Why Do Older Men Prefer to Date Younger Women? ~ Gracelyn's Chronicles 3.24.13

Driving home from work earlier this week, one of my best friends, Jake, a Manhattan dentist in his 40's, texted me and announced he was in love. Again.

That text was followed within seconds by a photo of his new darling, looking fresh-faced and doe-eyed... and not a day over 24, tops. She looked barely out of college.

Jake mentioned in the next text after that, indeed, she was younger than his wristwatch, a college graduation gift from his parents... in 1985.  Ack! Seriously?

Thrilled and gushing about how pretty and well-read and kind she is -- and all the good things a new love interest always seems to be -- he described her delightful sense of humor, how simpatico they are, and what an outstanding artist she is, well-respected in her art circles.  Umm, Jake.  She is 24.  Is that even old enough for a semi-circle?

But Jake was in love and there's no talking to someone in love.  Just sit back, go to your happy place, and hope for the blather to pass quickly. 

Apparently, she's funny and articulate and makes his days more wonderful.  Plus, he is dying for me to meet this remarkably perfect-in-every-way human being whose smile could light up a room from miles away. 

He asked if Michael and I would be interested in double dating to see La Traviata with them at the Metropolitan Opera.  Of course, I said yes but gently reminded him it might be past her bedtime.  Come on... she's 24!  He's old enough to be her father!

It's the same old story with him and a handful of my guy friends in their 40's who are serial daters of 20-something's who steadfastly refuse romantic prospects of women their own age.  I've never really understood why older men prefer to date younger women.

You would think that men in their 40's would prefer women not born after the Cabbage Patch Kids were.  Aren't older, more accomplished women more interesting and have more to offer? Don't insightful conversations and rich life experiences count for anything anymore?

I guess they really don't in the competitive dating scene nowadays, where young, ample bosoms, firm everything and shiny hair usually abound, always trumping beautiful, mature women who are still in great shape but just not as "hot" as 20-somethings.

Dying for a glimpse into the mind of a man who will only date women barely born after the Cold War ended, I asked Jake why he dated only younger women.  He laughed at me. What was so funny?

Of course, he said, the women he chose to date were uniquely interesting and beautiful in their own ways, regardless of their age, and that his attraction only to younger women was sheer coincidence (yeah, right).

Further, his choices are not at all about the bedroom (hard to believe, I know) and more about how he enjoyed the company of women less jaded. And women in their 20's are simply... umm... less jaded.  Oh boy.

Jake explained that younger women still feel that the world is their oyster as they've not been bogged down yet with failed relationships and life's disappointments. They have hope.  Did they made him feel hopeful, too?  Was mid-life making him feel hopeless?

He said younger women are brimming with an enthusiasm for life that closely matches his.  I reminded Jake that he never struck me, in the 20 years I've known him, to be the enthusiastic type nor will he ever be the picture of the life of a party in my mind, or anyone else's.  But whatever.

Jake countered that that was precisely it. His lovely young paramours' vim and vigor are inspirational -- more so than their over-40 counterparts -- and that being around them made him happy.  Happy... or young?  Was he trying to recapture his fading youth? I wondered.

Dating 20-somethings gave him something to look forward to at the end of a long, hard day.  Sure, eventually down the road he plans to settle down and have kids, but for now he was content with young women whose ring fingers aren't constantly itching for diamond and platinum jewelry and whose ever-ticking biological clocks -- the quintessential mood killer -- weren't as distracting.

He loved hitting the town with arm candy bombshells, wining and dining them to places they'd never been, being tour guide in the world of romance to lovestruck girls who have had less dating experience by sheer virtue of being on this earth almost half his time (my words, not his). 

Plus, they were easy on the eyes.  A-ha!  So he admits he was after their looks!

Recently there was a study on a dating website that found that men in their 40's preferred to seek out dates with women who were 15-20 years younger than they were, whereas the women in their 40's were seeking men born in their decade or older.

Middle-aged women lamented not being able to turn the heads of men their own age, whereas middle-aged men only bemoaned not getting attention specifically from younger women. That is, their precious egos could only be stroked by younger women and younger women only. 

Hmm.  So I guess Jake dated younger women because older ones lacked intrinsic power to reassure him that he "still has it."

I told my my friend Jake that while a 20-something may not be as "jaded," she may still have issues that are specific to young women, like insecurities and an annoying, constant need for attention and reassurance.

Additionally, while she may not be on as much of a deadline as a woman in her 3o's or 40's for commitment because time is a-wasting to make little Jakey Juniors, I'm quite sure she is still concerned all the same about her biological clock on some level.  All women who want to have children are, especially planners and Type-A's. They have a plan, I reminded him. We all have plans.

Finally, I reminded him that as wonderful a human being and friend he is, to just be careful in choosing younger women to date. After all, when we were in our 20's in dental school (in the 90's, when she was a toddler) he certainly was NOT able to score any dates with outrageously gorgeous women, the likes of whom he seems to be getting these days, and might I add, quite easily.

