You. Are. So Right.

But my buddy Clay Morgan has killed his blog, EduClaytion.

Which is sad because so many of us just love him.

Anyway, he made me a wee video to celebrate my blogoversary before he up and went.

This just shows the kind of person (I mean zombie) I mean person Clay is.

And you wanna know who else is hot like a freshly tarred driveway?

Tyler Tarver.

Yup.

Because he is offering up a free download of his e-book Letters to Famous People.

If you don’t know Tyler, you need to know Tyler:

If you’d like a copy of Tyler’s book…

Tell me what famous person you’d like to write a letter to. What would be your opening line?

Other blogoversary giveaways you can enter to win:

The Write-Brain Book

Elena Aitken’s ebook Sugar Crash

A handwritten card from me

 All blogoversary winners will be revealed on June 2nd – once I figure everything out.

At some point, we heard about the Rochester Fencing Club and from the moment our son held saber, he has loved the sport that fits his personality.

I am fortunate today to have Iris Zimmermann, Olympian and Co-Owner of the Rochester Fencing Club as my guest blogger. Iris holds the distinction of being the first U.S. fencer in history to win a world championship in any weapon or any age category. In 1995, she won the World Under-17 Championships at her first major international event. Four years later Iris became the first US fencer to medal in the Senior World Championships, earning the bronze medal in women’s foil.

Iris has an amazing teaching ethos and runs a terrific program. Of course, she wants students to have fun, but she is all about personal responsibility, good sportsmanship, hard work and patience. You might think a Champion competitor would be all about winning, right? Well, here’s what Iris has to say on that topic. Follow Iris on Twitter @rocfencing.

• • •

Click here for the main schedule!

• • •

Failure Is an Option

Failure is the new “F word”. The more I step into the life of coaching, the more I realize that failure has become something more feared than Snooki in a bathing suit. (If you don’t know who Snooki is, good for you). It’s not just the kids that fear the black cloud of failure, but the parents who put all their hopes into the athletic endeavors of their 6-12 year olds who can’t stand to see little Timmy “fail.” I think this is why so many school and athletic programs have adopted the “everyone wins” strategy.

I’m sorry Timmy, but everyone does not win in this world. Rather than go on a diatribe about the downfall of Darwinism and the culture of healthy competition, let’s start talking about what failure can do for you.

In order to do this, you will need to accompany me on a short trip down memory lane. While training for the 2000 Olympics (yes, I am type A), there was this United States team fencer who had a tattoo on his arm that read: “Victory or Death.” I joked with him about it and said, “Nice tattoo. You must win everything. What’s your secret?” The fencer, who could count height as one of his strengths, looked down at me and glared.

Let’s get this straight. No one is that good. Michael Jordan — “The Greatest Basketball Player of All Time” according to the NBA website — knows this. He said:

“I’ve missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. Twenty-six times, I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.”

Well said, Mr. Nike Air. Let’s take an academic step forward and do some modern research. What does Wikipedia say about failure?

Failure refers to the state or condition of not meeting a desirable or intended objective, and may be viewed as the opposite of success.

Interesting thing – “may be viewed as the opposite of success.” The Wikipedia community is, in general, back and forth on the scale of accuracy of definitions and explanations. However, in this case I would say they hit the nail on the head with the definition.

She

Failure is only a view or perception of the opposite of success. The problem with failure is that fear of this perception can keep well-meaning people from becoming great. So, if failure is just a perception, is it possible that if you altered your understanding of this perception you could make failure a valuable tool? For those of you like me that are to the point. Failure is merely a state of mind.

First of all, a person has to get it through one’s thick head that he or she must fail in order to succeed.

When I competed, I think my most powerful tool was that I wasn’t afraid to lose. I somehow knew that within every “failure” there existed an opportunity to learn about any weak points in my game. Having made peace with losing, there was nothing to be afraid of — which made me a very effective fencer at a very young age.

At age 14, I was the youngest to win a Cadet (under 17) World Championship medal and until recently, the youngest at age 16 to win a Senior National Championship title. I owe much of that success to losing competitions because if I was afraid, I would never have tried some very risky actions that ultimately helped me to win important competitions.

What separates the “good” from the “great” is the state of mind they chose to be in when they come up against a hurdle, a loss, or a failure. Unlike many people who are paralyzed by the thought of failure, the successful people are the ones who learn and move on. If you don’t believe me, take it from Michael Jordan.

