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.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
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!
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!
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
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:
Sleep well, my young princes. Mom and Dad got your back.
Love you. Mean it.
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.
Friday, March 4, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, February 28, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, February 25, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, February 14, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
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
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 :)
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Jamie
For those of you who read my blog, you will have heard mention of a certain someone named Jamie. He is my husband. We've been married for twenty years, together for twenty six years and I love him and miraculously still like him. I'm not being mean here. It's just that after so many years together, we really do like each other! That's big!
Today is Jamie's birthday. He doesn't like to celebrate his birthday. We are total and complete opposites in that respect. I LOVE my birthday, Jamie not so much. We have different viewpoints on life. I tend to be a glass half full viewpoint, Jamie not so much. But that's not the point of my blog today. Today I celebrate Jamie being Jamie. He loves me. He likes me. I know he would do anything for me and has and will always be there for me. He adored James from the moment he was born and didn't think it was possible to love someone as much as he loved James until the day Joseph was born.
I had never had a dog and begged to get one after a few years of marriage. I brought him to Canine Corral in Huntington and he fell in love with Jake as fast as I did. I've proceeded to bring home Sammy, Joba and JJ successively. He falls in love every time. And I love that about him.
He loves baseball. He loves NASCAR. He loves cars. He loves his puppies. He adores me and he adores his kids. If you're a "friend," consider yourself lucky. He'll give you the shirt off his back.
He was determined to coach his son in baseball all the way to a District 34 championship. He knew it would take two years to build a championship team and he did just that. He freaking did it.
You have to admire a man who sets a goal and reaches it; whether it's winning a baseball championship, raising a family or being a good friend. Jamie met his best friend at the age of five who became his partner in crime, his best man, godfather to each other's first born sons and his friend whom he texts or talks with a couple of times a week, if not every day, some forty-seven years later. That speaks volumes for the kind of man Jamie has become.
He has traveled to White Plains for work for the last 20 years. I don't know how he does it. I'd have thrown in the towel a long time ago. His work ethic was ingrained in him by his parents, especially by his dad who worked for Grand Union for over 50 years. His dad gave him the very sage advice saying you'll never get rich working in the food industry but you'll always have a job. People have to eat. Jamie's stable profession allowed me to get involved in industries that were not as stable but gave me some great professional and personal experiences. I thank him for that.
Jamie is always striving to do more, to do better. I always like to remind him of the amazing accomplishments he has achieved...a long marriage, two amazing children and a good life. In the words of Clarence from It's A Wonderful Life, "Dear George, remember no man is a failure who has friends." In that and many other respects, Jamie is not lacking, to say the least.
So today I celebrate Jamie on his birthday. Happy birthday, my love. Thank you for being a great friend, life traveler, husband and parent.
Today is Jamie's birthday. He doesn't like to celebrate his birthday. We are total and complete opposites in that respect. I LOVE my birthday, Jamie not so much. We have different viewpoints on life. I tend to be a glass half full viewpoint, Jamie not so much. But that's not the point of my blog today. Today I celebrate Jamie being Jamie. He loves me. He likes me. I know he would do anything for me and has and will always be there for me. He adored James from the moment he was born and didn't think it was possible to love someone as much as he loved James until the day Joseph was born.
I had never had a dog and begged to get one after a few years of marriage. I brought him to Canine Corral in Huntington and he fell in love with Jake as fast as I did. I've proceeded to bring home Sammy, Joba and JJ successively. He falls in love every time. And I love that about him.
He loves baseball. He loves NASCAR. He loves cars. He loves his puppies. He adores me and he adores his kids. If you're a "friend," consider yourself lucky. He'll give you the shirt off his back.
He was determined to coach his son in baseball all the way to a District 34 championship. He knew it would take two years to build a championship team and he did just that. He freaking did it.
You have to admire a man who sets a goal and reaches it; whether it's winning a baseball championship, raising a family or being a good friend. Jamie met his best friend at the age of five who became his partner in crime, his best man, godfather to each other's first born sons and his friend whom he texts or talks with a couple of times a week, if not every day, some forty-seven years later. That speaks volumes for the kind of man Jamie has become.
He has traveled to White Plains for work for the last 20 years. I don't know how he does it. I'd have thrown in the towel a long time ago. His work ethic was ingrained in him by his parents, especially by his dad who worked for Grand Union for over 50 years. His dad gave him the very sage advice saying you'll never get rich working in the food industry but you'll always have a job. People have to eat. Jamie's stable profession allowed me to get involved in industries that were not as stable but gave me some great professional and personal experiences. I thank him for that.
Jamie is always striving to do more, to do better. I always like to remind him of the amazing accomplishments he has achieved...a long marriage, two amazing children and a good life. In the words of Clarence from It's A Wonderful Life, "Dear George, remember no man is a failure who has friends." In that and many other respects, Jamie is not lacking, to say the least.
So today I celebrate Jamie on his birthday. Happy birthday, my love. Thank you for being a great friend, life traveler, husband and parent.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Snowberia
At 11 pm last night, I knew there would be no school today. It was thundersnow. Seriously. The dogs went out and took a while for them to come back in. Got the call at 5 am that school was closed. Settled back into sleep. Up at 7:30 to let the dogs out, grab a cup of coffee and kiss my husband goodbye as he headed off to work.
There's a couple of things that made me go Hmmmmm today. My 14 year old headed out with the snow blower in his entrepreneurial spirit to make a few bucks. Snow fatigue must be setting in with the locals. The last time he ventured out, he got one customer. That's when he told me, "You know, Mom, people in Dix Hills must have a lot of money. Everyone has a service to plow their driveway!" For the record, we don't. We invested in a snow blower. I believe it was an anniversary present from my husband to me on our second anniversary???? We had a long chat after that. I've not received any sort of maintenance equipment since then unless specifically requested by ME. Does a Dyson count as maintenance equipment? I digress. You can finish that sentence, Stephanie ;)
James had three customers today. He worked hard with his buddies Matt and Cameron. The younger boys, Joe and Logan, helped me dig out Jamie's car for which I compensated them (a whopping $10 each) but they were thrilled. Back to the big boys. They are polite, young gentleman. Cam came back looking for water because they were all hot from snow blowing, a seeming oxymoron, I know. He knocked on the door and asked for water. When James and Matt came back, I made cheeseburgers for them. Matt thanked me over and over and over. He helped us re-shovel the end of the driveway after the fabulous town plows plowed over the end of my driveway for the third time today.
It was a snow day today and I succeeded in making it my version of a snow day. I always dream that on a snow day, I'll bake and the house will smell amazing and I'll watch old movies. So today I baked bread, baked cupcakes, watched the Big Chill (ironic, I know) and grilled cheeseburgers. Not bad for a snow day.
Today's snow day proved true a proof. Water seeks its own level. And that makes me happy.
There's a couple of things that made me go Hmmmmm today. My 14 year old headed out with the snow blower in his entrepreneurial spirit to make a few bucks. Snow fatigue must be setting in with the locals. The last time he ventured out, he got one customer. That's when he told me, "You know, Mom, people in Dix Hills must have a lot of money. Everyone has a service to plow their driveway!" For the record, we don't. We invested in a snow blower. I believe it was an anniversary present from my husband to me on our second anniversary???? We had a long chat after that. I've not received any sort of maintenance equipment since then unless specifically requested by ME. Does a Dyson count as maintenance equipment? I digress. You can finish that sentence, Stephanie ;)
James had three customers today. He worked hard with his buddies Matt and Cameron. The younger boys, Joe and Logan, helped me dig out Jamie's car for which I compensated them (a whopping $10 each) but they were thrilled. Back to the big boys. They are polite, young gentleman. Cam came back looking for water because they were all hot from snow blowing, a seeming oxymoron, I know. He knocked on the door and asked for water. When James and Matt came back, I made cheeseburgers for them. Matt thanked me over and over and over. He helped us re-shovel the end of the driveway after the fabulous town plows plowed over the end of my driveway for the third time today.