What has changed, Jake, what has changed?

Why Do Men Cheat?  Gracelyn's Chronicles 1.13.13

(Please note:  Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.)

The dental conference wrapped up ahead of schedule on a Monday night, around noon.

Ethan's lecture went well and he was eager to get home early. He was weary from the grueling weekend of hobnobbing with other periodontists, making small talk with drug reps, and eating rubber chicken dinners.

The boys were meeting at the hotel bar for cocktails but Ethan passed.  Instead he rang up the bell desk for car service, eager to leave and surprise his wife, Maggie.  He missed her.

The roads had not yet been plowed.  Ethan made small talk with the driver about the unexpected snow that had befallen Westchester and Putnam Counties, but fell asleep promptly in the back seat.  He woke up an hour later as the Town Car swerved through the familiar streets of his upscale neighborhood.  

Condensation from his breath was thick in the chilly air as he fumbled for his keys and tipped the driver. Ice crunched below his Maglis as he walked up the bluestone walk, overcoat slung over one arm, luggage in the other.

His well-appointed home was almost pitch-dark but always warm and comfortable. The sun was setting earlier and earlier of late; he made a note to himself to adjust the automatic timers after he unpacked.  The familiar, mahogany furniture and framed photographs of him and Maggie and their two small children were a sight for sore eyes. 

Loosening his necktie, Ethan headed to the bar in the butler's pantry off the dining room to pour himself a Scotch.  There he noticed a pair of half-drunk crystal wine glasses of Cabernet on the granite counter, only one of them with lipstick stains. 

They made a sharp clinking sound as he picked them up with one hand and placed them in the sink.  He headed upstairs to their bedroom.  Maggie wouldn't be home for another two hours. 

Ethan emptied his keys and spare change from his pockets into a bowl on their dresser, as always.  As he removed his Rolex, something shiny and unfamiliar caught his eye.  

He picked up it carefully for closer inspection.  It was one of a pair of silver cufflinks with engraved initials -- and not his. His heart beat a little faster, a little more angrily.  

Ethan's eyes darted around room quickly, half hoping everything would be just as it should be, the other half fully expecting the worst.  His heartbeat echoed in his ears; the grandfather clock in the downstairs foyer was suddenly audible. 

His eyes fell on the unmade bed, then to the nightstand, then finally onto the floor... upon which lay a crumpled man's undershirt.

I sat across the table from Ethan, stunned and speechless, as he told me this story.  I hadn't touched a morsel of my calamari salad as he divulged the details of his broken heart, his voice devoid of any trace of emotion.

The story of Maggie's infidelity played out in my mind just as I have told it, like a bad novel. Perhaps it was my way, as a writer, of objectifying it all.  It was hard for me to process the unfortunate events in the marriage vastly regarded by everyone in our social circle as the gold standard, the one to which we aspired.

Ethan is like the brother I never had.  We've been good friends for 20 years, since we met in freshman year in dental school. We sat next to each other in histology lecture when I asked to borrow a pen.  We also teamed up for gross anatomy lab. The rest, as they say, is history.  We went to lunch at the corner Cosmos Diner often.

I still make it a point to have lunch with Ethan every few months.  After all these years -- establishing our practices, marrying the loves of our lives, and raising our collective five children -- we are still close.  Why?  Because he is one of the good guys:  a loving husband, a doting father, a trusted friend.

Plus, conversations with Ethan always gave me a better a understanding of the inner workings of the brains of married, white, middle-aged, male dentists (i.e., my husband, Michael).  Laugh all you want, but how else would I know about their extreme sensitivity to male-pattern baldness or the importance of man caves?

Normally, Ethan and I discuss the usual:  family vacations, house renovations, dental insurances.  We pepper in anecdotal tales of our kids, his Labradoodle, Tiger, and far-out ideas for this column (that will never make it to my editors). 

But Maggie cheating on him?  Oh my heavens.

Ethan was devastated. She had been his world since college.  He confided how he resented working so hard he "to give her a the kind of life any other women would kill for," and that was the thanks he got. Nothing he did was ever good enough for her. How could she?  

I was sad for my friend.  It was had been three months since she confessed and life as he knew it ended.  And just when I thought it couldn't get worse, it did.  Ethan proceeded to tell me he  was now also cheating on her.   

I sipped my Diet Coke. Lost for an appropriate reaction, I proceeded to laugh nervously.  It was more of a cackle, really.  I meant no disrespect. Ethan knew that. 

Then my questions started:   So that's it?  That's his cure-all?  Revenge cheating?  What about marriage counseling? What about the sanctity of marriage vows?  What about morals?  What about unexpected pregnancies and other unexpected consequences? What is going on?!

What about their two little girls?

My mother always says that the only two people who know what really and truly goes on in any marriage are the two people themselves.  Period.  No exceptions.  