How has “failing” helped you accomplish your goals? Anything you want to ask a World Champion?

Tweet this Twit @rasjacobson

To see the original photo, click on the image!

Last week I wrote a piece “On Sons & Thunderstorms.” Several people commented that they liked the line “puddling with joy.” That made me smile because I actually borrowed that line from myself. In fact, that piece was inspired by a poem I wrote a long time ago. I thought I would share it with you.

What is a Sun Shower?

the heavy too-sweet scent of

woman’s perfume dribbling from gray skies

or a bumblebee, fat and

zig-zagging through air, cutting the

wetness with buzzing certainty;

a black string pulled too tight, too

tight to

the  b  r  e  a   k    i   n    g        p     o      i      n       t,  expectant with

tension, an invisible pulse or

heartbeat crashing around ears and

trees. too close when your teeth buzz, it is

too far when you are trapped in bed, sweet yellow galoshes squeezed in a dark closet.

it is luck before a wedding,

a bath for my umbrella.

nothing more than G-d’s tears.

nothing less than the earth gone mint-chocolate mud, gurgling,

and puddling

with joy.

What makes you puddle with joy?

Fun blogoversary prizes that might make you puddle…

A copy of The Write-Brain Workbook

An ebook copy of Elena Aiken’s Sugar Crash

A handwritten card from me

Whaaaat?

It’s not like I over-ordered my 2012 New Year’s cards or anything.

Probably.

Seriously, y’all! This is a good prize! Three people are going to get to see what my whole family looks like… including the elusive Tech Support!

As always, there are strings attached.

Look at the picture below.

Your challenge –should you choose to accept it — is to:

Tell me in 50 words or less — What Happened to This Binder?

Seriously? What happened here?

Leave a fabulous comment in 50 words or less for a chance to win.

This one will NOT be determined by Random Number Generator. I will pick my THREE favorites, so write me a cool story. All blogoversary winners will be posted on June 2nd.

Time for me to sit back and relax and read your words!

Tweet This Tweet @rasjacobson

Click on the teacher lady’s bum to see other folks who have written in the #LessonLearned series

Hi David!

David N. Walker’s blog Where The Heart Is is a tribute to the things he holds dear: his family and his faith. David is the supreme patriarch; a warm father and grandfather, he gushes about his children and grandchildren.

In Texas, they have that saying: “Go Big Or Go Home.” In the piece below, you will see David was trying to Go Big and Go Home.

I’m happy to have David here today as he shows a bit of his humorous side. You can follow him on Twitter at @davidnwalkertx.

• • •

Motor Home Mayhem

Everyone knows it’s important to read and pay attention to signs giving directions when driving. I mean, that’s too obvious even to comment on, right? Uh, not so fast there, Kimosabe.

My wife Sharon and I had spent the night in a Jellystone Park Camp-Resort that was convenient to Niagara Falls. After a delightful time at the falls and surrounding attractions, we got back to the motor home early to get ready for bed. We wanted to get an early start the next morning to get past Buffalo’s traffic rush before it started.

As soon as we got on the Queen Elizabeth Way headed for the border, we realized we weren’t the only ones who thought about beating the traffic. I don’t know what this artery looks like between 7:00 and 9:00 a.m., but it was plenty crowded even at 5:00.

Borders mean gated stops, right? We expected that, but we were amazed at how much traffic was backed up trying to get across. Glancing at the length of the lines in front of the various gates, I picked the next to farthest one to the right—a fortunate choice as it turned out. The only one farther to the right had several trucks in it, so I figured I’d get through quicker in this one.

Little by little I inched forward, one car-length at a time. When it was my turn to pull up to the attendant, I suddenly realized my motor home wasn’t going through that gate. Apparently I had missed a sign directing all  motor homes, as well as truck, to the right-hand gate, which was wider than the others.

What now? You don’t just throw a motor home in reverse when you’re pulling a car. No way the car will back straight. Besides, there was traffic behind us and in both lanes beside us.

As I pondered what to do, the Border Patrol agent came out of his booth and walked back to my window to tell me I was in the wrong lane. DUH!! Such useful information! I wanted to tell him I already had a wife to point out the obvious, but I decided not to antagonize him any further than I already had.

He told me I’d have to back up and move over into the right lane. I told him I couldn’t back up because of the tow car.

Have I mentioned there was traffic? About 10,000 unhappy drivers around and behind me. The nicest ones were just laughing at my predicament. Others were honking, and I’m sure there were a few single-digit waves.

