Levity

I feel in need of some levity. Life has just been too serious for me over the last few weeks. I'm going to share one of the funniest experiences of my family's life.

It happened on one of our infrequent summer family vacations. Let me explain.

We don't go away during the summer because of the summer playground that is my back yard with a beautiful swimming pool, batting cage and awesome woods for awesome games of Manhunt and Wolf, summer baseball,  boating season and the fact that we do live on Long Island, one of the best places to spend a summer vacation.

In 2005, we got tickets to the Pepsi 400 in Daytona, Florida. It was happening Fourth of July weekend so we decided to tie in a visit to friends who had moved to Florida, the Daytona 400 and a trip to Disney. Lots happened that weekend including getting a great picture of Joe asleep on the Daytona track, Joe not being able to remember the name of the Navigator we rented and calling it an Alligator all weekend. It was the first time in five years that we had been away as a family. Reuniting with old friends, swimming pools, NASCAR race. Life was good.

And then came Disney. The boys were incredibly excited. Does it get any better than this????

We were staying on a Disney property. We finally pull into the property and into the valet area. I hop out of the truck, the kids are slowing piling out of the truck as well when something catches the corner of my eye. Steps. Lots of steps.

Hmmmm. Steps. What's up with that? Oh. Wait. Who was that? What was that? Oh, crap. Holy crap.

Little people. Lots of them. I gather up the boys and have an intense, low voiced conversation with an almost five year old and a nine year old. OK. Let's get the rules straight. These are little people. They are as big as they are ever going to get. There is no pointing, no staring, no gawking, no nothing. I'll explain later.

We walk into the hotel lobby and wait on line to check in. There are steps leading up to the reception desk. Joe is standing on them. "These are cool, Mom. How come they don't have these everywhere????"

The hotel lobby is teeming with little people. They're hanging out, they're lounging on the stairs, they're on the top step of the portable stairs so they can check in or converse with the reception area personnel.

The clerk says Next. My husband and I head to the counter. The counter person looks a little nervous. We don't have "little people" with us in the conventional definition. My little people are bigger than your average "little person."

The check-in conversation goes something like this:

Disney guy: How can I help you?
Twisted Mary: We'd like to check in.
Disney guy: I can help you with that.
Twisted Mary: So, is there a convention going on here this week?
Disney guy: There are conventions going on in Disney all the time, ma'am.
(getting a little twitchy skitchy at this point)
Twisted Mary: I see. But this convention looks pretty special.
Disney guy: Every convention is special.
Twisted Mary: This one looks EXTRA special.

Yes, we booked our Disney vacation at the same time as the Little People of America National Convention. That year there were over 800 attendees. OMFG.

I have to give my kids credit. They were awesome. They didn't point, gawk or stare. When copious numbers  of little people are hanging out in the shallow end of the pool (for obvious reasons) and that's where your five year old hangs out, they are bound to spend some time together. The boys just thought cool, more playmates. I have photos but I won't share them on this blog. I just don't think it's appropriate. I will share this one. It just shows you how kids don't give a rat's ass...they just have fun no matter where they are.

As we are walking through the lobby one night heading out to a Disney attraction, Jamie whispers into my ear, "I am one twisted motherf*cker and this is too twisted for even me!" Like everything in life, once you get used to it, you don't see the differences any more.

It truly was a memorable vacation. I'm not sure if the actual event was more memorable or my kids' ability to handle that event was the bigger highlight.

The penultimate moment of that portion of the trip was when the dwarf tossing commenced in the pool. Tossing by family members.

I sh*t you not.

It's OK to laugh. It's a good way to start the month of March.

Irish Eyes

This has been an odd, unsettling week for me. I got a taste this week of what my life will be like when my son goes away to college. James was away at spring training in South Carolina. He had long, busy days and he kept in touch with us pretty much every day. If I went a day without speaking to him, it was a long day for me. He's 14 and experiencing a semblance of independence so I tried not to nag him too much but he is 14 so he should be calling me every day. I'm sure the highlight of his day was filling in his parents individually about his day. NOT.

One less person in the house makes such a difference. There's a void. 

I came home today, have some boys over for a sleepover, logged onto Facebook and saw a message from my brother in my inbox. Another childhood friend passed away suddenly, Eileen Sheridan. She died in her sleep. Eileen is part of the storied past of West 207th Street. She lived in my building with her mom, Kathleen, her dad, and her sisters, Sheila and Kathy. Eileen and I share a birthday month. Our birthdays are in April. I remember climbing a couple of flights up the stairs in our building to go to Eileen's birthday party which was always filled with giggling girls, candy, birthday cake and good times. I remember climbing the bleachers at Gaelic Park with the girls on many a Sunday afternoon. The Sheridans moved out of our building but stayed in the neighborhood and stayed in our lives. 