And sometimes, one or both of them don't even have the slightest clue, either.  I tend to agree with my her (because I've grown to realize she is usually right) so I was in no position to judge Ethan -- or Maggie, for that matter.  But still.

I knew that Ethan knew cheating was wrong. He confessed he was so betrayed by Maggie's infidelity that everything he ever learned about monogamy -- from his parents, all his Catholic schooling, movies, books and polite society -- flew out the window. It was less about fooling around and more about his healing. 

Nevertheless, I also knew that Ethan's rationalizations were still just that:  warped defense mechanisms to make his crazy quid pro quo somewhat acceptable.  It was still wrong and I told him so.  As his friend, it was my duty.  

This got me thinking of why men and women cheat in the first place.  Were he and Maggie so unhappy and so misunderstood by the other they felt compelled to break their wedding vows?  Are men hard-wired to spread their seed, so to speak, to as many women as possible?  

Did Maggie's initial betrayal justify his?  Is she the exception of all the women out there who do cheat but never get caught? Are men and women only as faithful as their options? And who's to blame?  Can you ever place blame? Were they so emotionally starved (or so selfish, or both?) as to hurt each other this way?

Did the ebbing of religious, family, and social values contribute to the demise of my friend's marriage? 
And on a superficial note, had she let her appearance go to the point she was no longer attractive to Ethan?  Or was it the other way around?  Was it an ego boost either of them needed?   

My head was spinning, trying to analyze my friend's unfortunate situation.  After all, pop culture touts love, marriage and fidelity -- and all its benefits and entrapments  -- while every form of advertising is tied to a sexy image.  

I had no answers. Neither did he.  I could only reassure him that I was his friend and I will always be his friend.  To that end, I would support any decision he makes, with the clear exception of his cheating.  

After all, he was just hurting himself, the way I saw it.  The cheating further disconnected him from her and for any chance they had at working through their marital problems.  And if they decided to end their marriage and move on, the cheating was morally taxing (and probably physically exhausting) on him in the interim.  I told Ethan he was better than how he was acting, that two wrongs don't make a right.  

He owed it to his daughters to be better, to take the high road.  I told him to seek counseling, alone and as a couple... and to pray for strength for the long road ahead. I told him I'd be there for him, no matter what.

Beyond that, there was nothing more I could say.

Can Men and Women Be Just Friends?

Can Men and Women Be Just Friends?

I'm blessed to have good friends. Nothing's better than like-minded people enjoying each other's company, whether they're male or female.  However, this raises the age-old question of whether men and women can be  "just friends."

There is no topic more hotly debated over dinner or at cocktail parties among friends, family and spouses, nor has there been a juicier premise for movies like "When Harry Met Sally."  Yet the question largely goes unanswered.

Day-to-day life is proof positive that men and women do indeed coexist at work and at play, and get along just fine, thank you very much. Strong, healthy friendships between opposite sexes abound.   But are they all innocent? 

Are these friendships between men and women -- whose activities and get-togethers are one-on-one and do not include or involve their respective significant others or families -- all an ingenious facade to cover up the romantic impulses bubbling underneath, dying to burst forth? 

Are the "let's-take-cooking-classes-together" and the "I'm-sorry-you-broke-up-with-Charlie-but-I'm-happy-to-be-your-plus-one-for-your-best-friend's-wedding," as well as the "Let's-hang-out-and-watch-the-Twilight-Zone-marathon-all-weekend-because-we-both-have-no-plans," all a ruse to mask men's true feelings of desire for their female friends?

On the other hand, are women forging and nurturing friendships with men in the hopes that someday it will lead to more (i.e., dating and wedding bells)?  And is it even appropriate in polite society for single women to be "just friends" with married men, or married women with single men? After all, these friendships could be perilous to current romantic relationships.

Women emphatically agree that heterosexual men and women can absolutely be the best of friends.  Many go so far as to say they've been chummy with men their entire lives, preferring them over their gal pals, exclaiming, "I can't imagine my life without Joey (or Ricky  or Gustavo or Sam)... he's like a brother to me!" It''s all on the up and up, they say, and they have nothing to hide.

Women can rattle off the male friends in all the different pockets of their lives:  male friends from high school, male friends from college, male friends from the office (especially the guy in accounting who always seems available for lunch or after-work drinks), and male friends from the children's school.  Then there are male friends from the kids' sports teams, karate classes or trombone lessons.  The list is endless.

Apparently, male friendships bring more simplicity, less drama, more humor, less competition, more honesty, and the ever-so-important male point of view.  And yes, all the male attention doesn't hurt, either.  

Wait, what?!  Male attention? What is that all about? Are all  these men in so-called platonic friendships patiently waiting on the queue of love for their turn to be their female friends' main squeezes? And if so, is that so bad?  After all, aren't the best relationships and marriages built on a solid foundation of friendship?

So this got me thinking.  Is my husband, Michael (whose closest friends and confidantes are not women, by the way, sparing me lots of agita), onto something when he kids that all men who are "just friends" with women do not have "just friendship" on the brain?  That timing is everything and these dudes are just waiting for the "right time?"