I finally told the Border Patrol guy—who was being extremely nice, considering the circumstances—that I needed him to direct enough traffic out from behind me to allow me to back up. Meanwhile, Sharon would get in the car and steer it to keep it straight.

After a bit of organizing, we finally got ready to deal with all this. Mercifully, there was a lull in the truck traffic, and I was able to pull into the wide lane without further messing up anyone’s morning. The Border Patrol guy actually waved and smiled as I freed his lane to move once more.

Lesson Learned: READ THE SIGNS! They’re probably there for a reason.

Have you ever found yourself in trouble because you didn’t pay attention to the signs?

Tweet This Twit @rasjacobson

It’s been one of those weeks!

Were my life a roller coaster ride, I’ve got to tell you, this week has been positively loopy.

And it’s only Thursday.

On Monday, I showed up at my local grocery store, all showered and dressed at 8 am, to discuss catering for my son’s bar mitzvah with a woman named Karen.

Only to learn that my appointment is actually next week at 8 am.

As I stood there, dejected, I received a text from someone telling me that she couldn’t make a coffee date we’d been strenuously trying to set-up.

For months.

Last night, Hubby told me that we cannot have the Friday night dinner before our son’s bar mitzvah at the location we had previously selected.

I cannot even discuss this right now without feeling nauseated.

Because, seriously, where are we going with under 6 weeks left?

Yesterday, I wrote a guest post of which I was particularly proud. Very few people left comments. And that’s okay, except it left me feeling embarrassed and confused. I don’t understand why that content didn’t speak to people. I re-posted it HERE and, for those who may have missed it, I would still be interested in hearing your comments.

Anyway, I was feeling kind of low.

Then I learned it was National Teacher’s Appreciation Week. I had no idea.

One of my former students sent me this comment on my Facebook wall.

So that made me feel better. I mean, I figure if I’m losing my writing mojo, at least my students appreciate me, right?

And speaking of my students, this morning I tried to log onto my email account at Monroe Community College.

But I was locked out.

Because every six months we have to reset our passwords. Pain in the booty.

I’m currently working through Super Heroes combined with a series of uppercase letters and those annoying keys required for extra security. You know: !@#$%^&*()_+.

Those.

So I had to change my password which took four attempts plus a call to the Technology Services Help Desk.

Because I’d forgotten I’d already been W0nderw0man08! and Aquaman09% and Superman10# P0isonIvy11? And the computer won’t let you repeat any part of any identity you’ve ever been before.

By the time I made it in, I was a little cranky.

But then, lo and behold.

I saw this piece of loveliness. (You may have to click on it to appreciate the font more fully.)

You guys, I was instantly pumped up like Arnold Schwarzenegger used to be when he was on steroids.

• And I would like to take this opportunity to thank every English teacher that I have ever had. I’m just positively overwhelmed. And…wow…I’m just so unprepared for a moment like this…
• I would like to thank Laura Ingalls Wilder and Judy Blume. I’d like to thank William Faulkner and and Harper Lee and Kate Chopin and F. Scott Fitzgerald…Omigosh, y’all. You know who you are.
• I’d also like to thank the unattractive green swivel chair in my parents’ house for letting me sit there for hours, escaping to different lands.
• And thanks to all my former students who hit LIKE when I update my status on Facebook, even if my status isn’t interesting or funny. I’m just happy you let me know you are still out there and you haven’t minimized me. Yet.

Look, there he is now.

So once again the universe teaches this twit a lesson.

Life will always be filled with bumps in the road.

But.

Somehow, some truck eventually comes along and some hot dude steps out and takes his shirt off and patches the hole with gravel.

It always works out, y’all.

(Except when it doesn’t.)

Anyway, it’s extra nice to have this happen during my blogoversary month.

And don’t forget, it’s not too late to register for a chance to win Elena Aitken’s SUGAR CRASH.

xoxoRASJ

Tweet This Twit @rasjacobson

When my son was still wrapped up like a burrito, every time there was a thunderstorm, I carried him outside to the worn wooden bench perched on our front stoop, and, together, we sat and listened to the boomers.

As my burrito grew, he morphed into my l’il Monkey. Whenever we heard thunder or saw that first flick of lightning, we raced to the front door. He’d mastered deadbolts by then, and he turned the knob furiously as if the ice-cream truck were sitting in our driveway. Once outside, we piled on the old bench — my son sat on my lap, holding my hand with a combination of anticipation and fear while I counted: “One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand…”

And when the world shook, we laughed and he begged for another so we waited impatiently for the next thunder-clap to shake our world.