It was a snow day today and I succeeded in making it my version of a snow day. I always dream that on a snow day, I'll bake and the house will smell amazing and I'll watch old movies. So today I baked bread, baked cupcakes, watched the Big Chill (ironic, I know) and grilled cheeseburgers. Not bad for a snow day.
Today's snow day proved true a proof. Water seeks its own level. And that makes me happy.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
I can see Alaska in my backyard!
Of late, I have been feeling a bit Palinish. Let me explain. I feel like I live in Alaska. Last night, I was in my pajamas and my big fuzzy robe at 9:30 pm. I like to stay up a bit later at night than the rest of the family so I can get a little unwind time. However, this cold weather has me in hibernation mode. I do remember this happening last year as well when the bitter cold settled in. I just don't want to move, go out, bear the bitter cold, do anything. I'm becoming a polar bear and if you had seen me in my big white fuzzy robe, you would think I'm starting to resemble one as well!
So I settled in upstairs in my big fuzzy robe to watch Housewives and catch the big Nene vs Kim battle continuum. Except that Jamie decided to go to bed early as well. Scratch those plans.
Headed downstairs to my chilly living room (58 degrees on a 9 degree night makes for extra chilly) and caught the end of Housewives as well as Big Love.
Still made it to bed by 11 pm and was up at 5:30 to do my daily run. I'm going to try to fight night time hibernation by getting up earlier and moving.
Another foot of snow possible this Wednesday/Thursday is not helping the cause but I am up for this sisyphean task.
Relax, Jamie and anyone else who has not heard of Sisyphus but has heard of Sparknotes. Parents with middle school/high school aged kids know of which I speak. Here is a helpful link:
So I settled in upstairs in my big fuzzy robe to watch Housewives and catch the big Nene vs Kim battle continuum. Except that Jamie decided to go to bed early as well. Scratch those plans.
Headed downstairs to my chilly living room (58 degrees on a 9 degree night makes for extra chilly) and caught the end of Housewives as well as Big Love.
Still made it to bed by 11 pm and was up at 5:30 to do my daily run. I'm going to try to fight night time hibernation by getting up earlier and moving.
Another foot of snow possible this Wednesday/Thursday is not helping the cause but I am up for this sisyphean task.
Relax, Jamie and anyone else who has not heard of Sisyphus but has heard of Sparknotes. Parents with middle school/high school aged kids know of which I speak. Here is a helpful link:
http://www.sparknotes.com/philosophy/sisyphus/section11.rhtml
Wow, I'm deeper than I thought.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
F**K!
I love my children dearly but I'm having some issues dealing with the teenager. Generally, he's a good, polite kid. He does really well in school and I really don't have to nag him about cleaning up his room. I do have to nag him about putting away his laundry. It does eventually get done.
The moods are what kill me. The grunts for responses are just not acceptable. The eye-rolling, which I see through the back of my head, destroys me. The "How was your baseball clinic?" with the non-responsive "fine" slays me and utterly maddens my husband.
I've ignored it for the last few days but today he said just the right thing in just the wrong way. And I wigged. The dogs ran for cover, Joseph made sure everything was done when I asked him for something and I dropped a few choice words on my teenage son that were ever so much more descriptive than "fine" or a grunt.
He knew how I felt. I'm the yeller in the house. I admit it. Jamie gets really quiet and I get really loud. It's why we work, I suppose.
If you want to know what I said to James, watch the end of the Jets game and read Rex Ryan's lips as Big Bad Ben got the first down.
The moods are what kill me. The grunts for responses are just not acceptable. The eye-rolling, which I see through the back of my head, destroys me. The "How was your baseball clinic?" with the non-responsive "fine" slays me and utterly maddens my husband.
I've ignored it for the last few days but today he said just the right thing in just the wrong way. And I wigged. The dogs ran for cover, Joseph made sure everything was done when I asked him for something and I dropped a few choice words on my teenage son that were ever so much more descriptive than "fine" or a grunt.
He knew how I felt. I'm the yeller in the house. I admit it. Jamie gets really quiet and I get really loud. It's why we work, I suppose.
If you want to know what I said to James, watch the end of the Jets game and read Rex Ryan's lips as Big Bad Ben got the first down.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Review
It's been an interesting couple of days, some of which I can't talk about right now. But the activities of the last few days have involved reviewing my professional career. I have an unbelievable rolodex. I was and still am a bad ass.
Sorry I can't say more that that right now but I am very cool. You don't get to stroll around the lot of Twentieth Century Fox in Hollywood just because...
It's been fun looking back at my professional career but the achievements I am most proud of are asleep upstairs in their beds right now. The J Crew. Night, everyone. Love ya, mean it :)
Sorry I can't say more that that right now but I am very cool. You don't get to stroll around the lot of Twentieth Century Fox in Hollywood just because...
It's been fun looking back at my professional career but the achievements I am most proud of are asleep upstairs in their beds right now. The J Crew. Night, everyone. Love ya, mean it :)
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Winter's Grip
We are deep in the grip of winter and I'm not liking it. Today was a particularly nasty weather day...icy streets, pouring rain, piles of snow. I'm tired of piling on layers of clothes and feeling like the Michelin man every time I leave the house.
Tonight I sat down to check email and do a little unwinding and turned on the Oprah Winfrey show. She is in Australia with a lucky group of viewers. I have had the great fortune to have traveled to Australia three times in my life and hope to travel there again sometime. She was in Queensland, spending time on the Great Barrier reef, a place I was lucky enough to travel to as well. It was one of the most unique and fantastic days of my life swimming on the reef. I snorkeled despite my fears. I was determined not to miss out on one of the 7 wonders of the world. The colors and kinds of fish were the like I've never seen before and hope to see again, next time with my sons if at all possible.
One young lady on the show today had never set foot in an ocean. She literally was wonderstruck at the feel of the salt water on her body and sat down in the buoyancy, fully dressed, just reveling in it.
I've had the great fortune to have traveled to many, many foreign countries and experienced some of the most wondrous times possible. I've had amazing times here at home, home being New York, as well and across these United States.
The simple pleasures that we take for granted are wondrous experiences to others. I can dip my feet in the ocean any time I like. That thought makes handling the cold that much easier.
Tonight I sat down to check email and do a little unwinding and turned on the Oprah Winfrey show. She is in Australia with a lucky group of viewers. I have had the great fortune to have traveled to Australia three times in my life and hope to travel there again sometime. She was in Queensland, spending time on the Great Barrier reef, a place I was lucky enough to travel to as well. It was one of the most unique and fantastic days of my life swimming on the reef. I snorkeled despite my fears. I was determined not to miss out on one of the 7 wonders of the world. The colors and kinds of fish were the like I've never seen before and hope to see again, next time with my sons if at all possible.
One young lady on the show today had never set foot in an ocean. She literally was wonderstruck at the feel of the salt water on her body and sat down in the buoyancy, fully dressed, just reveling in it.
I've had the great fortune to have traveled to many, many foreign countries and experienced some of the most wondrous times possible. I've had amazing times here at home, home being New York, as well and across these United States.
The simple pleasures that we take for granted are wondrous experiences to others. I can dip my feet in the ocean any time I like. That thought makes handling the cold that much easier.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Changed my mind
I have a draft of a scathing post about Cablevision and their suck-ass service that they've provided over the last 6 months. I've shelved it for now and want to tell you instead about a few products that make me happy. I like them and I think you might like them as well.