Are all male friends just twiddling their thumbs, offering to be the shoulder to cry on, the guy to call to carry heavy stuff or unclog the bathroom drain, in the secret, high hopes that eventually, in a weak moment, they will be promoted to male lead in the romantic comedy called life?  Probably.  

Men are quick to admit that their sexual impulses for female friends are constantly lurking in the back of their minds and it's simply harder for them to be friends with women when there's underlying physical attraction,  which there usually is.  Therefore, they choose to suppress it -- friends WITHOUT benefits -- so as not to lose the friendship altogether. 

Nevertheless, it's definitely brewing and is usually one flirty move,  innocent touch, or accidental kiss (I know, there are no such things as accidents, especially the lip-locking kind) away from spilling over and jeopardizing the status quo. Some men jokingly, yet thoughtfully, admit that they are just "patiently taking what they can get for now," waiting to pounce when women least expect it.  Hmm... really?

Recent scientific research suggests that men and women can certainly be friends but that there is oftentimes some degree of sexual tension.  In fact, the men and women polled said that the attraction, whatever level it may be, affords fun and excitement that same-sex friendships cannot offer. 

In the study, 88 pairs of heterosexual, college-aged, male-female friends were interviewed separately and confidentially about their unspoken attraction for the other, if any.  The results were interesting and hardly shocked me.

The men, with little exception, reported about 25% more attraction for their women friends than the women reported for their male friends.  As if that weren't enough in the ulterior motives department, these men reported that they also believed their women friends felt the same way about them, which was simply not true, according to the poll.

These assumptions made by the men were based on their attraction to the women, not the actual attraction reciprocated by the women to them.  Basically, men assumed that the attraction they felt for their female friends was mutual, but it wasn't.  

Also with exception, women were generally not attracted to their male friends, content to be purely platonic in the friendship, while the men were overestimating the level of attraction their female friends had for them.  Conversely, female friends were underestimating the how much and how often their male buddies imagined seeing them sans clothing and in dim lighting.

So there you have it, the results of one study that was not the first and will certainly not be the last.  And the debate rages on.  Personally, I'm lucky to have two best friends, my husband and my mother, as well as two sisters who I know I can trust implicitly. 

My other handful of truly close friends belong in that exclusive friendship tier not because they are men or women, but because they possess three things I look for in a friend:  a generous heart, a sense of humor and likeness of mind.  

Do some of my guy friends secretly think of me romantically?  Maybe.  Who knows. Who cares. 

After all, you can't control what others think or do... you only have the power to control your own thoughts and actions. As long as my friends, male or female, treat me with thoughtful  kindness and respect, as I treat them, then I'm  a happy camper.

Lia Neal, Olympic Swimmer

Lia Neal, Olympic Swimmer 1.30.13

Last Wednesday I watched a bit of the Australian Open quarterfinals. Sloane Stephens, a 19-year-old American who was seeded 29th, upset her idol, Serena Williams, a 15-time major winner, 3-6, 7-5, 6-4.

Sloane was very emotional during her post-match television interview, still in disbelief that she had defeated her idol. She was suddenly a celebrity because she beat a celebrity, the tennis icon whose poster she hung on her bedroom wall as a child.

The match was fun to watch. Both were brilliant.  Both were fierce competitors. Both also happened to be African-American. 

As a mom, I am always grateful for excellent role models up to whome young female athletes can aspire, regardless of their race. It is important for my three daughters, who are half-Filipino and half-Polish, to know that great success in sports -- and in life -- demands unwavering commitment, as possessed by Lia and other champions, and transcends the color of your skin.

During the Martin Luther King holiday last weekend, my kids got to meet another outstanding athlete at the 3-day MLK invitational swim meet at AGUA (Asphalt Green Unified Athletics) on the Upper East Side in Manhattan:  Lia Neal, the 18-year-old Olympic bronze medalist in the 2012 Summer Olympic Games in London.

My three daughters -- Charista, 12, and twins Tatiana and Angelica, 9 -- swim year-round for the USA swim league, and were racing, although meeting Lia was a highlight of the MLK meet. If you recall, Lia swam the 4 X 100m freestyle relay with Missy Franklin, Jessica Hardy and Allison Schmitt and is revered by my girls and practically all female swimmers in New York City. 

Polite and well-spoken, Lia obliged countless requests for pictures, even though she herself wasn't picture-perfect, having just swum in the senior division races earlier that morning.  She graciously shook hands and signed autographs for her star-struck fans, who asked her where she lived (Brooklyn), where she went to high school (Convent of the Sacred Heart in Manhattan), and what her background was (half-African-American and half-Chinese). 

I love that my three daughters, Half-Filipino and Half-Polish (and 100% American!), have male and female athletes of all races to look up to. What an inspiration they are to all student-athletes everywhere, who get to see that hard work and a never-give-up attitude pay off.

