So much to talk about and so little time!

Yes, I've had requests to tackle the subject of the doll who breast feeds her darling little girl or little boy owner. You never thought of a boy breast feeding the doll, did you Becky and Sue. I'll get to that. I will SO get to that. But not tonight.

I had some minor surgery today. It involved removal of a cluster of freckles on my back (medical term: excision of lesions) that literally scared people when they saw it. I will never forget the look on Maureen's face when she saw it for the first time and said what is that???? but I can tell you she was frightened.

I've been putting off getting it removed and finally had it removed today. That involved a trip to the dermatologist who looked at it and said yeah, I'm not touching that. She sent me off to the plastic surgeon, Ian Bourhill, a very tall handsome, British plastic surgeon. He told me it will leave a scar, I'll warn you of that right now. I responded, damn, there goes my modeling career. He was dumbfounded, probably for a variety of reasons but then started laughing when I cracked up at my own joke.

It's my first experience getting stitches, pretty good considering my oh so young age. I broke my arm at 36 and got my first stitches at 46 so I'm officially categorizing myself as a late bloomer.

I went in for the appointment this morning and met Roselyn, the lovely nurse from North Carolina, who complimented me on how soft my skin was, asked me what moisturizer I use (pretty good when someone asks you that in a plastic surgeon's office!) and asked me what brand bra I was wearing (Spanx Brallelullah in racerback style - black, in case I got blood on it - racerback because it left the area open for surgery - I'm always thinking ahead ;).

Dr. Bourhill walked into the surgery room this morning, said good morning to which I replied, you got a haircut! He looked a tad surprised and said, you're very observant! Surgery went off without a hitch but it's pretty freaky to feel your skin being sewn together like you're sewing together the flaps of skin on the turkey so the stuffing doesn't come out while cooking. I said it felt freaky, I meant it!

So I have 12 stitches in my back which right now are pretty damn uncomfortable but it's all good. This means Jamie will have to get involved in my health care for the next ten days because it's in a spot I just cannot reach. He's a bit squeamish, doesn't like hospital shows which I LOVE but I know he'll suck it up and get it done.

So it's a quick blog tonight because I hear a painkiller calling my name. Good night, everybody!

Changes

So I just got a new phone. I previously was a proud Blackberry owner but after ass dialing WAY too many people, I had to move on. My girlfriend Lucy was the recipient of many an ass dial because she was speed dial P. I moved her to C for Crazy which is her ringtone and that solved that problem. Then I started ass dialing another poor woman with a P name. Problem not solved.

So I moved onto the iPhone. It's a whole new learning curve. I've had an iPod touch for years so some of it is very familiar to me but it's really just re-training my old habits. Jamie gave me a Mac for Christmas and I have to call on my son James for seemingly simple tasks (ie adding in a picture of Dancerina Ballerina to last night's blog). I go back to my old PC habits which just don't work on a Mac. I have an iPad2 on order from BestBuy but I'm afraid that may take awhile after the devastating earthquake in Japan. In any event, it's an old dog learning new tricks. I was at James' first game of the season for Hills East JV team and tried to take a picture of him at bat. I ended up taking video instead which was totally cool and was a feature I had not used heretofore. Heretofore is an awesome word, BTW.

I've been learning a lesson for the last few days that we all learn all our lives. Change is inevitable. Is it forced upon you? Did you bring it upon yourself? Do you accept it or fight it?

Jamie does not accept change very well. I know that about him but sometimes I force it upon him because I know it's best. In our Commack house, I rearranged the living room and he about crapped himself when he walked into the house. When we recarpeted the great room, which was our living room but totally deserved to be called a great room because it was freaking huge and had cathedral ceilings and a fire place, I foolishly let him convince me that "silky terrier" was the right carpet for our great room. No offense, guys, but you all don't have very good spatial skills. You can look at a small carpet sample and not see that in a very large room, it's not off white, it's white.

The Home Depot guy came, installed the new carpet. Jamie walked in the door and said, wow, it's white. Ya think?????

Then I rearranged the furniture. Jamie experienced a new puppy, a new baby and a poor carpet selection all in the space of one year. White carpet, a new puppy and a new baby don't mix.

Jamie survived. I still force change upon him. I order new furniture. He comes home and sees it installed. I change carpet without telling him. He's survived it all. And actually come to like it eventually.

Change is sometimes painful but is usually good for the soul. I know of which I speak.

Forever Young

I know we live in a very different day and age from my childhood. At the age of 7, I was playing with my Dancerina Ballerina. She was one of my treasured memories from childhood.