I reconnected with Eileen on Facebook just about a year ago. I know there are naysayers out there who feel Facebook is a time thief, a complete waste of energy. I would disagree. Had it not been for Facebook, I would not have shared memories with Eileen of our childhood, I wouldn't have been able to ask after her mother, I wouldn't have learned that she had a nursing career, had moved to Maine and seemed very happy with her life. She had just switched jobs and was really happy with the new position.

But today I think of her mom, Kathleen, her children, her sisters, her fiance. I lamented the void in my life for one week while my son was away. Kathleen and the rest of the family have to face that void for the rest of their lives. I mourn with them but ask everyone to remember the good place that Eileen was in her life. I don't pretend to understand the rationale of a forty six year old woman dying in her sleep. It hits too close to home for me.

I prefer to remember her beautiful Irish eyes, her contentment in life and her quest to make an Irish soda bread as good as her mother's.

Rest in peace, Eileen.

Eileen will be memorialized this Thursday, March 3rd, from 2-4 PM and 7-9 PM, at Riverdale on Hudson Funeral Home, 6110 Riverdale Avenue, New York, NY 10471 (718) 884-6100. The funeral will be held Friday, March 4th, 10 AM at Good Shepherd Church, 4967 Broadway · New York, NY  10034 (212)567-1300.

Strawberry Shortcake

It's an innocent enough title, isn't it? You won't think so once you finish reading this blog.

First, my apologies for my lapse in writing. It's been kind of hectic since James left for the baseball tournament and spring training in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. He is having a BLAST, by the way.

Jamie just asked me why I was smiling. I told him I'm writing my blog. I love communicating through my blog. It truly does make me happy. 

Back to Strawberry Shortcake. My sister and my nephew came to visit this weekend. Stephen and Joe were happily engaged in PS3 battle so Bridget and I went off shopping to the Arches. I had things to return and it was an opportunity to spend some time with her. 

We shopped at our leisure and I wanted to stop into American Eagle to check out a few things for James. I was browsing around and there were four AE associates hanging out on a table, talking in their outside voices. One young lady, and I use that term LOOSELY, was talking about how her yoga instructor told her her hips were very open. Let me throw in a footnote that the average age of these young people was 17, 18 years old. The next comment came from the wild haired blowsy young woman who asked if anyone had heard of the sexual position the Strawberry Shortcake. 

My "holy inappropriateness" radar is now starting to get into full gear. The young Asian fellow asked if anyone had heard of the sexual position the London Bridge. DANGER, WILL ROBINSON, DANGER.

The comment from the third stooge was, "that's when she takes in the a** and...."

You know the sound that the needle makes when it screeches across the vinyl record? I can't write that sound but that's what I heard in my brain.

I had to say something. Words just came out of my mouth. This happened to me on a conference call where a colleague made a comparison to an engineering sprint cycle to a woman's menstrual period. Same sound, same reaction. 

Stop. Just stop. This conversation is TOTALLY inappropriate. The Asian dude says, "What did we say?" "Dude," I respond, "let's not play this game. You're representing a corporation and this is the conversation you feel is appropriate on a sales floor? Stop it now."

I was ripping. I headed to the register to pay for a few t-shirts and one of the culprits had to wait on me. I was short, clipped tones, just wanting to get the hell out of there. I finished my purchase and at the last minute asked a salesperson to find me the manager. She came over. 

I filled her in on the details. I told her how inappropriate I thought a conversation about sexual positions was on the sales floor. It certainly wasn't a conversation I'd like my fourteen old son to overhear. Her eyes widened greatly. She looked like she was all of about 20 years old. She said she'd talk to them. 

One last stop in Old Navy and a long wait on line, I started chatting with the woman on line in front of me. I told her my American Eagle story. She said she was a high school teacher and nothing shocked her anymore. She said she had seen parts of the female human body in the halls of her high school that she had never even looked at on her own body with a mirror! She mentioned that there were a half dozen pregnant students in her school and one was in her class, and was one week ahead of her in her pregnancy. 

Finally, she said the funny thing is, these kids don't know what they're talking about. 