I love lavender laundry products. The aromatherapy lavender provides makes me smile every time I put on a freshly laundered piece of clothing. I stumbled upon a new softener at Walmart made by Purex. They are crystals that you put right into the washing machine, not in the softener dispenser, but right in the basket. They work in HE (high efficiency) machines (and regular machines) and don't leave that goopy mess that liquid softener can sometimes leave behind. Lavender blossom is my favorite fragrance followed by fresh spring water. Try it. You'll like it!
http://www.purex.com/products/softeners/purex-complete-crystals
I am a big proponent of skin care, especially in the wintertime. Your skin is the largest organ in the human body and probably gets the least amount of care! Hot showers and cold weather will takes it toll before you know it. Vaseline has come out with a new line of moisturizers called Intensive Rescue. My favorite is Repairing Moisture Lotion. I like a moisturizer to go on easily, not feel greasy, have a lasting effect on my skin all day and be reasonably priced. Repairing Moisture Lotion fits the bill. It comes in a pump making it easy to apply. Clinical Therapy is a great product as well but Repairing Lotion is better bang for your buck. Costco has it as well as Walmart.
http://vaseline.com/Carousel.aspx?Path=Consumer/OurProducts/IntensiveRescueRange/Home
Loreal has come out with a new line of skincare products called Youth Code. I purchased the Kit at Target for $29.99 with travel size versions of the three products - Day/Night cream, Day Lotion with SPF 30 and an eye serum. The products' average cost is $29.99. I used the products for about a week, liked the results of the cream and lotion but will pass on the eye serum. I really wasn't that impressed with that one product but have purchased the full sized version of the Day/Night cream. Kudos to Loreal for putting together a sample kit.
http://www.lorealparisusa.com/_us/_en/default.aspx#/?page=top{userdata//d+d//|diagnostic|main:youthcode|media:_blank|nav|overlay:_blank}
http://www.target.com/L%E2%80%99Oreal-Youth-Code-Kit/dp/B0047F9622/ref=sc_qi_detailbutton
Stay warm and safe tomorrow.
I love lavender laundry products. The aromatherapy lavender provides makes me smile every time I put on a freshly laundered piece of clothing. I stumbled upon a new softener at Walmart made by Purex. They are crystals that you put right into the washing machine, not in the softener dispenser, but right in the basket. They work in HE (high efficiency) machines (and regular machines) and don't leave that goopy mess that liquid softener can sometimes leave behind. Lavender blossom is my favorite fragrance followed by fresh spring water. Try it. You'll like it!
http://www.purex.com/products/softeners/purex-complete-crystals
I am a big proponent of skin care, especially in the wintertime. Your skin is the largest organ in the human body and probably gets the least amount of care! Hot showers and cold weather will takes it toll before you know it. Vaseline has come out with a new line of moisturizers called Intensive Rescue. My favorite is Repairing Moisture Lotion. I like a moisturizer to go on easily, not feel greasy, have a lasting effect on my skin all day and be reasonably priced. Repairing Moisture Lotion fits the bill. It comes in a pump making it easy to apply. Clinical Therapy is a great product as well but Repairing Lotion is better bang for your buck. Costco has it as well as Walmart.
http://vaseline.com/Carousel.aspx?Path=Consumer/OurProducts/IntensiveRescueRange/Home
Loreal has come out with a new line of skincare products called Youth Code. I purchased the Kit at Target for $29.99 with travel size versions of the three products - Day/Night cream, Day Lotion with SPF 30 and an eye serum. The products' average cost is $29.99. I used the products for about a week, liked the results of the cream and lotion but will pass on the eye serum. I really wasn't that impressed with that one product but have purchased the full sized version of the Day/Night cream. Kudos to Loreal for putting together a sample kit.
http://www.lorealparisusa.com/_us/_en/default.aspx#/?page=top{userdata//d+d//|diagnostic|main:youthcode|media:_blank|nav|overlay:_blank}
http://www.target.com/L%E2%80%99Oreal-Youth-Code-Kit/dp/B0047F9622/ref=sc_qi_detailbutton
Stay warm and safe tomorrow.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS
Growing up with two brothers and one television in the house, I grew up a sports fan. Not a huge hockey fan but a huge fan of baseball, football and basketball. Now I'm a mother of two boys and I have a husband so I continue to be a huge sports fan. It's one way the whole family bonds.
I grew up in New York City so I've pretty much been a Jets fan all my life. If the Jets aren't in the playoffs, I'm happy to root for the Giants. But I'm a Jet fan. I remember Joe Namath as quarterback and his commercials on TV for Noxyzema (with Farrah Fawcett in her first national commercial), for pantyhose and his Broadway Joe persona. His electric personality made me a fan for life. So I've suffered for many years as a Jet fan, a situation that my friends who are Met fans are very familiar with but I don't have to suffer as a Yankee fan.
But tonight I was right. I knew the Jets could win. They had to overcome the humiliating 45-3 loss of last month. Rex Ryan had to put his money where his mouth is. In the last few years, Tom Brady has proven that he is beatable. There's a new kid in town and his name is Mark Sanchez.
So on a frigid Sunday in January, the Jets warmed everyone's hearts in New York. Special thanks to Shaun Ellis, a fellow Dix Hills resident, Santonio Holmes and Mark Sanchez for making me proud today. Go JETS.
I grew up in New York City so I've pretty much been a Jets fan all my life. If the Jets aren't in the playoffs, I'm happy to root for the Giants. But I'm a Jet fan. I remember Joe Namath as quarterback and his commercials on TV for Noxyzema (with Farrah Fawcett in her first national commercial), for pantyhose and his Broadway Joe persona. His electric personality made me a fan for life. So I've suffered for many years as a Jet fan, a situation that my friends who are Met fans are very familiar with but I don't have to suffer as a Yankee fan.
But tonight I was right. I knew the Jets could win. They had to overcome the humiliating 45-3 loss of last month. Rex Ryan had to put his money where his mouth is. In the last few years, Tom Brady has proven that he is beatable. There's a new kid in town and his name is Mark Sanchez.
So on a frigid Sunday in January, the Jets warmed everyone's hearts in New York. Special thanks to Shaun Ellis, a fellow Dix Hills resident, Santonio Holmes and Mark Sanchez for making me proud today. Go JETS.
The Auld Neighborhood
My mom is known to her ten grandchildren by the moniker of Nanny. James and I went into my old neighborhood for my dad's memorial mass today. I grew up in a little neighborhood called Inwood. It's at the tip of upper Manhattan and if you've ever seen the commercial for the Circle Line where they pass the big C rock, then you've seen my neighborhood.
James enjoys going back to my old neighborhood and meeting up with Nanny, Uncle Thomas, Aunt Mary Ellen and his cousins, Connor and Hunter, where he is regaled with stories from our childhood as we pass particular points in the neighborhood or as we sit eating lunch at the Piper's Kilt, our favorite lunch spot in the old neighborhood. For example, at mass today, I pointed out Mrs. Brady who was my fifth grade teacher. She is 91 years old. We were told that her mother is one of the miracles that led to the sainthood of Therese of Lisieux, Theresa was my chosen confirmation name.
I believe that our family is particularly blessed with quite a few storytellers. It's how memories live on and my son marvels at our family gatherings and how we remember so many of the details and keep track of all the people in our lives, both past and present.
James enjoyed his time with his family today. I enjoyed the quiet time we had in the car today where we got to have some good conversations meaning I got to ask him questions and he pretty much had to answer them because he had no where to go. Sometimes it's what we have to do as parents.
James said to me as we drove home I don't think I've ever seen Nanny laugh so much. It was fun to watch her laugh. It was cute that he noticed how Nanny feels. It's nice that my son understands he is not the center of the universe and cares about others.
Here's one of the jokes my brother told today that got us all laughing. If you've got a politically correct stomach, please stop reading now. If you're like me and just like a good joke, read on:
There's a church and a synagogue on opposite corners. The rabbi noticed there was a problem with rats in the synagogue. He decided to consult with the pastor of the local church to see what could be done. The rabbi entered the church whereupon the pastor greeted him warmly. How can I help you said the pastor? The rabbi explained the rat situation. The priest said, I have a solution. Gather up all the rats and I'll confirm them.