Unfortunately, she met her demise at the hands of two rowdy and rascally young lads, aka Tony and Thomas, my brothers. Like Humpty Dumpty, she broke her crown, was felled down and never did dance again. Sigh.

But that did not end my childhood. I moved on to Barbie dolls and GI Joe's, coloring books and puzzles, books. That's a natural part of childhood.

What's not a part of childhood? Push up swimsuits brought to by the oh so creative folks at Abercrombie.

Ashley is the push up triangle swimsuit for girls ages 7-14 years old. Push up what, exactly? And why? The pool of females with breasts is shrinking so you need to move down to children? Abercrombie has decided that pedophiles need more encouragement?

I have sons so I know not of little girls. But I am a "girl" and was a young girl many years ago. I had no thought of push up bras at the age of 7. I played with dolls.  I played with my sister and brother, friends, my cousins. I had not an inkling in my brain of a bathing suit that would push up my non-existent breasts.

I know I am my own harshest critic when it comes to my body and self image.  As I age, I have started to care less about what people think of me and have become more appreciative of my beauty. I'm not being vain here, but when I smile as I watch my kids play baseball with the warmth of the sun on my face, or I'm laughing with my girlfriends or snuggling with my puppies on the couch watching the Blind Side for the umpteenth time, you would enjoy the best part of my beauty. It's taken almost 47 years to get there, but I'm a work in progress.

Let's make sure that the little girls in our lives get to that point in a much shorter period of time than the previous generations. Let them understand and know that they are beautiful and they don't need a push up triangle swimsuit top at any point in their lives to prove that. And finally, Abercrombie, in the words of Cee Lo Green, f*ck you.

Better call the WAAAAAHMBULANCE

I've just re-read all my blog posts. A few observations.

I'm not a bad writer. A little more effort and I could probably make "good." At one of the wakes I've attended recently, a friend said, "I read the piece and thought it was written by someone at the New York Times. I think you missed your calling." A lofty compliment from her and a "things that make you go Hmmmmm" moment for me. I think I still have a lot ahead of me. I hope I didn't miss the bus.

My peeps are very good to me but you all let me get away with murder.

I make a lot of excuses for not blogging. Shame on me. Some of the lame ass excuses included: It was a busy week. I was really tired. It's really cold out and I don't want to move. Would you like some cheese with that whine????? WAAAAAAHHHH!

Although it's March and January is resolution time, I feel a resolution is in order. I resolve to write more, whine less and lose weight. The first two I have more control over than the last. I just don't know WTF is going on with my body these days. My fellow forty somethings know exactly what I mean.

Onward and upward. Lots to do including a trip to Verizon. I'd say wish me luck but then it's one less story for the blog.

Bully Pulpit

So I mentioned that the kids wanted to fill me in on odd call that came in on Friday evening. James said someone called, said they were an assistant teacher in Joe's class and that Joe was bullying kids and it needed to stop.

James and Joe both felt that it wasn't really a teacher at all, it was someone pretending to be a teacher. I checked the phone, saw the name, didn't know it and called the phone number back.  A male answered the phone, not an adult. When I started quizzing the kid about who was on the other end of the phone, why did someone in the house call my home and accuse my son of being a bully. That was the first hang up.

I called back. The kid answered again and this time he said she was really sorry, she didn't mean it. I asked to speak to an adult in the house. He hung up on me.

I called back multiple times. No answer. Finally a woman answered. I told her what happened, she said there were lots of kids in the house. It could have been anyone. She was stonewalling, not a good stance to take with me. I reminded her of the fact that she as an adult is responsible for the actions of kids in the house. Do I need to get the police involved? Who's impersonating a teacher? The wall starts to crack. Do any of those kids go to Signal Hill? Yes, one child does. And that child's name is? She told me. I'm not giving up any names in this blog. She's a classmate of Joe's.

She puts the mom on the phone. I'm pissed. The mom says her daughter is sorry, she has never done anything like this. I tell the mom I want a meeting with the principal on Monday. She asks me to please consider not telling the principal. She says her daughter wants to speak to Joe. Joe gets on the phone with her. She apologizes, says she wasn't thinking, she's sorry.

Another phone call from the mom when she gets back to her own home. Please don't tell the principal. I discuss the fact that the class phone list is supposed to be a tool for the kids and parents to help each other, not for your kid to harass my son. I told the mom that I had to let the teacher know that this happened and lose my number.

Here's the irony: Officer Wendy did a presentation to the entire fifth grade on Friday.

The subject: bullying

Someone was not paying attention.