I will tell you that I had heard of the London Bridge but not of the Strawberry Shortcake. And the high school teacher was right. They didn't know what they were talking about. 

In this case, Just Google It.

Growing up before my eyes and I didn't even see it - Part 2

James is heading off to a baseball tournament and spring training session in Myrtle Beach this Friday. I've spent the last few days preparing for this trip, both physically and psychologically.

We went shopping on Saturday after a parents' meeting last week in which the parents were advised to pack seven days worth of baseball clothing for the trip. We needed socks, baseball pants, t-shirts, long johns. Actually, I need none of that. James needs it.

So shopping began. James is a good kid. He works really hard in school, is doing great and I'm really proud of him. So I shop with him. He is price conscious and he's learned how to shop for a good bargain. Makes me proud.

So we shopped, found what he needed, found the best prices and talked about how sometimes you get what you need, even if it is a bit more money.

Yesterday was Valentine's Day. We went to Spuntino, our favorite Italian restaurant. We agreed as a family that was where we wanted to go. Spuntino is to Jamie as Cheers was to Norm. Everyone knows his name and even better, the food is excellent. The meal and the company was superb as always. When it came time to pay the bill, I was told it had been paid. It had been paid by James, my fourteen year old son.

He got up quietly towards the end of the meal and paid the bill without a word to his parents.

During our shopping trip, I had told James, do well in school, work hard and I am happy to reward you.

My son rewarded me today. I couldn't be prouder.

Twisting

I have notoriously weak ankles. In the last year, I've turned my left ankle twice in ten months. I never sprain the left ankle but the damage to the right side of my body is noticeable.

Last May, I was picking James up from finals and turned my left ankle. I must have loose ligaments or something because the left ankle is never injured or painful but the right knee is banged up but good. I went sprawling, breath knocked out of me sprawling. A parent saw me and turned her head, pretending she didn't see me. So not nice. Your kid goes to school with my kid! Really???? So I picked myself up and patched myself up when I got home. So much for neighbors in this instance. Not my usual experience with neighbors.

Sunday I was shopping in Riverhead for my son James who is heading off to Myrtle Beach for a baseball tournament. This one gets filed under the "No good deed goes unpunished" category. I had just finished up shopping and was heading back to my truck. Next thing I know I am on my side, one shoe flew off, shopping bag flew off, hand bleeding, jeans ripped at the right knee. I fell hard. Stop laughing, Kerriann. You know you are. JK :)

I've never fallen so hard that I tore my jeans. A gentleman sees me fall and stops to see if I'm OK, do I need anything. I jump up as quickly as I can and say I'm fine, I'm fine. It's always my reaction. Bounce back as quickly as possible.

I was more shaken than I originally thought. The heel of my hand was bleeding profusely, my knee was torn up in the same spot as last May.

A car pulls up in front of me. It's the gentleman who saw me fall. He came back to check on me. A complete stranger went above and beyond to make sure I was OK. He rolled down his window and asked me if I needed anything to help clean up my hand. A complete stranger did this. A local resident saw me fall and turned her head as if she didn't see it.

In the words of Blanche Dubois and the writer Tennessee Williams, "I have depended on the kindness of strangers."

Thank God for them.

License plates are the new shooting stars

So I told you about my license plate message the other day. Let me continue my story.

LOVEMARY on the Cross Bronx Expressway is a pretty cool sight to see. I, too, have a personalized license plate on my truck. I was driving in my neighborhood a number of years ago and saw a large Lexus truck with MY license plate. Well, not really my license plate, but the license plate I planned on getting. J CREW. Let me explain.

I am surrounded by a house full of boys with names starting with the letter J. My last name is Litchhult. It's a mouthful and one I am used to having to spell. L-I-T-C-H-H - yes, that's two H's - U - L - T. Yes, T as in Thomas. Don't complicate it. Just say it phonetically. Dixon was much easier to explain...Nixon with a D. People got that. I was pregnant with James when Jamie asked if I thought I might use his name now? I gave in even though I knew I would spend the rest of my life spelling it and because I LEGALLY am Mary Litchhult. I don't allow people to mis-spell my name. What kind of English major would that make me????

I chose J names for a variety of reasons including the fact that they sound good with the last name beginning with the letter L. Jamie - Jim - Jake - James - Joe - Joba - J J - all comprise my J CREW except that I couldn't get that license plate because someone had it already and they lived in my neighborhood! and drove a large truck! WTF!