However, it is undeniable that certain sports today are dominated by certain races. Recent studies by USA Swimming estimate that up to 70% of African-American children don't know how to swim. In fact, Neal was only the second woman of African-American descent to ever make the US Women's Olympic Swim Team. As a soccer, basketball, and swim mom, I am glad to see first-hand that this is slowly starting to change.

Still, so many sports have been resistant to inclusion for all races in the United States, the land of opportunity, where everything should be available to everyone, if you have the talent and the drive Certainly, there are exceptions -- notably in the London Olympics, where the US swimming team had three African-Americans and the gymnastics team had two -- but not enough.

The unfortunate reality is that rewards and opportunities in sports like golf, tennis and swimming are only readily available to middle to upper class children.  It is a widespread stereotype that African-Americans dominate basketball, Latinos excel in soccer and baseball, and whites and Asians have golf and tennis cornered. Why is that?

Personally, as the middle daughter of immigrant parents who was fortunate to grow up emotionally rich but financially poor, I'm the first to admit I can barely swim more than 50m because I didn't have access as a youngster, nor had I ever picked up a golf club or tennis racket until just five years ago, as a middle-aged Asian-American female dentist.

It is very sad to me that children of parents who fall within lower socioeconomic strata do not have access to expensive equipment and facilities and disposable financial resources for costly lessons and travel in sports like swimming, tennis, and golf. They excel in sports, like baseball, soccer or basketball, for example, because all you need to play those games is a ball, a goal, and a field.

This is not to say inner-city youth are never exposed to these "country club" sports, because they are. After all, there is a fast-growing number of minority groups enjoying great prosperity in the United States.

However, it is clear that long-term interest in these sports in urban areas has not been sustainable.  Inner city youths cannot excel because of the absence of tradition or historical success, not to mention the lack of parental interest or community support for that matter. 

Funding in urban communities to support programs for these sports is also an issue. Big bucks are needed to pay for expensive equipement, lessons and facilities.  Luckily, there are scholarships and monies available for swimmers or golfers or tennis players who possess raw talent and the desire to develop, thus closing the gap between the disparity of the polar ends of the socioeconomic strata.

As a matter of fact, AGUA, for which Lia Neal swam, is a nonprofit whose mission is to help people achieve health through sports and fitness programs.  AGUA helped finance Lea's training. And in the summer, many have enjoyed in recent years, the free tennis and golf lessons offered by the NYC Parks Department. 

It used to be there were no athletes in "country club" sports for inner-city kids to look up to; that is, until break-through champions came along: Tiger Woods in golf, Venus and Serena Williams and Arthur Ashe in tennis, and Gabriella Douglas, the first black gymnast to win the individual women's Olympic title in the 2012 Olympics in London.

That said, you can imagine how excited my daughters and their friends were to meet Lia Neal, in person, on the deck of the swimming pool that they, too, compete in. She is a true inspiration for the younger generation.

After all, Lia Neal, like all the other athletes who have broken through barriers and became champions in sports that have been dominated by white athletes for generations, represents excellence in a sport my children love.  More importantly, she represents the American spirit that anything is possible if you dream it, believe it, and work for it.

What's better to instill in your children than that?

Friends or Non-Friends

Friends or Non-Friends

My first article for 2013. Happy New Year, folks!

It's a brand-new day and the proverbial slate is clean. Last year I saw life-changing sadness but unprecedented personal happiness, as well.  I was betrayed by friends I loved who I thought I'd have forever but in return I made wonderful new ones who I feel like I've known my entire life. 

As those affected by Hurricane Sandy and the Connecticut massacre continue to heal, I am actively choosing to focus on all the positives in my life this year, more so than usual. To that end I must cut some people off. Sad but true.

To whom am I referring? Simply put, I'm bidding farewell to non-friends. What?!

I have two very good friends.  One is a trial attorney, the other a digital content producer for CUNY, respectively. Both are brilliant, both are exceptional photographers.  We had dinner after a photowalk on December 21 and of course the Mayans were wrong so I am still here to share our most cathartic (for me, anyway) conversation.

Discussing our families, our work, and our art, we stumbled upon a conclusion that is so crystal-clear, so infinitely brilliant in its simplicity and wisdom I'm shocked not everyone, including myself, has universally realized and embraced it sooner.

Want to know what it is?  Get ready for it because here it comes: Every person you meet in life is either a friend or a non-friend. 

That's right, one or the other.  No fifty shades of grey in between. They are good for you or they are bad for you. They make you happy or they make you sad. They inspire you or they destroy you.They bring up or they bog you down. They are your friend or your non-friend.

Non-friends are negative and unpleasant with a bitter aftertaste. They have a knack for being sarcastic, and not in a witty way. They enjoy raining on your parade when you least expect it. They crash your party and whittle away your confidence.That's serious business. Cut them off!

