KATHRYN R. BIEL: AUTHOR

In a perfect world, we all want to be great successes in life.  One of the bitter disappointments in my life was not that I was not voted "Most Likely To Succeed," but that I missed receiving that title by 2 votes (thanks Mr. Dillon for telling me--like I really needed to know that).  Or that I was only voted First Runner-Up for Miss Teen New York because I had chosen an out-of-state college.  Had I gone with my second choice, NYU, I would have been granted that title. But I digress... I have always thought that I was successful, at least by my standards.  I finished college and had my masters degree by the age of 24.  I got my doctorate when I was 30.  I have been married for over 10 years, and have the two best kids in the world.  I have a low paying job that gets little respect, but makes a world of difference for a lot of people who don't have a lot.  I have a few people that I consider close friends who would probably go out on a limb to help me.  I would go out

When I try to describe my life, it often comes out something like this: I work part-time.  What that really translates to is:  I get paid to work 3 days each week, but I end up working 4 because I do a lot on my own time.  It also does not mention that, in addition to being a part-time school-based physical therapist, I am also a full time mother (and wife and housekeeper). My husband often asks me when I am going to work full time.  I usually mumble some response, and then try to distract him by flashing my boobs or lighting something on fire.  Here's the thing.  I don't want to work full time. Because, as stated above, I cannot get my job done in my allotted time, and end up working from home.  If I am working 5 days, then I will have absolutely no time for my kids or my family (or myself).  I like being able to do my grocery shopping mid-morning with only the retirees to fight with.  I like that I can actually schedule a doctor's appointment and go by myself.  Sometime

For about a nanosecond this afternoon, I had my biggest fear realized.  I was talking with Jake, who is in second grade, about his day at school.  Today, the class had a session with the school counselor, who talked about solving problems, and when the problem is big and needs adult intervention. So, I asked Jake if he is having any problems at school.  And he replied "Yes." And my heart skipped a beat.  I tried to keep my face still, and said, "Oh really, what?" And he said, "I get picked on because I'm not popular." And my heart broke into a thousand pieces. "Who picks on you?" "The popular kids." This is my biggest fear for my son.  I know that there are larger things to fear, like cancer, but this is so much more a of possibility for Jake.  He is diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome (although this may be up for debate, but a different post entirely).  His Asperger-ness essentially translates to being a little ner

I was having a discussion today about books and their movie adaptations.  For those who may not know me well, I am a reader.  I have been ever since I can remember.  A critical piece of furniture in my room has always been my bookcase.  While in school and when I went back to get my doctorate, my reading for "fun" took a serious nose-dive.  When I finally finished school (hopefully for the last time), I went to the Sage bookstore (while ordering my cap and gown) and promptly bought 3 "non-school" books.  With the addition of a second child, reading again fell by the wayside.  My husband gave me a nook almost 2 years ago when they first came out, and I have been reading voraciously since. I like a lot of the popular books.  And inevitably, if it is a good book, someone gets the idea that it should be made into a movie.  Usually, this does not go well.  I have never, ever read a book, and then seen the movie and thought the movie was better.  Only on rare occasions

Last night I posted about my adventures on New Year's Eves of the past.  Today, I'm in a totally different frame of mind.  While last night, I recognized that the present was, by far, a better time than the past, today I am stuck in the past. I am writing this blog while cooking the traditional New Year's dinner--ham.  This year, while it is very much the same, it is very different. When I was a child, we went over to my grandmother and grandfather's house for New Year's dinner.  It was only fair--my mom cooked for Christmas, so Mimere cooked for New Year's.  We always dressed up, usually wearing the new outfit that Mimere and Pipere had given us a week prior for Christmas.  And dinner was always a canned ham.  My grandfather was, to put it mildly, a picky eater, and ham was one of the few approved dishes.  We would gather in their small flat, Pipere making the world's best mashed potatoes in the "Mixmaster."  To this day, I have had none bette