Don't Look, Kate Spade

Lately I've been wondering why my left shoulder hurt.

Funny, it's not a piercing pain, just one of those annoying aches that seems to come and go. It's not something I remember until it starts up again, then it's there, like a new blister with high-heeled shoes.

Someone suggested I take a look at my purse.

Purse? Or did you say suitcase?

Now most mothers know that it is simply impossible to carry everything one needs inside those darling little clutches you see at all the fashionable boutiques. For that matter, my wallet is probably bigger than one of those, since it is stuffed with everything from insurance cards to my eyeglass prescription.

But the other day I decided I probably should take a look at what's inside my, ahem, handbag.

For some, the results may be surprising. For others, like those who are traveling on safari, it's no secret I am completely prepared.

But I thought it fun to share a portion of the inventory. As you can see from the picture, my purse might not even meet airline carry-on requirements, but that wouldn't stop me from trying. And lest you think I also carry around my 21-pound cat, don't worry, he just wouldn't get out of the photograph.

So in no important order, here are the contents of my handbag. For organizational purposes, I've divided them into categories:

--First Aid. One package bandaids, several missing. Two bottles hand sanitizer (because you never want to run out). One travel bottle Tylenol. One 80-capsule bottle Advil Gel-Caps (because we all know which pain reliever really works). One damp purse-pack of tissues.

--Vision: Three pair reading glasses, two pair sunglasses. It's true, I can't read a darn thing without those glasses, but I'm always losing them and never want to be without a pair. Oh yes, and one package extra contact lenses.

--Beauty: Four tubes of Chapstick, two tubes lipstick -- one mocha and one Stockdale-for-Congress red. One stick concealer. One emery board. One bottle Revlon snowflake pink nail polish. One 1.5 oz. bottle green tea body mist. Two boxes tic-tacs. Fourteen pieces Trident. One roll Breath-Savers. No jokes, please.

--Child Emergencies: Two Capri Sun drinks, one straw missing. One High School Musical flashlight. One Disney fake plastic cellphone. One package Sponge-Bob bandaids. (They're worth at least 10 minutes of quiet time in a pinch.) Two packages Vienna Creme cookies.

--Campaign: Six Stockdale for Congress buttons, seven pens, one notebook, several dozen campaign cards.

--Misc: I won't divulge how many receipts from Costco, Albertsons and Vons, but suffice to say they salute when I come in. One extra set car keys. Oh, and one more bottle of hand sanitizer, because I never met a germ I really liked.

I'd like to pare down. But surely the very item I remove will be the one I need the most next time I'm desperate. So recently I came up with a new solution, and I think it rather brilliant.

I now carry this amazing little black sling bag into every campaign event. It's sexy, it's slim and it just screams fashionista. It also has practically nothing in it.

But just outside, waiting in the front seat of the car, is my ever-lovin' purse, chock full of all my must-have goodies.

Now that's creative campaigning, don't you think?

Goodbye, Chocolate

Today is Ash Wednesday.

Should you need a reminder, you may see a few people with dirty foreheads as you are out and about. No, we're not behind in our hygiene; it's the ashes we get from the priest to remind us from where we've come and where we're going.

Some Catholics give something up during the 46 days of Lent. Before I became Catholic, I thought the whole ordeal ridiculous.

Now I get it.

Lent is a time of both self-denial and self-examination. Sometimes, people take stock of their lives and try to improve. I know, it's easy to say we should do that 365 days a year, and of course we should. But there's something to be said about setting aside a period of time for a personal report card.

For me, I ask how I can be a better mother. Wife. Daughter. Friend. And when I really think about it, I soon discover that I fall far short in every category. Lent becomes a time to gather myself and make positive changes.

To help prompt me this Lenten season, I'm going to give up sweets. You should know that I have a nasty addiction to chocolate, cookies and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Everyday I will miss the quiet moments with my Hershey bar and cup of coffee. But I will instead try to think about how I can do a little bit better. Maybe read an extra book to Anthony. Or complain less about the dishes in the sink.

What have I got to lose?

One of my favorite priests always tried to quit smoking during Lent. Sadly, he never quite got there. But rather than gloat at his failure, I always felt inspired. After all, he represented our human condition. We try. We fail. We dust ourselves off. Then we try again.

Goodbye, chocolate. I will miss you.

Move Over, Ronald MacDonald

Don't you just hate it when food and politics overlap?