Don't take this wrong way, but I'm afraid it's true: Not everyone will like you. Not everyone is kind. Not everyone will want you to be happy. Not everyone will enjoy your successes, no matter how big or small. Not everyone will have your best interest at heart. Non-friends.

Non-friends crush your spirit.  You know the feeling: the dread in your stomach when you know you have to deal with him or her, mostly because you know you invariably are going to feel worse afterward. Non-friends.

They pull you down because it is the only comfort they have in their lives perhaps lacking the people or things that would otherwise fulfill them.They insult you, feed your insecurities and fill you with self-doubt. Not nice. Non-friends.

That being said, you can hopefully see why letting non-friends go is a smart decision for 2013. For most of my life I was busy making excuses for them, trying to convince myself they were something they weren't. 

The older and wiser I get, the more I realize what a waste of time that was.  Rationalizing gobbles up a lot of energy, energy that should be spent on my family, my patients, my friends.

In 2013 consider purging the negative, judgmental non-friends. In doing so, you actually free yourself.  No longer will you be pre-occupied with the misery they have in store. No longer will you be emotionally oppressed. You are free to be you, unfettered... and happy.

In 2013 surround yourself with people who love and support you, the "friends." These include the family (obviously) and folks who make you feel good about yourself. 

Friends care for you unconditionally.   They cheer for you and are always there to pick you up when you fall. Their criticism is constructive. They are your biggest fans and are gifts from God. Cherish them.

Friends support and believe in everything you aspire to achieve.  They free your heart of negative energy, encourage your mind's creativity.These are the people with whom you should surround yourself. These are the people who deserve you.

Life is hard. Challenges are hurled continuously, sometimes unexpectedly, oftentimes with whopping force.To have people on your side to encourage you and help you is invaluable.

Here's a little thing I did one night that I think may be helpful in classifying who your most valuable friends are. When you read this paragraph, please do it. Ready?

Close your eyes and take ten deep, cleansing breaths. Clear your mind of whatever concerns or worries (most of it is nonsense, anyway) you may be harboring. 

Then think of the five best times in your life, moments you were so exquisitely happy that you wished those moments would never end.Think of the times when you were so content and filled with love that you momentarily were deeply grateful just to be alive and to have had the chance to experience it.

Now think of the people in those memories.These are your truest, most trusted friends.  

Love them. Reciprocate in kind above and beyond what they do for you.Love begets love and our world today can use some of it. And most importantly, your children will see and will also learn how to love and respect others.

In 2013 I am grateful to have people I love and who love me. That makes me the luckiest girl in the world.  After all, nothing else really matters.

Winter Break 2012

Let me tell you a little something about swimming.  It is hard.

I don't know how swimmers do what they do, let alone how often they do it and how long they do it for, but it never ceases to amaze me, especially the children who swim competitively, like mine do.

My three daughters swim year-round and for three different leagues: CYO  in the spring, Interclub in the summer, and USA Swim all year long. There are goggles, mismatched fins and a colorful variety of swim caps strewn everywhere in our house and ubiquitous towels to be washed or dried at any given moment.

Their practice schedules are daily but staggered, which essentially translates into my being their swim chauffeur after a long day of drilling teeth, not to mention their short-order cook in preparation or replenishment of depleted calories pre- or post- practice.

That's perfectly okay by me because they love it. It's great exercise, they're taught discipline by some great coaches and are surrounded by conscientious athletes from supportive families.

However, I'm amazed at how anyone can swim well after 7pm, which they often do,  which is around the time I personally start to shut down from a long day at work and need a glass of Chardonnay. 

They say swimmers have some of the best bodies in the world  (and in Ryan Lochte's case, some of the most adorable faces. Poor Michael Phelps... not the handsomest devil ever, but you have to admit -- as my girls say -- he's got abs for days.  But I digress).  Who wouldn't, after doing 10 laps of this and 20 laps of that every night?

I've watched the practices.  I know.  Trust me when I tell you it's mind-numbing, the stamina they have.  Ahh... to be young again.  I can barely do 25m now without desperately needing a massage and a frozen beverage at the wall tap.

Incidentally, Michael and I recently took our 3 kids on a weekend trip to Lancaster, Pennsylvania with my parents, sisters and niece and nephews. Just "for fun" at the hotel pool, my daughters tried to teach me how to do a proper 50m breast stroke. No kidding, I almost drowned.  Muscles I didn't know I had hurt the next day.

My girls and nephews eventually even challenged me to an IM (individual medley--- all four strokes!) race, when they mistakenly thought I got the hang of it.  I finished dead last and said nothing when all the kids expressed appreciation for my "letting them win."  If they only knew how much I water I swallowed. Pathetic.

So there I can usually be found, on dry land and in the bleachers, cheering for my kids and their teammates at swim meets, armed with a good book and an iPhone to entertain me between races.