So I chose J CREW 2. The number 2 has great significance in my life. I am a twin. I have 2 sons. My house number is 22. I have 2 brothers. I have 2 dogs. I think you get the concept.

So the other night someone cut in front of me on the Cross Bronx with the license plate LOVEMARY. I'm in the car telling this story to Jamie on our way to Spuntinos, Jamie's Friday night haunt with his boys (meaning my sons and whatever friends they have over) when a car pulls in front of us into the parking lot. The license plate on the car says JEL IV.

My husband's name is James Edward Litchhult IV.

JEL IV

LOVEMARY

Universe? I'm SO listening.

Listen

Sorry I've been delinquent in my posts but it's been a long week and I've struggled to stay awake at night, unsuccessfully, to write.

The other night while driving into Inwood, the universe called out to me and I listened. Let me explain.

We get signs from the universe all the time. More often than not, we are so caught up in getting from point A to point B that we miss them. I am as guilty of it as the next guy but as I get older, I am making a sincere and conscious effort to enjoy the now, the present.

On Tuesday, I wrote about my friend, Paul Meehan, and his passing. It was heartfelt and seemed to touch a lot of people. I was thrilled to have the ability to express a sentiment that so many felt was their own. I was touched by the response to it. I was extremely happy to bring a smile to the faces of a grieving family.

I was up early on Thursday morning for my run, 5:30 am. It was the usual morning activities...English muffin for James before the bus, share my English muffin with the dogs. Making beds, folding laundry, getting Joe on the bus. Heading out to a variety of activities which would take up the better of my day until it was time to get the boys off to haircuts.

My boys go to a barber shop, not a salon, not a hair studio, a BARBER shop. It's a very cool place with very cool rocker guys. Utah cuts James and Mike cuts Joe. Mike was a full half hour behind schedule which normally wouldn't bother me but Thursday I needed to get into the city for Paul's wake. So I was stressing a little. The wake was at 7 and you can just never tell how long it will take to travel 37 miles on the Long Island Expressway and the Cross Bronx Expressway.

We finally got out of there just after six, raced home, got changed and probably drove past my husband on the LIE somewhere. I like my drive time. I blast music and enjoy some quiet time with my own thoughts, seeming oxymorons but so not. I don't even make phone calls. I just chill.

The ride was uneventful and I prepared to exit the Cross Bronx when a car in the middle lane suddenly cut in front of me. I didn't honk the horn. I didn't get pissed. I didn't get angry. These are the things I do try to let go. Maybe they were talking with their kid and lost focus. Maybe they got lost in a great song and almost missed their exit. In any event, they got in front of me and I didn't freak. Then I saw the license plate on the car. I tried to take a picture of it but all I have is a blurry car and lights. It's hard to take a picture of a moving car while negotiating pot holes on the Cross Bronx.

The universe spoke to me in the form of a license plate. The license plate and the universe said

LOVEMARY

The universe spoke. I listened :)

Paul

I grew up in a working class neighborhood in upper Manhattan, an area known as Inwood.

Inwood is a phenomenon that is easy to explain but difficult for people to comprehend. When I talk about my friends on Facebook and explain that a large group are my friends that I grew up with and have known since kindergarten, I get very quizzical looks, blank stares, narrowed eyes that say, yeah, right.

We are a mega-extended family in Inwood. We lost a member of that family the other day, Paul Meehan.

I grew up on West 207th Street  which had a high concentration of kids on the block. Our building had the Dixons, the two Clancy families, the building across the street had the Garveys, the Martins and the Meehans. That's just off the top of my head.

The Meehans are a large, boisterous, Irish-American family. They suffered the loss of a son, Damian, on 9/11 and now they've lost Paul. I hadn't seen Paul in the last few years but my mom still lives in Inwood and she had talked with him not long ago. He struggled with addiction, a problem that has touched most families both in and out of Inwood. My memories of him, as with all the Meehan boys, is that broad, beautiful smile, bright shining eyes, funny as hell, good looking, easy going and easy to laughter personality.

Death is inexplicable. Yes, there is a physical explanation but too often, we don't understand the why. Maybe we're not supposed to. I'm not philosophical enough to even begin to explain but I hope Paul is at peace.

The Inwood family will gather on Thursday night to honor Paul's memory and to share stories of our childhood. Irish wakes, particularly Inwood Irish wakes, are loud; the funeral home halls will reverberate with laughter through tears, the faces will look a little older but will become younger by the minute with every story told.