The rabbi felt the priest was probably mistaken but decided to humor him and hand over the keys to the synagogue. The rabbi was compelled to ask, how do you know if the rats are Jewish or Catholic? The priest replied, "It doesn't matter if the rats are Jewish or Catholic, once I confirm them, they never come back. "
BaDumpDump
James enjoys going back to my old neighborhood and meeting up with Nanny, Uncle Thomas, Aunt Mary Ellen and his cousins, Connor and Hunter, where he is regaled with stories from our childhood as we pass particular points in the neighborhood or as we sit eating lunch at the Piper's Kilt, our favorite lunch spot in the old neighborhood. For example, at mass today, I pointed out Mrs. Brady who was my fifth grade teacher. She is 91 years old. We were told that her mother is one of the miracles that led to the sainthood of Therese of Lisieux, Theresa was my chosen confirmation name.
I believe that our family is particularly blessed with quite a few storytellers. It's how memories live on and my son marvels at our family gatherings and how we remember so many of the details and keep track of all the people in our lives, both past and present.
James enjoyed his time with his family today. I enjoyed the quiet time we had in the car today where we got to have some good conversations meaning I got to ask him questions and he pretty much had to answer them because he had no where to go. Sometimes it's what we have to do as parents.
James said to me as we drove home I don't think I've ever seen Nanny laugh so much. It was fun to watch her laugh. It was cute that he noticed how Nanny feels. It's nice that my son understands he is not the center of the universe and cares about others.
Here's one of the jokes my brother told today that got us all laughing. If you've got a politically correct stomach, please stop reading now. If you're like me and just like a good joke, read on:
There's a church and a synagogue on opposite corners. The rabbi noticed there was a problem with rats in the synagogue. He decided to consult with the pastor of the local church to see what could be done. The rabbi entered the church whereupon the pastor greeted him warmly. How can I help you said the pastor? The rabbi explained the rat situation. The priest said, I have a solution. Gather up all the rats and I'll confirm them.
The rabbi felt the priest was probably mistaken but decided to humor him and hand over the keys to the synagogue. The rabbi was compelled to ask, how do you know if the rats are Jewish or Catholic? The priest replied, "It doesn't matter if the rats are Jewish or Catholic, once I confirm them, they never come back. "
BaDumpDump
Friday, January 14, 2011
Kato
I know a lot of crap. Useful-less information stuffed into my brain. The Green Hornet opened today and I'm actually excited about hopefully seeing it if I can convince one of my children to go with me.
A recent question on Jeopardy was who played Kato on the television series The Green Hornet. Jamie knew the answer. I did not. It was Bruce Lee.
I can give you the million reasons why I didn't know that answer. I am not a fan of the genre and Jamie is a huge fan of the milieu (see Chuck Norris, Walker Texas Ranger and Steven Seagal) as well as the cheesy cop genre. Side note: my friend's daughter was a flight attendant for a private airline that transported celebrities across the country at the behest of movie studios. When Steven Seagal was on board, they would have to clean the ceiling after his flight because he would stain the ceiling with his spray on hair. True story. But I digress as I am wont to do. If you follow me, please note the trend. Back to my story.
He's going to ride that sucker for the next twenty years. There will be no acknowledgement of the millions of questions I knew the answer to, just recognition of the one answer I did not know that he DID know.
His birthday is coming up at the end of the month. I will graciously allow him this victory. Happy early birthday, Jamie. Love ya, mean it.
A recent question on Jeopardy was who played Kato on the television series The Green Hornet. Jamie knew the answer. I did not. It was Bruce Lee.
I can give you the million reasons why I didn't know that answer. I am not a fan of the genre and Jamie is a huge fan of the milieu (see Chuck Norris, Walker Texas Ranger and Steven Seagal) as well as the cheesy cop genre. Side note: my friend's daughter was a flight attendant for a private airline that transported celebrities across the country at the behest of movie studios. When Steven Seagal was on board, they would have to clean the ceiling after his flight because he would stain the ceiling with his spray on hair. True story. But I digress as I am wont to do. If you follow me, please note the trend. Back to my story.
He's going to ride that sucker for the next twenty years. There will be no acknowledgement of the millions of questions I knew the answer to, just recognition of the one answer I did not know that he DID know.
His birthday is coming up at the end of the month. I will graciously allow him this victory. Happy early birthday, Jamie. Love ya, mean it.
Papa Tony
As I write this blog at just past midnight, I would like to pay tribute to my dad, Anthony Dixon. Today is the five year anniversary of my dad's passing. He was too young. He was just 65.
My dad was a quiet man. He had a great sense of humor, he loved playing the accordion, he was proud to be Irish and he loved his family. I can still remember him at family gatherings, cigarette in hand, legs crossed, guffawing at a joke. My mom was the driving force behind all of us when it came to education but he couldn't have been prouder of all of our accomplishments.
He was a handsome man with a fine head of hair. His bar buddies used to tease him that he used shoe black to keep his hair dark but he was just blessed with great hair. He was the McSteamy of his generation when it came to hair.
We have quite a few Anthony's in our family, more than one would expect for an Irish family. I'm not sure why but the Irish have an affinity for St. Anthony of Padua hence the preponderance of Anthony's in our Irish family. My dad, a few cousins and it's my son's confirmation name in honor of his Papa Tony.
He loved a good sweater vest. It was one of my favorite tasks to find him the best sweater vest I could each Christmas and he would wear them proudly.
No relationships are perfect. My relationship with my father certainly wasn't perfect but we knew we loved each other. The Irish are not known for their open displays of affection. I've certainly made some conscious decisions to say I love you to those that I love. One of my proudest achievements is that my children are really never embarrassed to hug me and say 'I love you' to me every night or at random times when I'm not expecting it. When they have family visiting, they go right up without hesitation and hug and kiss their aunts, uncles, Nanny, loved ones. Those times are the most special.
Daddy was surrounded by all these grandsons, six boys born from 1995 to 2000, (Peter - James - Connor - Stephen - Hunter - Joseph) a fine pack of boys. We lost him early but he lived to see all of his grandchildren born. That's quite an accomplishment, all things considered.
My cousin Jamie Dixon is the head coach of the Pitt men's basketball team. To see him is to see my dad. Jamie (my husband) once asked me if it freaked me out to see him. Even he could see the resemblance. I said no, I actually loved it. I find it comforting. Tony Dixon lives on in so many ways.
So today I pay tribute to my dad. I see my son every day and as much as he looks like Jamie, his quiet manner reminds me so much of my dad. That pleases me greatly.
I weep as I write this. Papa Tony, know that you are loved and you are missed.
My dad was a quiet man. He had a great sense of humor, he loved playing the accordion, he was proud to be Irish and he loved his family. I can still remember him at family gatherings, cigarette in hand, legs crossed, guffawing at a joke. My mom was the driving force behind all of us when it came to education but he couldn't have been prouder of all of our accomplishments.
He was a handsome man with a fine head of hair. His bar buddies used to tease him that he used shoe black to keep his hair dark but he was just blessed with great hair. He was the McSteamy of his generation when it came to hair.
We have quite a few Anthony's in our family, more than one would expect for an Irish family. I'm not sure why but the Irish have an affinity for St. Anthony of Padua hence the preponderance of Anthony's in our Irish family. My dad, a few cousins and it's my son's confirmation name in honor of his Papa Tony.
He loved a good sweater vest. It was one of my favorite tasks to find him the best sweater vest I could each Christmas and he would wear them proudly.
No relationships are perfect. My relationship with my father certainly wasn't perfect but we knew we loved each other. The Irish are not known for their open displays of affection. I've certainly made some conscious decisions to say I love you to those that I love. One of my proudest achievements is that my children are really never embarrassed to hug me and say 'I love you' to me every night or at random times when I'm not expecting it. When they have family visiting, they go right up without hesitation and hug and kiss their aunts, uncles, Nanny, loved ones. Those times are the most special.
Daddy was surrounded by all these grandsons, six boys born from 1995 to 2000, (Peter - James - Connor - Stephen - Hunter - Joseph) a fine pack of boys. We lost him early but he lived to see all of his grandchildren born. That's quite an accomplishment, all things considered.