Of course I'll have my Canon DSLR at the ready, too, set on low f-stop and high ISO to get the proper shutter speed because that's what my photographer friends, Charles and Patrick, tell me to do, and not because I've ever captured an excellent swim shot, the most elusive in world, I feel. I'm saving up for a Canon f/2.8L 70-200mm  IS II lens.  That should improve my sports images. Again, I digress.

Alas, this past week, the last of 2012, we've been enjoying winter break, a welcome vacation from work, school, and all things swim (and basketball), a chance to recharge and enjoy quality family time without the daily heart attacks.  If you're lucky enough to be a mom, you're unlucky enough to know what I mean.

Moms across the land join me in breathing a sigh of relief the past few days.  All this down time is quite the stark contrast to the normal hustle and bustle of break-neck pace, right?  Although I must admit I'm quite productive during the school week.  It's amazing how much we can squeeze into 90 minutes every morning!

Moms get more done on weekday mornings from 6:30-8am than I do any other part of the day, without exception to even the busiest schedules at work. When that dreaded alarm clock rings at daybreak, it's non-stop, organized chaos.

I pop out of bed and my heart races from 0-60mph in 3 seconds flats.  I grope around for my eyeglasses (too chicken to go for Lasik), trip over a few toys and hangers in the hallway, and make my way into the bedrooms of my three sleeping beauties, as my Mom used to sarcastically call my two sisters and me when we refused to get up in the morning.

Of course my repeated pleas for my 9-year-old twins to lay out their clothes the night before are unheeded and one of two things happen: 1) They tear their closets apart looking for something cute (and clean) to wear; or 2)  They go to school with an atrocious, mismatched outfit. When the latter happens, I tell my friends that I had a board meeting and it was Michael's turn to dress them.  Good one, right?

My eldest daughter attends private Catholic school, so she wears a uniform. You'd think this would simplify thing, but it doesn't. Someone has to wash all these blue blouses, skirts, sweaters, navy socks... and that someone is yours truly!  I start a load of laundry, pour her some OJ. She's on the bus stop by 7:05.

Then the twins saunter into the kitchen.  I  unload the dishwasher, do their hair, make their lunches.  I crack some eggs into the frying pan: two eggs scrambled and two eggs over easy, because liking the the same way would be too easy and less annoying. 

I sign papers, review after-school activities with the kids, test them one last time if they have an exam that day.  The next few minutes are consumed with finding matching shoes to wear (I think we've brought the mismatched socks in vogue).

By 7:28am at the bus stop, I've a 5 minute reprieve from the morning madness.  I get to chit-chat with other bus stop moms. They are smart and funny and we invariably have a good laugh over the homework or science project.

But as soon as the bus pulls away, I rush home, clean up breakfast dishes, and chop up some onions and potatoes and put them in the slow cooker.  Add to that mix some soy sauce, paprika, baby carrots and chicken breasts that I defrosted the night before... and voila!  Dinner will hopefully be ready tonight at 5 pm.  I make sure to press the "on" button.

At 7:45am I go upstairs, make the beds and start "the transformation."  Goodbye pajamas, hello stilettos and pantsuits.  I blast the iHome thingy with some Justine Bieber or Gaga, just like my kids taught me.  Mentally I morph from "mom" to "dentist."  I review the patients and procedures that await me.   I put on my makeup, pop in my contacts, pin up my Medusa hair, and head to work.

My patients sometimes ask me why I'm always in such a great, happy mood at work. Truth be told, work is not work at all.  It is fun.  The real work is at home, being a mom to my three kids.  It's the job that counts.

And like most of you, I wouldn't have it any other way. 

I wish you and yours a healthy and prosperous New Year,  filled only with love and laughter.

My Week Before Christmas 2012

MY WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and it's been one heck of an emotional week for sure.

It was my little sister's birthday last Friday, December 14, and I treated her, my toddler niece and our parents to a nice sushi lunch to celebrate while our other 6 kiddies were at school.

What fun we had, after having just attended my twin daughters' fourth grade "Frosty the Snowman" play earlier that morning. 

Walking back to my car, my iPhone flashed with breaking news:  A gunman  had open-fired at a Newtown, Connecticut elementary school, killing 26 people, including 20 children.  My heart grew heavy.  I wept.

The next few days were spent praying for these sweet little angels and the six teachers who tried so valiantly to protect them, their bloody bodies still in their classrooms, their parents not allowed to see them for close to to 48 hours because it was a crime scene.

I tried to imagine the pain the parents were going through, being told a madman went on a killing spree in the place their babies went to be safe and to learn, then waiting to be reunited with them, to see if they made it out alive.

It must've been an eternity in that firehouse, sitting and waiting for your child as the first responders slowly gathered and released the survivors, one by one, to their parents. How happy the must've been to see their kids... how impossibly sad for those whose children never emerged.
Like so many of you, especially those who are lucky enough to be parents, I've been crying off and on this past week, often unexpectedly, many times uncontrollably.