Hey Now

This is just a teaser. Helluva week. Last night my head was literally spinning when I crashed at 10:30 pm. I was awake at 4:30 am having had 6 hours sleep and got another hour of sleep! So I felt amazingly refreshed at 5:45 am when I got up.

Busy day. Half of the baseball team over to hang out. Pizza for dinner tonight. Great kids, truly great kids.

When I walked in the door at 6:38 pm, I was assaulted by my two kids jockeying to explain the call they had received at 6:34 pm. It took up the better part of the next hour trying to figure out what the f*ck was going on. I figured it out. I handled the next steps. Let me just say that having 7 fourteen year olds listen to that conversation was a very good thing. They understand that James' mom is not to be messed with, James' mom protects her kids and it's best to have her on your side.

I'm so tired and I must crash. I promise I will explain all tomorrow. I could throw something together half assed but it's so not my style.

I ran into one of James' former teachers and a yoga friend and they told me how much they love my blog. I can't tell you all how much your comments mean to me. Comment away, everyone. I love it.

Tune in tomorrow. Jamie and James are heading to a concert. I look forward to writing and sunshine.  The writing will come sooner, the sunshine later.

Luv ya, miss ya, mean it!

Radar

It's been ten days. Mea culpa.

Baseball season has officially started so fair warning....I will try to blog as often as I can and as often as those crossing my path provide me material.

Radar will be the theme today. I pride myself on my internal radar. I've got pretty good instincts when it comes to people. Today was a busy day. I was planning on picking up James from baseball practice. He called and said practice was done early so he'd walk home. I'm sure the nice weather was part of the decision. I got home in time to get Joe to his first baseball practice, met the coaches who seem like great guys. I know a bunch of the kids on the team from previous teams and I'm lucky that the kids have great parents, especially the moms. I spend a lot of time in the bleachers and it's always better to spend that time with moms you like!

It was Jamie's turn at bat to get Joe to a baseball workout and I had to get home and pick up James and head over to the high school for a baseball meeting.

I'm sitting in the auditiorium. This guy walks by. My radar goes off. Let me explain.

You've seen these guys. I'm pretty sure he was in his 40's hence my bewilderment at his outfit. Bright orange UnderArmour fleece, blue basketball shorts, Reebok zigtech shoes, spiked hair (dyed, I think), cool "nerd" glasses. He was working very hard to look young, or younger than he was. The word "tool" just keeps flashing through my brain.

He sits down. His wife follows. She's well dressed, Burberry coat, expensively cut and coloured hair, major size diamond on the right hand, french gel manicure, age appropriate outfit.

They chatted through the whole presentation, holding hands, hugging, kissing. Not so appropriate for a high school auditorium. The director of athletics finishes his presentation and asks that everyone wait and file out slowly to the next room where individual sports will meet. I stand up and have to step back as the "tool" bolts across me to be the first one out the aisle. I have to step back quickly to avoid being trodden.

He says oh, do you want to go first? I say, no, I would never want to get in the way of a man in a hurry. He must be important. The wife says, oh, is he in a hurry? I say, he must be as he just about trampled me in his hurry. She giggles. Airhead, I think to myself. Nope, proud of myself that I didn't say any of these names out loud. After all, it is Lent.

Head up to the next classroom. "Tool" is in my classroom. His kid plays on the varsity team. Let me change that. His kid is ON the varsity team. Whether he plays or not is a whole other story.

I grab a friend of mine. You see that guy in the orange sweatshirt? Do you know him? Yep, he knows him.  I tell my auditorium story. He's a tool, I say. You're right, he says.

There was a huge scandal here on Long Island. Turns out it was actually a country wide scandal...involving mortgages. He was a key figure.

My radar is SO on the money. I should have tripped him. 

Cookie & Elmo

When James and Joe were babies, they loved Cookie and Elmo. We had two sets of Cookie and Elmo. They were not passed down from one brother to the next. They each had their own Cookie and Elmo. Plush, soft, stuffed velvety soft monsters. Yes, Cookie and Elmo are actually monsters but not scary monsters. I must confess when the boys had their first sleepovers, I swiped a Cookie or an Elmo and slept with them, just to have the smell of my boys with me.

We've had a disturbing rash of home burglaries over the last two weeks in my neighborhood. Two homes on Caledonia Road, one on Balsam, an attempted break-in at my next door neighbor foiled by his alarm system and another I don't have the complete details on yet that happened today.

