your feet in the ocean?

Growing up we spent our summers at the Jersey Shore, long before there was ever a “Snooki” or any sort of a “Situation.”

In cars bursting with all the summer essentials, and trunks my Dad called “footlockers” tethered to the roof of each car, my parents picked up my identical twin sister and me on the last day of school. Bound for Wildwood Crest, New Jersey, we didn’t head back north until Labor Day.

Memories

Some of my fondest memories of our summers at the shore are the mornings when my Mom and I would bike the twenty blocks to daily Mass at our parish, The Assumption.

On our early morning jaunts, we peddled passed my Grandmom’s bright pink, stucco duplex and through mouth-watering ribbons of fresh bacon and eggs that escaped from inside the homes on Seaview Avenue.

My Mom relished the early morning hours, when the sun was just yawning. Me, I preferred to wait until most of the world was on its second cup of coffee. But every year on August fifteenth, I rose early enough to join her for Mass. Read more

My week off is coming to a close.

*Boo* *Hiss*

The time spent  in the salt air with my toes in the sand invigorated me. As much as I relished the time kicking back drinking homemade sangria, reading and lazing around with my husband, I’m rubbing my hands together ready to get back to some of my favorite pet projects.

As the week comes to a close, I wanted to share something with you guys that escorted me gently out of my own way.

While trekking up to the beach one afternoon, I found myself focused on how darn hot it was. I’m embarrassed to admit this but I got a little cranky.

“Seriously, cranky?” You might be wondering.

“Really? Walking to the beach you got cranky???”

Yes, cranky- and that my friends is what happens when you don’t practice being mindful. You get cranky instead of awestruck. Cranky instead of grateful. Cranky instead of overwhelmed by your blessings.

That little sliver of time I blogged about earlier this week, tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Hey, wanna give us a try?”

I needed an attitude adjustment and for the duration of my short jaunt up the street to the beach, I decided to practice mindfulness- take note of things I’d never noticed before in the years I’ve been coming here. Since a picture’s worth a thousand words-I posted what I saw when I took the time to stop and notice. It was REALLY fun to look around and see what I’d missed-like playing a personal game of I Spy.

Here’s a challenge for the weekend: Be mindful-of your surroundings. Challenge yourself to notice SOMETHING in your every day environs that you never really noticed before.  Come back on Monday to tell me what caught your eye as you practiced this element of mindfulness.

Go, ahead, get going…See ya Monday!

Happy Wednesday!

For the most part, unless it involves arranging fresh cut flowers and herbs in a vase or whipping up a batch of macaroni and a Caesar salad, I’m not a fan of housekeeping- but today I have a quick housekeeping request.

Have you subscribed to my blog?

“What’s that? Not sure how to subscribe?“

Try this it’s quick and simple:

In the second box on the right hand side of this page, drop your email address in the space that says “FREE! Don’t miss a thing!” No rush, I’ll wait for ya. (I NEVER share your email address-EVER).

“Oh, you have? Great! Then how bout clicking today on the “Tweet This’ button?”

Thank you! Now the place looks spiffy.

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This week The Bird and I are on vacation. It’s been wonderful to have the time to unwind and catch up with each other in ways we don’t always have the time for because of our busy work schedules.

We decided to hit the hay a little earlier than usual last night.

He crawled into bed and asked,”Hey, Steph, do you have any Advil?”

When he asks for any sort of medicinal remedy, coughs and sneezes, or even worse, comes home with a WaWa coffee cup with a tea bag tag dangling on the outside, it scares me. My amygdala lights up like a fireworks display on July fourth.

When I see the dreaded teabag or am asked for said requested remedy my first inclination is to think, “I’ll take worry, Alec for $1000.”

Thank God I’ve learned a little something about cognitive choice. There is a sliver of space (albeit it unconscious) between having a thought and attaching meaning to it. The meaning we attach to a thought dictates the emotional response it elicits.

Taking a moment to pause in that sliver of time, when no meaning has yet been attached, takes practice-something even therapists have to work at. ;-) The good news is the more we get in the habit of pausing at this critical cognitive crossroads, the more likely it is we will master the art of regulating our emotions rather than letting them regulate us. As a bonus, this practice often safeguards against frantic, unnecessary trips down anxiety alley.

Back to last night…

“Sure, honey, but do you want a Zyrtec?” I asked.

He  rolled over, yanked the covers over his face, shook his head and chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” I crawled in next to him.

“Babe, You’re the only person I know, who when asked for Advil, would say, ‘Do you want a Zyrtec?’ Seriously,  Steph, I just need some advil.”

“Ok, no problem but I thought maybe you had a sinus headache and that’s why I suggested the Zyrtec.”

“Steph,  before you bombard me with your litany of questions, I  mean, worries, let me tell you. It’s this bed. It’s too firm. My back has only started to bother me since we got here a few days ago. Ok? I just need some Advil.”

I smiled. This was good news- as in, “Alec, false alarm,  I’ll take no-need-to-worry for $100.”

I pulled back the covers, jumped out of bed, went into the closet and fished out two Advil from my usual stash.

Along with the bottle of water I grabbed from my nightstand, I handed him the Advil and nestled back into bed.

“Feel like rubbing my back?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said.

While I traced gentle chaotic trails on his back, I decided to ask him a question I categorically knew the answer to.

“Honey, may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“We’ve been coming down here to this beach house for 25 years now. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, can you believe that?” (I always offer a prayer up when I invoke the name of Jesus, His Mother and Father -lest I break the third commandment).

“Yup.”

“With the exception of  some facelifts that rival the homes featured in Coastal Living Magazine, it looks exactly the same it did 25 years ago,” I said.

“Umm…hmmm.”

“This is a really dumb question but when we started dating twenty-five years ago and especially when we got married, did you really believe you could love me forever?” (We’ll be married 20 years this August-I’m doing a little research for a blog post on marriage-this is part of the reason I asked).

“You’re right. That is a dumb question-of course I did.”

“But so many couples go into marriage today who admit they have their doubts. I hear this from family, friends, clients. It’s mind-boggling.”

“That’s dumb. That’s like going skydiving with the relative certainty your parachute release will fail. That’s stupid.”

I giggled. ”Honey, we should do a reality show. We could call it, ‘The Bird and His Writer/Therapist Wife-A portrait of a blissful married couple who believe marriage and happy still go together like peanut butter and jelly.’”

“Steph, no one would watch, we’re boring. We love each other. By today’s standard’s that not only boring but bad for ratings.”

“I guess you’re right, what’s the commercial appeal of a couple who gets along?”

“There isn’t one.”

Other than the rhythmic hum of summer traffic outside the bedroom, the house was still.

I stared at the sparkled, pop-corn ceiling and remarked, ”I know…but we’d make great role models.”

“That we would, Steph.”

As he nodded off he added, “PS, feel free to use any of the gems I just offered on your blog or Twitter.”

We cracked up and I squeezed him while he fell back to sleep.

Please drop me a comment. Is long-term true love suicide for ratings? What are your thoughts on today’s role models of marriage?

Suggested reading on this topic:

Zen Heart: Simple Advice for Living With Mindfulness and Compassion by Erza Bayda

EngagedMarriage.com

Love Everyday by Contributing Editors: Stu Gray, Lori Lowe, Dustin Riechmann and Chelle Stein