This past week I've hugged my three young daughters longer, tighter, and more often.  Because of this unprecedented tragedy, I am thankful for them, their health, their uniqueness.  Because of this senseless barbarism, I am prouder of their strengths, more patient with their weaknesses.

As the funerals with the child-sized coffins began this week, I learned the names and saw the head shots of other parents' children, the people they loved as much as I love mine, the very ones they spent their whole lives wishing for, loving and protecting.

I read how one boy, whose twin sister survived the tragedy, was Giants fans. He was excited he got a Wii for his birthday two weeks ago.  I read about a beautiful, blue-eyed, 6-year-old girl who, a few days before she died, had asked Santa Claus for a pony.

How heart-wrenchingly ironic she was the one who gave her parents the best Christmas gift of all, when they found her journal.  In it she drew pictures in crayon of all the people she "loved most in the world."  Her mother said it was a great comfort as she buried her sweet little daughter.

Last week I hugged my three daughters longer and tighter, and more often. Because of this unprecedented tragedy, I am thankful for my kids, their health, their uniqueness.  Because of this senseless barbarism, I am prouder of their strengths, more patient with their weaknesses.  

Because of unimaginable suffering endured by 26 families from such evil last week, mourned by Americans and by all the world, I continue to pray and decided to focus on some happiness brought forth and made possible from some of the good people do.

 

On Tuesday evening, December 18, against my better judgment because of the somber mood I'd been in, I took a break from my sadness and attended the holiday party of the Staten Island Zoo, for which I serve on its Board of Trustees.

I was happily reminded of just how kind and generous some people are, the exact and extreme polar opposite of the events a few days earlier.

This holiday party was hosted by Elvis Duran, the very popular and charismatic host of the nationally syndicated Z-100 Elvis Duran Morning Show, an outstanding friend to the Staten Island Zoo. 

Elvis hosted the event as a token of appreciation and to celebrate the tireless work of all the docents, staff and volunteers at the zoo.  And might I add he is also one of the nicest people I've ever met. For someone on air, he has no airs.

Elvis is one of the good guys. When I first met him at the Staten Island Zoological Society Ball last March when he was recognized for his generous support of this important cultural institution, I was very impressed by his sincerity.  

He is a gentleman. He is very genuine and looks you straight in the eye when he talks to you (so underrated but oh so important, I feel), unaffected by the inevitable hordes of other people constantly vying for his attention. 

And he is funny like crazy, even more so than his Z-Morning Zoo, and that's saying a lot. We got to talking about about dentistry and he told me that his dentist in Tribeca talked him into doing Invisalign.  It didn't work out because he kept leaving the trays in bars. Now that's hilarious!

His passion for our "boutiquey" Staten Island Zoo is contagious.  He uses his national platform on the Elvis Duran Morning Show to encourage others to contribute, as well.  What's better than that?  

Not much, except for maybe his kindness in calling the zoo a few days after Hurricane Sandy, offering to help if anything of the animals were affected, promptly treating the entire staff to lunch.

Elvis feel a connection to the Staten Island Zoo, "The Biggest Little Zoo in New York" and he put his money where his mouth is. Talk is cheap but purchasing three kangaroos, two tamanduas and fennec fox for all visitors to enjoy year-round screams love. 

Add to that list an anteater, named EJ (Elvis Junior), who he flew to Miami to handpick and bring back, and three scarlet macaws that Elvis paid for to be transferred from the Cincinnati Zoo to right here on the North Shore. 

Elvis even bought a new cage filled with bamboo and tree limbs for the zoo's red panda, Henry, so he can be displayed year-round. He thinks our zoo has the potential to be a world-class withe the continued help of supporters. 

Elvis is far too modest to admit just how much dough he's forked over in support of our zoo, but trust me when I tell you, it is a big number. I've seen the financials. The rumors are true:  He is very generous.

Elvis has encouraged some of his high-profile friends to get involved with giving. Both Rosanna Scotto of "Good Day New York" and Eric Trump (Donald's son) have recently donated. Construction of the Amur Leopard Exhibit and the Conservation Carousel at the zoo will soon be under way.

Last Tuesday Elvis was responsible for one thing: throwing one of the best holiday parties, ever. The venue was great:  The spectacularly awesome, breathtakingly beautiful, the-only-way-to-believe-it-is-to-see-it, brand-new Above Rooftop at Nicotra's Hilton.  It was that stunning.

We danced. We drank cosmopolitans. We were treated to some really great gourmet food and hobnobbed with a celebrity and some Staten Island dignitaries.  

For a few hours the Staten Island Zoo family enjoyed each other, talked about our children.  We discussed recovery from Hurricane Sandy and toasted the holidays.

Most importantly, Elvis gave the staff and volunteers at Staten Island Zoo a break from our sadness. To me there is no better gift.  Thank you, Elvis.

This holiday season, my hope is that God grants 26 families peace and courage to heal from tragedy.  My hope is that our children and their children will never see anything like this again.  My hope is for a better world.

I wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and a healthy holiday season.