On Thursday night, I will spend a few hours in the warm embrace of my Inwood family to honor the memory of Paul Meehan. May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

Services for Paul: Wake Thursday @ Williams Funeral Home, 5628 Broadway, Bronx, NY. Funeral Mass on Friday @ Good Shepherd Church.

Space Invaders

No, I'm not talking about the video game.

I have recently (as in the last 3 months) taken up Zumba. I love Zumba. I'm Irish and thus have limited dancing skills especially in light of the fact that I was an Irish dancer for many years. Irish dancing requires a rigid body, hands by the side, rapid fire tapping of the toes and heels....the total antithesis of zumba.

But I give it my best effort. I love dancing and am married to a man who I have to drag onto the dance floor at events, functions, weddings. Now I have this foot thing going on that is eventually going to require surgery. So I'm playing a game of beat the clock and do it while I can. But I still love to dance. The beautiful thing about getting older is that you really don't give a rat's ass what people think. I do things because I enjoy them. I enjoy Zumba even if I don't get all the steps down pat. I move, I sweat, I come home in a great mood which my kids and my husband enjoy.

On Saturday, I went to Zumba and encountered the parking debacle. That fixed itself eventually. It's a busy shopping center on a Saturday so I get that. I get into the class, Eddie is teaching which is always a fun time and I have two great friends with me for the bonus.

I haven't been to zumba in a while and am happy to be back until half way through the hour long class. It's the Ginger Chick. She bounced me out of my spot as well as my two girlfriends. She was a ping pong ball in a zumba class. She was a freaking nightmare. She took my zen away. I'll be honest. I was a party to allowing her to take my zumba zen away. But it was unavoidable. My BFFs tried to convince me to let it go. I tried. But she wreaked havoc on at least six people. It had to be addressed. I still managed to enjoy the class. It ended and we headed outside. There was Ginger Chick.

In order to be true to myself, I had to say something to her. Opportunity opened the door. I stepped through it. I told her what a distraction she was, how she needed to pick a spot and stick with it, how rude it was that she bumped me out of my spot and others. She first blamed it on other people and then apologized. I sweated my ass off and for the most part had a great time but she owes me a Zumba class.

Another girl friend had a similar experience in her hot yoga class where people who had room would not move over. She was pissed that they took her yoga zen away.

Really, people? Be considerate. Be mindful. Yes, I know I make up my own steps during Zumba class but I make sure it does not interfere with the enjoyment of others. So, Ginger Chick, step out of my space.

On a side note, go Packers. You deserve it, Aaron Rodgers.

Busy Catching Up

Hi all, sorry I've been MIA for a few days and this won't be much of a blog but I didn't want you all thinking I was stuck in a block of ice.

I've been catching up on errands after being trapped indoors after all the ridiculous snow over the last few weeks.

A few observations.

I will never bother my kids about not wearing enough clothes while shoveling snow EVER AGAIN. I scraped up all the ice off the driveway around 3 pm today and couldn't believe how fast I heated up! Granted, I was wearing a cashmere sweater and my waterproof Hunter boots. Get your filthy minds out of the gutter. I'm just listing the really warm clothing items. Yes, I wore pants. But still, I'll never nag them again. At least, not about that ;)

I think I want to wash every item of clothing I own just so they can smell like lavender after I wash them and use Purex Softener Crystals. I smell so good it makes me smile. Seriously.

I love Veggie Stix. I ate some today and forgot how good they are.

Take 500 mg of vitamin C every day and you'll burn 39% more fat when you work out (according to editor of Men's Health). I'm totally trying that this morning.

I broke my humeral shaft almost ten years ago to the day. Fell on the icy driveway. I was eight weeks pregnant. Not fun. Today's ice storm forced me to stop being so fearful of ice. I didn't want Jamie to have to come home in the dark and chop ice. So I did it. And no injuries except for a huge blister on my left hand because I forgot to wear gloves.

In this day and age of over-praising, how is it possible that there is an entire generation that doesn't realize they're smart, handsome, gorgeous, stunning? I don't get it.

Phil and Chuck, if you are wrong about an early spring, I will hunt you down. I have a few weapons that were gifts from my husband (at least, that's what he told me ;)

And finally, an update on Joe. Remember he was accused by a classmate of saying "how's your vagina?" and I vehemently told you all, NOT MY SON. Well, that classmate got busted for telling another classmate to "suck my ball sack." This time another classmate told the teacher and saved the other three a trip to the principal's office. Not my son ;)

Stay warm and safe, everyone.