But here we go again, and this time our dietary advice is coming straight from the top. This week First Lady Michelle Obama pretty much said that most of us are just too stupid to figure out what's best for our kids when it comes to food choices.

“So many parents desperately want to do the right thing, but they feel like the deck is stacked against them,” she said. “They know their kids’ health is their responsibility but they feel like it’s out of their control.”

Huh?

Now I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure that a MacDonald's Happy Meal isn't quite as healthy as a slice of roast chicken and a side of green beans. I don't need a poster in a restaurant or a community service ad on television to tell me what is just common sense. I also don't need a Harvard degree to understand that apples are better than chocolate cake.

But I'm equally sure I know what my kids would pick. And who can blame them? I'm sorry, a Hershey's Kiss IS better than a celery stick.

The point is, parents don't need nudging by the federal government when it comes to caring for our kids. And we especially don't need the feds to tell us what to eat ... or what not to eat. Mrs. Obama insults everyone when she suggests that parents who are busy need extra education when it comes to food choices.

But there's something else the first lady said that just didn't sit right. Mrs. Obama admits that she "occasionally" fed her own children fast food or microwave meals. Apparently, it took her pediatrician to point out her food fault.

Hang on. I think someone slipped aspartame in my milkshake.

The truth is, no one gets fat from an "occasional" stop at Taco Bell or a quickie microwave dinner. So either Mrs. Obama has a bigger fast food problem than she wants to admit, or she needs to change pediatricians.

Every now and then, between baseball practice, piano lessons and swim team, a Whopper is about all that's going to get to the table. I'm not going to apologize. In fact, when I was young, I got fast food so rarely that when I hit the college cafeteria my freshman year I went hog-wild. Literally. I'm convinced that had I been allowed the occasional Filet-O-Fish as a youngster, I would have had less need to binge at the all-you-can-eat macaroni bar.

Are Americans too fat? Probably. But no one forces us to make poor food choices. For that, I blame no one but myself. Likewise, it's my responsibility as a mother to feed my family as best I can. And sometimes, that includes a double cheeseburger.

Pass the catsup, please.

No Polish Jokes Here

This morning my son John came downstairs to find me busy at the laptop.

"Good morning, Mom," he said, bleary-eyed. "Whatcha doing?"

"I'm trying to get hold of Lech Walesa," I answered. "The former president of Poland."
Oh, where is the digital camera when you need it? Because the look I got from him was nothing short of priceless. The word "incredulous" comes to mind.

I guess he expected me to tell him I was checking my e-mail, or looking up the Kohl's ad online. But I'm positive he didn't figure I'd be trying to contact a former Nobel Prize winner and friend to one of my modern day heroes, Pope John Paul II.

But, hey, you have to dream big, I told him.

And my efforts to contact Walesa aren't completely off base. The 67-year-old Medal of Freedom winner just endorsed Illinois gubanatorial candidate Adam Andrzejewski. I think Walesa ought to talk to Dave, since my husband and Andrzejewski have some pretty similar ideas: less government, sound fiscal policies, protection of life and individual liberties. And both Dave and Andrzejewski are political outsiders who are fighting career politicians who have lost touch with American values.

Walesa should know something about government corruption, too. After all, he and the Solidarity movement he founded in the early 1980s gave courage to an entire nation suffering under the heavy hand of Soviet communism. Though I didn't agree with, or even understand, everything Walesa did in his long career from machinist to president, there's no doubt he knows oppression and corruption when he sees it.

Twenty-five years ago, when Walesa's name was in the headlines nearly everyday, I was just cutting my political teeth. Still, I remember finding my own kind of courage as I watched the moustached Pole galvanize millions of workers.

Today, Walesa is largely forgotten among young Americans. When his picture flashed on my television screen last night, even I thought for a second Captain Kangaroo was in the news. His wild popularity that once gained him the presidency had seriously fizzled when he garnered just one percent of the vote in a comeback attempt a decade ago.

But his political tenacity is something I want my children to study. Dream big. Think outside the box. Have the courage to stand up for what is right.

John and I talked about my hopes to reach Walesa. "Maybe, Mom," he offered, "you shouldn't shoot so high."

"If you don't shoot high, you'll never reach the stars," I replied.

"But to get to the stars, you have to take off first," he said.

I'm pedaling as fast as I can.