For years we watched the skies darken, the clouds quicken, felt the air grow heavy on our skin. We listened to water slap our sidewalk angrily, and we both came to see how it works: how storms can be furious and yet temporary. He learned that even the scariest storms pass.

I know children who are terrified of thunder and lightning – kids who put their hands over their ears and cry or hide, but my son was raised up on late May storms: flashes of light and all that racket.

Maybe it’s because we imagined G-d taking a shower.

{The way my Monkey was starting to take showers.}

Maybe it’s because we imagined G-d needed to fill up the oceans.

{The way my Monkey was starting to have responsibilities.}

Maybe it’s because he imagined G-d stomping around looking for something He had misplaced.

{The way Monkey misplaced things and got all stompy and frustrated.}

Maybe it’s because he liked talking about G-d and trying to relate to Him.

“G-d makes rain. And rain makes the world grow, Mommy!” l’il Monkey told me as he stared at the yellow lilies, thirsty for a drink.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that with each summer storm, my summer-son was getting “growed up” too.

One May, I saw my son needed a new raincoat and boots for puddle stomping.

“I don’t need a coat. Or boots,” Monkey said as a matter-of-fact.

And he ran out into the downpour.

Unprotected.

Now I’m not saying it’s smart to go outside and run around on a lawn during an electrical storm, I’m just saying that we did. Okay?

We made up goofy dances, sang ridiculous songs, and chased each other around the yard in our bare feet until we were mud-spattered and drenched.

These days my little burrito is almost 13  years old.

We live in a different house with a less inviting front stoop. Plus, he’s gotten all teenager-ishy so we don’t really do the thunderstorm thing anymore.

One day, when I am an old woman and I hear the distant clatter of thunder, I will remember tiny yellow rain coats and tiny yellow rain-boots. I may not remember much else, but I will remember those little moments — perhaps as one long blurry moment — when the world turned chocolate pudding and everything was positively puddle wonderful.

What do you remember about thunderstorms? What little mommy-moments do you cherish?

Click here to read reviews!

My blogging friend, author Elena Aitken, is offering an e-book copy of her new book Sugar Crash.

The book features Darci, a single mother working hard to raise her daughter after her husband dies. Everything is rolling along pretty well until Taylor is hospitalized and receives a diagnosis of diabetes, which rocks their world. And because Darci doesn’t like to ask for help, she finds her job in jeopardy. Even though the book is about diabetes, it is truly a survivor story – and a story about learning to lean on others in a time of need.

I read Sugar Crash while I was on vacation, and I couldn’t put it down.

Read Elena’s blog, LIKE her on Facebook and follow her @ElenaAitken.

Check out my interview with Elena about her new book & answer the question at the end for a chance to win a copy!

• • •

rasj: Hey Elena, readers know from your Prologue that writing this book was deeply personal for you because you have a friend who went through something like this.  How is that child doing now?

Elena: Well, that ‘child’ will be celebrating her fortieth birthday this fall and has lived with Type 1 diabetes for thirty years.

rasj: Shut the front door! That is soooo cool!

Elena: I am proud to call Deb my friend. She is an amazing role model for not only those with diabetes, but everyone. She’s a busy mother of 8-year-old twins and has run a few full marathons, more half-marathons than I can count and is also a triathlete, having recently completed her first Olympic distance tri. Deb wears an insulin pump now and has actually represented the company that manufactures the pump in an international running event and she is always raising money for The Canadian Diabetes Association. Diabetes doesn’t slow her down even a little!

rasj: She sounds like an incredible person! I like how you show Darci trying to trust her 12-year old daughter to make the right decisions about her health and manage her own sugar readings. I think that is one of the best parts of the book – and probably one of the most confusing things in real life for parents with kids with diabetes. Are you able to speak to how parents of children with diabetes ever feel safe enough to let their children participate in sports (like Darci does) or go to overnight camps — especially when the consequences of mismanaging one’s blood sugar can result in seizures or death?

Look how cute she is? Don’t you want to read her book?