My cousin Jamie Dixon is the head coach of the Pitt men's basketball team. To see him is to see my dad. Jamie (my husband) once asked me if it freaked me out to see him. Even he could see the resemblance. I said no, I actually loved it. I find it comforting. Tony Dixon lives on in so many ways.
So today I pay tribute to my dad. I see my son every day and as much as he looks like Jamie, his quiet manner reminds me so much of my dad. That pleases me greatly.
I weep as I write this. Papa Tony, know that you are loved and you are missed.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Snow Day
Today was a snow day which was in the planning since yesterday. I was out running errands in the early evening yesterday when I got the first text from James saying school is closed tomorrow and a request for a sleepover. I said yes as I am wont to do. I use the word "wont" a lot because it's a great word and I don't think it's used often enough.
Jamie had to head out to work and James asked him to show him how to use the snow blower. I give James credit for even wanting to head out and clear driveways. I watched Jamie explain how to use the snow blower. Every time I use the snow blower, and yes, I have, I have to call Jamie and ask him how to start it up. On one occasion, I was snow blowing (don't go there, people) in my fur coat (yes, I have one and they are really warm; get off my ass, PETA) and I fell. My next door neighbor thinks people falling in the snow is hilarious. But I digress.
James got it immediately. Men really are from Mars and women really are from Venus. He went around the neighborhood trying to clear driveways with little success. But he tried anyway. And he did the next door neighbor's house. He wasn't getting paid, he did it because he is a good kid.
It was a really good snow day. A sleep over, pancake breakfast, hours in the snow and then sledding for the boys. I opted to tackle the dreaded task of cleaning up the guest room, aka holiday catch-all room, and got it done.
I always have great dreams of snow days. I'll be sitting on the couch sipping hot chocolate enjoying a movie. It never seems to work that way. I worry that the boys are staying out too long in the cold, how's James doing with the snow blower, is anyone suffering from frost bite?
My point here is it's a snow day. Hearken back to your youth. Go play in the snow. Sometimes it's just what we need.
PS Thanks for the sledding pics, Sue.
Jamie had to head out to work and James asked him to show him how to use the snow blower. I give James credit for even wanting to head out and clear driveways. I watched Jamie explain how to use the snow blower. Every time I use the snow blower, and yes, I have, I have to call Jamie and ask him how to start it up. On one occasion, I was snow blowing (don't go there, people) in my fur coat (yes, I have one and they are really warm; get off my ass, PETA) and I fell. My next door neighbor thinks people falling in the snow is hilarious. But I digress.
James got it immediately. Men really are from Mars and women really are from Venus. He went around the neighborhood trying to clear driveways with little success. But he tried anyway. And he did the next door neighbor's house. He wasn't getting paid, he did it because he is a good kid.
It was a really good snow day. A sleep over, pancake breakfast, hours in the snow and then sledding for the boys. I opted to tackle the dreaded task of cleaning up the guest room, aka holiday catch-all room, and got it done.
I always have great dreams of snow days. I'll be sitting on the couch sipping hot chocolate enjoying a movie. It never seems to work that way. I worry that the boys are staying out too long in the cold, how's James doing with the snow blower, is anyone suffering from frost bite?
My point here is it's a snow day. Hearken back to your youth. Go play in the snow. Sometimes it's just what we need.
PS Thanks for the sledding pics, Sue.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Words
James has a field trip tomorrow and requested a Subway sandwich for lunch. As I was heading out the door to pick one up, I heard a Jeopardy question in the background. What word means old as in before time? I don't remember the category but I knew the answer. Anti-diluvian. As in before the Flood, before the time of Moses.
My husband and sons don't really like when I play Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune. I'm pretty good at both games. I am a fount of seemingly useless information (see my first post) which helps when it comes to playing Jeopardy. I was an English major in college which helps when playing Wheel of Fortune. None of this helps when you answer "anti-diluvian" and your son says get out. You're not fun to play with. This time it's my 14 year old, not my 10 year old (see Beating Your Children post).
I love words. I was once called a lackey by an old (as in anti-diluvian) woman who demanded to see the owner of an establishment in order to get satisfaction regarding a missing mirror from her car. She felt that a professional thief had stolen her mirror from her car outside this particular establishment. I looked at the car, analyzed the deep gashes down the entire length of the car and deemed her professional car mirror thief hypothesis lacking. The lackey found her story lacking.
I love words.
My husband and sons don't really like when I play Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune. I'm pretty good at both games. I am a fount of seemingly useless information (see my first post) which helps when it comes to playing Jeopardy. I was an English major in college which helps when playing Wheel of Fortune. None of this helps when you answer "anti-diluvian" and your son says get out. You're not fun to play with. This time it's my 14 year old, not my 10 year old (see Beating Your Children post).
I love words. I was once called a lackey by an old (as in anti-diluvian) woman who demanded to see the owner of an establishment in order to get satisfaction regarding a missing mirror from her car. She felt that a professional thief had stolen her mirror from her car outside this particular establishment. I looked at the car, analyzed the deep gashes down the entire length of the car and deemed her professional car mirror thief hypothesis lacking. The lackey found her story lacking.
I love words.
Ding Dong
a mouse is dead. I don't know if it is THE mouse but a mouse is lying in repose on a mouse trap in the playroom under a tissue.
I ran 3 miles next to the corpus delecti. He got snared by the trap next to the treadmill. Jamie has a job when he gets home from work tonight.
No sign of the cricket.
I ran 3 miles next to the corpus delecti. He got snared by the trap next to the treadmill. Jamie has a job when he gets home from work tonight.
No sign of the cricket.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Of Mice and Me
I run every day on my treadmill, 3 miles. There are those who feel that's not really running but at least I move my *ss every day. Today was kind of a lazy day for me. After hanging out in my pj's all day, I decided I needed to do something so I did my run. I headed down to the playroom where my exercise equipment is set up. I watched Grey's Anatomy and part of season 2 of the Jersey Shore. Yes, I know the Jersey Shore is pure trash but it is one of my guilty pleasures and makes the run go quickly.
I'm done with my run and was watching Pauly D trashing JWoww when something moving on the carpet caught my eye. Yes. A mouse. And he was ballsy. He was black and furry looking. No, it was not a rat, it was a mouse. But he took his time strolling across the carpet. I WATCHED him. He didn't streak across, he STROLLED, like he's been spending time down in the playroom, making himself at home, familiarizing himself with the layout.
I didn't scream. I EEEKED. I turned off my TIVO (side note: don't ever let anyone tell you can replace TIVO with Optimum DVR - there is just no comparison) and TV and proceeded to climb over an end table and a couch to stay as far away from the mouse just in case he decided to pop back out from under the television stand.
I'm not a fan of the mouse. They move too fast and you don't know where they're going to go. I know I should not be afraid of them but they just freak me out. Which brings me to crickets. I'm not a fan of crickets. They move too fast and you don't know where they are going to go. They jump and get startled by the big human and you never know where they're going to land.
There has been a cricket in my playroom for the last three months. He came in somewhere around September when the weather started to cool off and when I come down in the morning to do my run, he jumps out at me when I turn the lights on. Freaks me out every morning.
Until today. No cricket. Just a mouse. Are you thinking what I'm thinking????
Christmas Day Redux
I love Christmas Day. It is indubitably my favorite holiday of the year. Ask my kids. I do the Christmas tree, outside decorations, the whole magilla. My kids have been very enthusiastic about Christmas and pretty good about helping me out with the decorating. That sense of enthusiasm has waned in the last few years when it comes to set up and take down but they do love it once it's all up.
But one thing they never tire of is our second Christmas with Auntie ZaZa and Uncle Ferd. Fred and Arzel are our dear friends that we met at West Shore Marina over twenty five years ago. They have the title of aunt and uncle and they are Joe's godparents. Every year we celebrate a second Christmas with them. We almost enjoy it more than Christmas Day!