My home was burglarized some five years ago. It was traumatic, financially and more so, emotionally. My sitter called me at work and told me glass was all over the kitchen floor. I told her to get out of the house immediately and call 911. I didn't know if anyone was still in the house. At the time, there was a lot of construction going on in the neighborhood and a lot of traffic going through as well. We were not the only home burglarized.

My ten year old (then five!) remembers coming home and seeing the cop car in the street and worrying was the dog hurt by the bad men.

I had to tell my kids about the recent spate of robberies. Joe doesn't know about the next door neighbor because that would just freak him out.  I discussed what the strategy should be if the boys happen to be home alone if a burglar should strike. I called the Second Precinct and spoke to the cops there and asked their advice.

Set the alarm if they are home alone.
If the alarm is tripped, the police are called automatically.
Go to a far room that can be locked and call 911.
Call me. Call Dad.
Don't leave the house until the police arrive, I arrive or Dad comes home.

I wanted to go grocery shopping last night in the early evening and Joe asked me to please stay home, wait until Dad got home. He asked me if the robbers came, would they have guns? These are not the questions a 10 year old should have.

He had a great training session tonight with a bunch of his buddies. He was carefree, having fun and forgot all about robbers, guns and fear.

So between baseball training sessions, baseball tryouts at the high school, my shopping trip happened at 10 pm this evening. The store was quiet, the trip was quick and I bought WAY too many cookies and Peeps.

These are the things you do to make your children feel safe. You grocery shop at 10 pm at night. You buy them comfort food. You wish that you could turn back the clock, tuck them in with Cookie and Elmo and they would feel completely safe sleeping with friendly monsters they know and love, and never dream of the bad monsters they have learned, all too soon, exist in this world.

To the thieves who stole my child's sense of security, heed the warning of my friend, Glenn:

A word of warning to whomever pissed off Mary: 

LEAVE THE PLANET NOW! It's your safest move. 

Here endeth the warning.

Sleep well, my young princes. Mom and Dad got your back.
Love you. Mean it.

Fire!

You expect that the people who live in your neighborhood, whose children attend school with your children, who volunteer in agencies that protect your neighborhood are to be trusted.

It's sad when that trust is violated. You thought no one saw but someone did.

I'm sickened at the phone call that I have to make tomorrow. I am sad for the recipient of that phone call.

I knew the character of these individuals YEARS ago when she called me the "C" word and he allowed that and other socially unacceptable behavior. You said nothing while she bullied, blustered and bellowed.

What you both did on Wednesday was despicable, disgusting, untenable.

Karma's a bitch, bitch.

Fables

It was a hectic day. I was on the run today, all day. I left the house at 8:30 am and got home at 3:30 pm and was back out at 3:45 to pick up my son and his buddy from baseball practice.

Baseball season has unofficially begun in my house. It really never ends with winter clinics, spring training programs and tournaments but the calendar turns to March and the baseball clock starts ticking.

My first appointment of the day involved some pretty painful cortisone shots to my big toe which leaves me limping for the rest of the day. By 2:30, I was in pain, on the couch with an ice pack and a dog on either side of me hanging out.

I'm telling a story that most moms and dads can relate to...running to keep all your balls in the air.

James had a project that's due on Friday and he was finishing it up with his project partner, Mike D. Mike is seriously one of the funniest kids I've ever met. He is wry, dry and just flat out makes me laugh out loud. I've discovered that boys don't tend to estimate well. When I ask how much work do you have left on a project, the usual answer I get is "an hour or so." My estimation is "an hour or so" is actually about three hours. I've been pretty much on the money every time.

I picked them up from school and the boys hit the kitchen table. They had to write an original fable in Spanish and it needed to be illustrated. The fable was written and the boys needed some help in the actual physical writing of the fable. Watching my son hold a piece of paper up to the high hat lights while trying to trace a picture was just so pathetic that I had to "help."

This is where my famed Catholic school education came to the rescue.  I am left-handed and have beautiful handwriting. I'm not shy, I really do have beautiful handwriting. It was years of the nuns and Mrs. Lovett forcing me to re-write my assignments until you could no longer tell that I was left-handed. I've learned the tips and tricks of how to hold writing instruments so I don't get the dreaded inky pinky. You fellow lefties know what I mean ;)

Jamie and Joe went out to baseball lessons and I spent the evening feeding two fourteen year olds, writing a fable in Spanish, practicing my penmanship, listening to really loud rap music and having a great time. I really did! Side note, you want to know how to feed fourteen year old boys? Just throw as much food as you possibly can in the oven and serve.

Fables always have a moral. My moral for today: the laundry will still be there tomorrow and penmanship still matters.