Elena: I think, as parents, we all struggle with letting go when it comes to our kids, but it would be much harder in Darci’s situation. Ultimately, I think it would depend on the family dynamic, but in my personal opinion, I believe it would be crucial to let your child resume their normal activities as much as possible. With the right education and awareness of course. Something like diabetes, while most definitely a huge lifestyle consideration, shouldn’t define a child. They still have to be kids.

rasj: What was the hardest thing you had to do while researching to write this book?

Elena: Because so much of this book is based on the actual experiences of my good friend, I was very fortunate in that she was so open and willing to share with me. She set me straight on more than one detail. But that was also the hardest part. Because she is so close to the story I was terrified of what she would think of it. It is obviously a fictionalized version, but it still struck pretty close to home for her and I held my breath the entire time she was reading the first draft.

 rasj: I adore the romance that you slowly create between Coach Cam and Taylor’s very hesitant mom, Darci. What part of this book do you love the best?

Elena: I have two favorite parts. The first was when Darci and Taylor were in the hospital and Darci realized she couldn’t make Taylor’s ‘owie’ go away. That would be an incredibly difficult moment for a mother. The second was the very end, when Darci and Cam were standing in the race corral getting ready to run. I think it’s very symbolic and it gave me chills when I wrote it.

rasj: What is one question no one has asked you but you wish they would?

Elena: No one has asked me who my favorite character in this book is.

rasj: Really? I was going to ask that but I figured you’ve been asked a skillion times. So?

Elena: I loved Darci and Taylor of course. BUT, Barb was spunky and fun and — her best quality – she stood up for her friend, defending her in front of a crowd. And THAT is one of the best qualities you can hope for in a friend.

• • •

For a chance to win a copy:

Leave a comment about a fear you have had to face.

Tweet for another chance.

Facebook share for a third.

Leave a separate comment for each thing you do so I know you did these things.

Tweet and share as many times as you’d like for extra chances to win.

This contest closes on May 14 when I open a new contest. All blogoversary winners will be determined via Random Number Generator, and all winners will be announced on June 2nd — once I figure everything out.

Tweet this Twit @rasjacobson

Howdy pardner.

One of the greatest blessings to have happened to me this year has been the discovery of my writing partner, El Farris, of Running from Hell with El.

In January, El and I concocted our plans to write our novels together and provide each other with weekly pages and honest feedback, and it is amazing how just a few months later we have crossed over from blogging friends to real life friends.

We talk to each other near daily, and our conversations do not have a start or stop. They simply continue. El is a panstser, and I’m a plotter. El writes fast and furious and says things like: “I’ll go back and fix that in the next draft,” where I can’t move forward until I feel I’ve connected all the dots. We work well together. If we were on the color wheel, we would surely be the other’s complement.

There is much to admire about El, and I’m so happy to have her here during my blogoversary month. Folks can find El on Facebook – there’s a reason she has over 6,000 fans — and you can follow her on Twitter at @runningfromhell.

Click on the teacher lady's stick to see others who have written posts in this series.

• • •

Running on Empty

Have you ever felt like this?

I’ve learned a lot of important driving lessons over the years. Some of them might seem pretty obvious, but I have a history of learning the hard way. For example, I realized I made a poor decision driving my Subaru for the first time (before I received my driver’s permit) when I drove the car into the front yard. A few months later, I found out how important it is to yank up the parking brake when coming to a stop at the top of a steep hill when the same black Subaru slammed into Dad’s beloved cherry tree. And finally, I learned to ignore the man-child thwacking the rear window with a cherry Twizzler only after the out-of-town police car flashed his lights and handed me my hundredth speeding ticket. That was the last ticket I received. I think.

As slow as I have been on the uptake while behind the wheel of a vehicle, I am even slower at learning how to navigate the churning waters of social media. I have spent a lot of time developing my online persona via Facebook and Twitter; Once my book is published, I hope that social media will help me to sell my book. For the moment, however, social media wraps a web around me that sometimes makes it hard for me to breathe.

How is this so?  We’re talking about a virtual world right? Well, yes, and no. For each comment or request that someone makes to or about me on Facebook, Twitter or on my blog, a real human being stands behind and is represented by the words he or she types.  And I care about each human being. I care very much.  Maybe too much.

One of the Facebook groups I help administer is dedicated to suicide prevention. Even though we are not officially a crisis hotline, the fact is that once in a while, someone is in dire straits and I am part of the last line of defense. Either as a member of a team or all alone, I grasp hold of a lifeline and extend it to someone who has swallowed or is about to swallow their last pill, and most of the time, I would not have it any other way.  I would prefer to lose a few hours of sleep than to lose the man or woman holding that line.