Last night, we celebrated our delayed second Christmas. Fred and Arzel went to Florida for six days and got caught up in the snow storm debacle, hence the delayed celebration. We drank a lot of wine last night, hence the delayed blog. We ate a side of beef, we drank exquisite wine (Opus One/Cakebread/Cornerstone), we exchanged gifts, we played Guitar Hero, we played ShitHead (yes, it's a real game involving a hat with velcro and fabric turds and a points system. Joe won!) and generally had a blast.
Our friendship has lasted so very long. Jamie and I were dating when we first met them and they've been through everything with us. Engagement, wedding, births, deaths. They were the first people to see both of my children when they were born. I treasure them.
At one of our recent dinners, we created a new game, Dead or Gone. I know it sounds morbid but it's actually a fun game. Play along with me. Think about the people, particularly your friends, who were at your wedding. Are they still in your life? It was very interesting to see who is still in our lives from twenty years ago. I am thrilled to have them in my life and I hope you're lucky enough to have a Fred and Arzel in your life as well.
But one thing they never tire of is our second Christmas with Auntie ZaZa and Uncle Ferd. Fred and Arzel are our dear friends that we met at West Shore Marina over twenty five years ago. They have the title of aunt and uncle and they are Joe's godparents. Every year we celebrate a second Christmas with them. We almost enjoy it more than Christmas Day!
Last night, we celebrated our delayed second Christmas. Fred and Arzel went to Florida for six days and got caught up in the snow storm debacle, hence the delayed celebration. We drank a lot of wine last night, hence the delayed blog. We ate a side of beef, we drank exquisite wine (Opus One/Cakebread/Cornerstone), we exchanged gifts, we played Guitar Hero, we played ShitHead (yes, it's a real game involving a hat with velcro and fabric turds and a points system. Joe won!) and generally had a blast.
Our friendship has lasted so very long. Jamie and I were dating when we first met them and they've been through everything with us. Engagement, wedding, births, deaths. They were the first people to see both of my children when they were born. I treasure them.
At one of our recent dinners, we created a new game, Dead or Gone. I know it sounds morbid but it's actually a fun game. Play along with me. Think about the people, particularly your friends, who were at your wedding. Are they still in your life? It was very interesting to see who is still in our lives from twenty years ago. I am thrilled to have them in my life and I hope you're lucky enough to have a Fred and Arzel in your life as well.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Dimples & A Smirk
OK. If there are children in the room, please make them leave now. This is a slightly adult topic. All clear? OK.
I was tucking Joe into bed last night as I do every night which I am thrilled I still am allowed to do and he still wants. He had a pile of cotton Yankee boxers on top of his dresser. I asked him if they didn't fit or did he not want them anymore because Santa brought him the UnderArmour boxers which he has been asking for the last few months. He said it was a combo of both reasons. I started to have a conversation with him about the benefits of cotton boxers versus microfiber/poly blend boxers with regards to testicles. I started to explain about heat and testicles but it was late at night, I was tired and Joseph was smirking. I said to him, "Is it weird to hear your mom say testicles?" The double dimples appeared and he said, "Yes." I let him off the hook and said we would talk about it at another time.
Around 2:30 pm today, I got a phone call from Joe's teacher. We all know phone calls from teachers generally are not good news. I heard her voice and said what's wrong. She filled me in on an incident at recess today. There was some teasing going on. It involved 3 boys and 1 girl. I will not name names here to protect the young, the innocent and not so innocent. Evidently one kid made a comment about someone's face ie How's your face? Joe told me that another boy asked him, "How's your vagina?" The vagina comment was not directed to a girl. It was directed at my son. The boy who ALLEGEDLY made the comment claimed that Joe said the word vagina.
Deeply drawn-in horrified breath as the teacher said those words to me. I said to the teacher I can pretty much guarantee that Joe did not say that word. Maybe Joe repeated that word. He did not make that comment.
I was not in a place where I could have a drawn out conversation with the teacher or bring up the fact that I said the word testicles to Joe last night and the double dimples came out. Double dimples on Joseph means he is roaring laughing inside but is not sure that he should be laughing outside. I am very upfront with my children and honest about physiology. We use anatomically correct terms. Vaginas are vaginas in my house. They are not hoo haas, vajayjays or pussy willows. Penises are penises. I am a very direct person and I am direct with my children. It's a dangerous world we live in and they need to understand that no one is allowed to touch their bodies.
When the teacher told me that Joseph may have used the word vagina, I knew she was wrong. The kid cracked up at the word testicles. There is no way in hell he used the word vagina. He knows the word. It would have sent him into paroxysm of laughter to the point that he couldn't breathe. He didn't use it. I asked him what he said in response to that question and he told me he thought it was the dumbest comment ever.
When I asked him about recess and the use of the word vagina, the double dimples appeared. I have heard my son on PS3 and I have observed his aggressiveness. The only word that kid would have used begins with p and ends with y. I wore out the word vagina tonight and Joe was cracking up every time he heard it. He swore up and down that he never said it and I believe him.
That conversation led to manginas, murses and even more ridiculous terms that could apply to this situation. My 14 year old and his friend could be heard snickering and snorting in the other room. Jamie gave some advice to Joe that I totally agreed with and was advice that I don't think James' friend had ever heard but loved hearing.
I found it ironic that in 24 hours I got to use the words testicles and vagina in conversations with my ten year old. And he giggled every time he heard those words. It's why I still get to cuddle with him every night and tuck him into bed. Thank God.
I was tucking Joe into bed last night as I do every night which I am thrilled I still am allowed to do and he still wants. He had a pile of cotton Yankee boxers on top of his dresser. I asked him if they didn't fit or did he not want them anymore because Santa brought him the UnderArmour boxers which he has been asking for the last few months. He said it was a combo of both reasons. I started to have a conversation with him about the benefits of cotton boxers versus microfiber/poly blend boxers with regards to testicles. I started to explain about heat and testicles but it was late at night, I was tired and Joseph was smirking. I said to him, "Is it weird to hear your mom say testicles?" The double dimples appeared and he said, "Yes." I let him off the hook and said we would talk about it at another time.
Around 2:30 pm today, I got a phone call from Joe's teacher. We all know phone calls from teachers generally are not good news. I heard her voice and said what's wrong. She filled me in on an incident at recess today. There was some teasing going on. It involved 3 boys and 1 girl. I will not name names here to protect the young, the innocent and not so innocent. Evidently one kid made a comment about someone's face ie How's your face? Joe told me that another boy asked him, "How's your vagina?" The vagina comment was not directed to a girl. It was directed at my son. The boy who ALLEGEDLY made the comment claimed that Joe said the word vagina.
Deeply drawn-in horrified breath as the teacher said those words to me. I said to the teacher I can pretty much guarantee that Joe did not say that word. Maybe Joe repeated that word. He did not make that comment.
I was not in a place where I could have a drawn out conversation with the teacher or bring up the fact that I said the word testicles to Joe last night and the double dimples came out. Double dimples on Joseph means he is roaring laughing inside but is not sure that he should be laughing outside. I am very upfront with my children and honest about physiology. We use anatomically correct terms. Vaginas are vaginas in my house. They are not hoo haas, vajayjays or pussy willows. Penises are penises. I am a very direct person and I am direct with my children. It's a dangerous world we live in and they need to understand that no one is allowed to touch their bodies.
When the teacher told me that Joseph may have used the word vagina, I knew she was wrong. The kid cracked up at the word testicles. There is no way in hell he used the word vagina. He knows the word. It would have sent him into paroxysm of laughter to the point that he couldn't breathe. He didn't use it. I asked him what he said in response to that question and he told me he thought it was the dumbest comment ever.
When I asked him about recess and the use of the word vagina, the double dimples appeared. I have heard my son on PS3 and I have observed his aggressiveness. The only word that kid would have used begins with p and ends with y. I wore out the word vagina tonight and Joe was cracking up every time he heard it. He swore up and down that he never said it and I believe him.