The other night, however, it got to be too much. I was tired. I had pushed my body to its breaking point by running more than 100 miles in 10 days.  I craved sleep. I needed a break from needs and commitments and pressures and even friends.

But instead of taking a break, I jumped into a Facebook conversation with an acquaintance who lives in another country. I do not need to describe the particulars of our conversation. Let’s just say it took about 60 seconds to determine that “Lin” needed to get herself to a hospital. I follow a set of guidelines when speaking with someone who is suicidal.  I ascertain whether they are safe; determine how present the risk of self-harm is; tell them I care about them and, more than anything else, I keep them talking until they promise to get professional help.

This story is not about preventing suicide.

It’s about taking care of my needs and my family’s needs.

Too much, too much!

The night Lin was in crisis, I sat glued to the computer. I skipped dinner and hardly spoke to my husband. When my children interrupted me too many times, I grabbed my Smartphone and went for a walk under a darkening sky while I continued what really felt more like hostage negotiations than a talk with a friend. I walked and talked and typed as fast as I could for well over an hour and, when my phone ran out of batteries, I dashed inside and continued working with Lin.

At one point, my middle son tiptoed into my bedroom, where I sat typing on my iMac and asked for a kiss. I held up my hand and started to snap, “Not now,” but I caught myself and gave him a brief, cursory hug.

Later, my youngest clambered into my leather office chair and refused to leave until I answered his long list of nighttime questions. Annoyance gave way to guilt. I turned away from my work only after Lin promised to go to a mental health center and allowed myself to spend a few minutes of quality time with my children.

I did not, nor do I, resent helping Lin. It is my honor and my duty to throw a lifeline to a human being who needs assistance. But providing that kind of assistance takes a toll on me and my family. The next day, I wandered around my house like a ghost.  I remained quiet and worried. I received updates from Lin. She was safe, but I found it impossible to ignore her private messages. She seemed to need me, and I felt compelled to respond.

In retrospect, I learned a lesson from all of this that I keep forgetting. My own needs must come first. Too often, I overextend myself and this leaves me feeling as if I am running on empty.  It’s okay to drive around and pick up desperate stragglers, but I am the driver of my own life.  And I must leave enough gas in my tank to get me to my next destination.

How do you keep from overextending yourself? And what do you do to keep your tank full?

Tweet this Twit @rasjacobson

Self-made Star of David in Adobe Illustrator. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The invitations went out without a hitch.

The thank you notes arrived.

The RSVP’s immediately started to roll in.

(Which is totally fun.)

But yesterday we received one reply card that made my jaw drop.

Tech Support has friends who represent many different ethnic backgrounds and religious traditions.

Not everyone has attended a bar mitzvah before, so I expected there might be questions about what to wear to the synagogue and how long the service would last. I anticipated lots of other things, too.

But I did not expect issues with the reply cards.

Our reply card looks like this:

It seemed very clear when we designed it.

And when we addressed our envelopes, Tech’s friends received invitations with their names on the envelope.

So I was baffled when one very smart boy (let’s call him Wu) wrote six names (not in English) along with his own (in English) and then penned in the number 8 in blank line adjacent to “Number Attending.”

At first, I thought Wu was screwing with me.

But I realized he wasn’t.

I freaked out a little searched to find the school directory to try to locate Wu’s telephone number.

Unlisted.

(Of course.)

I called the school to see if they might help me.

“We can’t give out phone numbers or email address if they are not listed in the directory,” a voice on the other side of the line explained.

“Can you call the family and have someone contact me?” I begged. “It’s kind of important.”

Fifteen minutes later, the woman from my son’s school called me to tell me that she had reached the father.

She assured me that he would call.

Any minute.

I waited by the phone.

For hours.

No one called.

Actually, that’s not true.

The phone rang constantly.

But it was never *them*.

Eventually, I composed a letter that so so awkwardly explains — while Wu’s family is welcome to attend the service and the light luncheon which will be served after the service — the evening invitation and party is reserved for Tech’s friends and family members.

And people we know.

Now I have to figure out if Tech should give my note to his friend in school and have him pass it along to his parents…

…Or if I should just send it in the mail.

I’m thinking the mail.

Oy.

It’s official.

I’m flailing.

And I’m pretty sure I’m about to be considered inhospitable.

Please share your special occasion snafus here. I need a laugh.

Tweet this Twit @rasjacobson