That conversation led to manginas, murses and even more ridiculous terms that could apply to this situation. My 14 year old and his friend could be heard snickering and snorting in the other room. Jamie gave some advice to Joe that I totally agreed with and was advice that I don't think James' friend had ever heard but loved hearing.
I found it ironic that in 24 hours I got to use the words testicles and vagina in conversations with my ten year old. And he giggled every time he heard those words. It's why I still get to cuddle with him every night and tuck him into bed. Thank God.
New Year, New Beginnings
I like to think of January as clean up time. It's a new year. You pack up Christmas and I find it's a good opportunity to do some extra clean up. Christmas presents come in so that usually means making room for new stuff and getting rid of old stuff.
Which brings me to my husband.
No, I don't mean it that way. But even I am chuckling here reading that sentence. No, I'm not chuckling, I'm actually laughing my ass off.
I love my husband dearly. We've been together 26 years and married 20 years. I still believe our biggest accomplishment (besides my 2 sons for which I take most of the credit - you moms know what I mean) is that we still actually LIKE each other. I will love him always. He is the father of my sons but I would actually choose to spend time with him most days of the week.
My husband is a good looking man. It was his eyes that drew me to him in the first place. They are beautiful, green and framed with long lashes. Maybelline has no stake in him. Jamie has admittedly struggled with his weight over the last 20 years of marriage, certainly not due to my cooking. I am a good cook but my culinary skills will not be the reason my husband and children loved me. Nor will the number of dinners I served be stamped on my tombstone. My husband adores me because he was and is a handful and I love him. My children know that I am possibly one of the coolest moms on the planet. Not too many moms would stay for SIX overtimes at an NCAA basketball game until 1:30 am and get home at 3 am. That's the kind of mom I am. I digress. Back to the topic at hand.
I did not marry my husband for his looks but it certainly didn't hurt. When I married Jamie, an acquaintance once said she's marrying a fat guy, that leaves the good looking ones for the rest of us. I think she would take those words back. She said them when she was young and foolish and judgmental. I know she would not say that today. She would admire him for the amazing husband and father that he has grown up to be (yes, I know it's a dangling participle but it is after midnight. Forgive me).
Jamie has been enjoying food for the last year or so, hence the application of weight. It recently got to the point that there were sounds coming out of his body that very closely resembled a garbage truck. It honestly did not surprise me as I observed him at dinner the night before wherein he shoveled food into his body as though it was his last meal. A death row inmate had nothing on him. Just before New Year's Eve, I told him the party was over. It was time. Come January 3, he could no longer treat his body in such a malevolent manner. He agreed. I think. He came home from work the next day with band-aids on his fingers from injuries sustained from putting on his pants. I kid you not. 'Nuff said. He's bought into the treat your body sort of like it's a temple.
New Year. New Beginnings.
Next time remind me to tell you about the conversation I had with Joseph tonight about cotton boxers and why they are good for your testicles.
I so crack myself up.
Which brings me to my husband.
No, I don't mean it that way. But even I am chuckling here reading that sentence. No, I'm not chuckling, I'm actually laughing my ass off.
I love my husband dearly. We've been together 26 years and married 20 years. I still believe our biggest accomplishment (besides my 2 sons for which I take most of the credit - you moms know what I mean) is that we still actually LIKE each other. I will love him always. He is the father of my sons but I would actually choose to spend time with him most days of the week.
My husband is a good looking man. It was his eyes that drew me to him in the first place. They are beautiful, green and framed with long lashes. Maybelline has no stake in him. Jamie has admittedly struggled with his weight over the last 20 years of marriage, certainly not due to my cooking. I am a good cook but my culinary skills will not be the reason my husband and children loved me. Nor will the number of dinners I served be stamped on my tombstone. My husband adores me because he was and is a handful and I love him. My children know that I am possibly one of the coolest moms on the planet. Not too many moms would stay for SIX overtimes at an NCAA basketball game until 1:30 am and get home at 3 am. That's the kind of mom I am. I digress. Back to the topic at hand.
I did not marry my husband for his looks but it certainly didn't hurt. When I married Jamie, an acquaintance once said she's marrying a fat guy, that leaves the good looking ones for the rest of us. I think she would take those words back. She said them when she was young and foolish and judgmental. I know she would not say that today. She would admire him for the amazing husband and father that he has grown up to be (yes, I know it's a dangling participle but it is after midnight. Forgive me).
Jamie has been enjoying food for the last year or so, hence the application of weight. It recently got to the point that there were sounds coming out of his body that very closely resembled a garbage truck. It honestly did not surprise me as I observed him at dinner the night before wherein he shoveled food into his body as though it was his last meal. A death row inmate had nothing on him. Just before New Year's Eve, I told him the party was over. It was time. Come January 3, he could no longer treat his body in such a malevolent manner. He agreed. I think. He came home from work the next day with band-aids on his fingers from injuries sustained from putting on his pants. I kid you not. 'Nuff said. He's bought into the treat your body sort of like it's a temple.
New Year. New Beginnings.
Next time remind me to tell you about the conversation I had with Joseph tonight about cotton boxers and why they are good for your testicles.
I so crack myself up.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Dichotomy
I met two interesting gentlemen today. They couldn't have been more different in personalities and life choices.
Scott is the owner of a sports memorabilia store here in our area. I went there today to purchase gifts. Jamie has been a patron for years so I took his recommendation and went there to shop. I walked into the store, he asked if he could help me and I took him up on his offer. I explained what I was looking for, my price range and areas of interest. When I told him my price range and the sports personalities I was interested in, another gentleman in the store snorted and started laughing.
Being the not born here but bred in New York girl that I am, I said out loud is he laughing at me? Scott immediately clarified that the gentleman in question did not work for him. I ignored the fool and Scott helped me make my selections and then headed to the back of the store to get my purchases ready.
Snort Guy wandered over to me and started engaging me in conversation. Now here's the thing. People like talking to me and even more so, like telling me their life story. I'm not sure what it is...but I seem to be a life story magnet. I enjoy it. I love hearing how people came to be who they are...what circumstances brought them to cross paths with me intrigues me.
As it happens, this guy was an art dealer who spent a lot of time traveling across the country in a truck for the last 30 years attending art auctions and running charity auctions. Let me correct myself, he was not actually the art dealer, he worked for the art dealer as I discovered when he told me that he should have been a millionaire for all the money he made for the owners. He said he sacrificed a regular life because he loved being on the road. He was clearly bitter about dealers and the money they made. As I spent more time with him, I noted his threadbare jacket, his worn out LL Bean boots with no heels, his too short jeans above the boots. He was extremely knowledgeable about sports, every sport, every team, insane knowledge, idiot savant/RainMan like.
He finally took his leave and that brings me to Scott. Based on the conversation I witnessed between Scott and Snort Guy, I guessed they knew each other for a couple of years. Not so. Today was the first time they had ever met. Scott told me about a few personalities he had met over the year similar to Snort Guy....filled with knowledge but no ability to apply that knowledge to every day practical situations, blaming other people for what went wrong in their lives.
We chatted some more and he told me about his daughter, Hannah, who had passed away at the age of 14 months after an 8 month battle with illness and his daughter, Samantha, who is now 14 months old and was born after five years of trying to conceive. He showed me pictures of his daughters, gorgeous, dark haired, big rosy cheeks, big dark eyes, gorgeous girls. Hannah Molly was named for his father who was killed crossing the street when Scott was 19 and for Scott's beloved grandmother. Scott said he named his daughter after the two people he loved the most and he lost all three. Hannah and Sam look very much alike.
Here's the thing. Snort Guy decided to blame the lack of success in his life on others. He acknowledged his life choices led him to where he is in life today. Scott, who in my opinion had every reason to want to curl up and die, forged ahead by having another baby and setting up a charitable foundation in the memory of his beloved Hannah.
The dichotomy of those personalities touched me today.
Scott is the owner of a sports memorabilia store here in our area. I went there today to purchase gifts. Jamie has been a patron for years so I took his recommendation and went there to shop. I walked into the store, he asked if he could help me and I took him up on his offer. I explained what I was looking for, my price range and areas of interest. When I told him my price range and the sports personalities I was interested in, another gentleman in the store snorted and started laughing.
Being the not born here but bred in New York girl that I am, I said out loud is he laughing at me? Scott immediately clarified that the gentleman in question did not work for him. I ignored the fool and Scott helped me make my selections and then headed to the back of the store to get my purchases ready.
Snort Guy wandered over to me and started engaging me in conversation. Now here's the thing. People like talking to me and even more so, like telling me their life story. I'm not sure what it is...but I seem to be a life story magnet. I enjoy it. I love hearing how people came to be who they are...what circumstances brought them to cross paths with me intrigues me.
As it happens, this guy was an art dealer who spent a lot of time traveling across the country in a truck for the last 30 years attending art auctions and running charity auctions. Let me correct myself, he was not actually the art dealer, he worked for the art dealer as I discovered when he told me that he should have been a millionaire for all the money he made for the owners. He said he sacrificed a regular life because he loved being on the road. He was clearly bitter about dealers and the money they made. As I spent more time with him, I noted his threadbare jacket, his worn out LL Bean boots with no heels, his too short jeans above the boots. He was extremely knowledgeable about sports, every sport, every team, insane knowledge, idiot savant/RainMan like.
He finally took his leave and that brings me to Scott. Based on the conversation I witnessed between Scott and Snort Guy, I guessed they knew each other for a couple of years. Not so. Today was the first time they had ever met. Scott told me about a few personalities he had met over the year similar to Snort Guy....filled with knowledge but no ability to apply that knowledge to every day practical situations, blaming other people for what went wrong in their lives.
We chatted some more and he told me about his daughter, Hannah, who had passed away at the age of 14 months after an 8 month battle with illness and his daughter, Samantha, who is now 14 months old and was born after five years of trying to conceive. He showed me pictures of his daughters, gorgeous, dark haired, big rosy cheeks, big dark eyes, gorgeous girls. Hannah Molly was named for his father who was killed crossing the street when Scott was 19 and for Scott's beloved grandmother. Scott said he named his daughter after the two people he loved the most and he lost all three. Hannah and Sam look very much alike.
Here's the thing. Snort Guy decided to blame the lack of success in his life on others. He acknowledged his life choices led him to where he is in life today. Scott, who in my opinion had every reason to want to curl up and die, forged ahead by having another baby and setting up a charitable foundation in the memory of his beloved Hannah.
The dichotomy of those personalities touched me today.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Smile - it increases your face value
Have you tried the random smile test? I do it all the time, both consciously and unconsciously. I have an innate tendency to smile. It's a trait that has built up over the last few years. There's a long story to how that trait built up over the last few years. A lot of that story involved Syd Dufton, a former colleague, who changed my way of thinking in the best way possible. But I digress (as I am wont to do). When you think about it, it's much easier and infinitely more fun to smile than it is to cry. What's that bullshit credo, it takes less muscles to smile than it does to frown. Turns out that bullshit credo is TRUE. There is so much to cry over if you have that tendency. I don't. I'd rather crack a joke, laugh and smile.
When I interact with the public, I love to smile. Smile at a random person you don't know personally, nine times out of ten, they will smile back at you. When they do, it is so cool. I, personally, find it satisfying.
It's a new year. In the words of Truvy, a character in the movie Steel Magnolias (bookmark: my personal favorite movie of all time next to It's A Wonderful Life), Smile, It Increases Your Face Value.
When I interact with the public, I love to smile. Smile at a random person you don't know personally, nine times out of ten, they will smile back at you. When they do, it is so cool. I, personally, find it satisfying.
It's a new year. In the words of Truvy, a character in the movie Steel Magnolias (bookmark: my personal favorite movie of all time next to It's A Wonderful Life), Smile, It Increases Your Face Value.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Growing up before my eyes and I didn't even see it
A very special moment happened this morning. Let me explain.
I was waiting with my son Joe, my ten year old, for his school bus on this frigid winter morning. I wanted to head out shortly after he got on the bus and decided to warm the truck up. I turned the key, the engine sputtered, refused to turn over and then died. Dead battery. It happens to this truck whenever I let it sit for a few days in very cold weather.
A string of expletives exploded in my brain but not out of my mouth. I told Joe I have to call dad so he can tell me how to hook up the battery charger. Joe said I know how to do it. Dad showed me.
You see, Jamie and the boys have been working on restoring a 1973 Challenger (see my previous post re: don't drink and ebay). Jamie has been teaching them lots of things. Joseph has clearly been learning lots of things.
Joe explained step by step what I had to do to charge the battery in my truck using the portable charger. Mind you, these are steps Jamie has shown me numerous times but I've been too lazy to file in my mental file cabinet.
Joe left for school and I called Jamie to tell him the story. I'm not sure who was prouder...mom or dad.
My son taught me today.
I was waiting with my son Joe, my ten year old, for his school bus on this frigid winter morning. I wanted to head out shortly after he got on the bus and decided to warm the truck up. I turned the key, the engine sputtered, refused to turn over and then died. Dead battery. It happens to this truck whenever I let it sit for a few days in very cold weather.
A string of expletives exploded in my brain but not out of my mouth. I told Joe I have to call dad so he can tell me how to hook up the battery charger. Joe said I know how to do it. Dad showed me.
You see, Jamie and the boys have been working on restoring a 1973 Challenger (see my previous post re: don't drink and ebay). Jamie has been teaching them lots of things. Joseph has clearly been learning lots of things.
Joe explained step by step what I had to do to charge the battery in my truck using the portable charger. Mind you, these are steps Jamie has shown me numerous times but I've been too lazy to file in my mental file cabinet.
Joe left for school and I called Jamie to tell him the story. I'm not sure who was prouder...mom or dad.
My son taught me today.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
MIA
Happy New Year, everyone! We've been celebrating the New Year since Friday night hence my lack of blogging. We've had some friends over the last few evenings and it's been lots of food, wine and laughs. I wisely chose not to drink and blog. When one is consuming fine wine, there are a few activities that should be avoided and strangely enough, they are all related to social media.
As I said, don't drink and blog. Don't drink and text. Don't drink and Facebook. Don't drink and Ebay. If you drink and ebay, you might end up with a 1973 Challenger in your driveway. It wasn't me. It was the other "adult" in the house with a credit card.
Jamie believes that ebay should have a breathalyzer and oddly enough, someone has developed a website to test just those skills. It's called www.socialmediasobrietytest.com wherein you need to be able to type and participate in a few tests to determine if you are sober enough to be on a social media website.
And finally, my favorite website on the subject is www.tfln.com where people post texts they sent or received the previous night, all done anonymously. I actually subscribe to the site and get a text message everyday with a text sent the previous night. They make me laugh my ass off. Christmas Day text from a random woman: there is a Santa Claus. I got my period. Another: Was the girl I made out w last night cute?.. The booze said she was Megan Foxx.
The lesson here is don't drink and socialmediate. Happy New Year!
As I said, don't drink and blog. Don't drink and text. Don't drink and Facebook. Don't drink and Ebay. If you drink and ebay, you might end up with a 1973 Challenger in your driveway. It wasn't me. It was the other "adult" in the house with a credit card.
Jamie believes that ebay should have a breathalyzer and oddly enough, someone has developed a website to test just those skills. It's called www.socialmediasobrietytest.com wherein you need to be able to type and participate in a few tests to determine if you are sober enough to be on a social media website.
And finally, my favorite website on the subject is www.tfln.com where people post texts they sent or received the previous night, all done anonymously. I actually subscribe to the site and get a text message everyday with a text sent the previous night. They make me laugh my ass off. Christmas Day text from a random woman: there is a Santa Claus. I got my period. Another: Was the girl I made out w last night cute?.. The booze said she was Megan Foxx.
The lesson here is don't drink and socialmediate. Happy New Year!
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