Man Behaving Badly

A call home to Joe resulted in a trip to Spuntino. He was hungry, James was starving after playing a heartbreaking baseball where they lost by a run. It was time for a family dinner. Those are hard to come by these days. It's baseball season.

We sat down and ordered. Conversation ensued. We were trying to coax James into a good mood, a difficult and more than likely thankless task today. He was not happy with the loss. The evening was going surprisingly well.

The table next to us had a party of 5....two couples, one elderly, one couple obviously the grown  children of the elders and one Single Guy, also related. Notice I didn't say adult, just grown.

Elderly couple was technologically challenged. Lots of discussion of baby pictures and how do I get that picture on my phone...you can't....it's too outdated...you need a new phone.

It was excruciating to listen to but I have a great tolerance for the technologically challenged, especially the elderly trying to keep up with today. It's a monumental task.

It was Single Guy who challenged me. All of you who know me know how hard it is for me to bite my tongue.

This jackass was on his iPhone playing music at an overbearingly loud volume. In a restaurant. He was watching a CONCERT on his iPhone. In a restaurant. With other people dining next to him.

I held my tongue. I know. A miracle.

When they finally got up and left, I looked around, saw the diners sitting next to him who looked as flabberghasted as I did. "Are you kidding me???? I don't have to tell me my 11 year old and 16 year old NOT to do that?" She shook her head. He shook his head. Unbelievable is all she said.

Here he is. The man behaving badly. He should know better.

Fair warning, Single Guy.  I will not hold my tongue next time.

Flowers

It was my birthday a few weeks ago and life being as hectic as it is, it's hard to get together with the girls for lunch. It was Steph's birthday the other day as well so the impetus was there. Thankfully today all four calendars converged and it was lunch at Wild Ginger.  I had the lettuce wrap with chicken, no peppers. But I digress.

I got flowers today. I love getting flowers. Whether it's daisies, roses or a beautiful spring bouquet, those flowers catch my eye when I walk through the kitchen. Their bouquet, the scent that is, wafts into my senses every time I pass by, slowing me down from the every day tasks of loading up the dishwasher, moving the laundry from the washer to the dryer, picking up discarded sweatshirts tossed off sweaty bodies.

Flowers are like lunch with the girls. You don't need them but you so love the splash of color they add to a rainy day. They make you pause. They subconsciously force the body in perpetual motion to slow down, take time from your busy life and enjoy the now.

On the way out of the restaurant, a fellow diner commented on my bouquet. She jokingly said, "oh thanks for carrying them to my car." Her husband stopped us to tell a story about how on their first anniversary, he sent her flowers. When he got home from work, he asked her where the flowers were. She said she put them outside. She didn't really like flowers. He said he never got her flowers again and they were married 47 years. I think he should have given her and the natural beauty of a fresh bouquet of flowers another chance.

Thank you, ladies. You are the tulips, lilies and delphinium of my bouquet today. I'll never refuse such a beautiful, fragrant, vivacious bouquet.

New Year, New Rules

It's New Year's Eve. Not my favorite night. I am not sure why but I weep every New Year's Eve as the clock strikes midnight. We've had intimate parties at our home the last two years. Everyone was home. Lots of great friends over. That didn't happen this year for a variety of reasons. Jamie wasn't happy. He seriously was picking fights all day today. I knew why but he couldn't help himself.

Tonight we had dinner as a family with a guest at our favorite restaurant, Spuntinos. We shared a glass of cheer with Joe.  Then I had to say good night and Happy New Year to my gorgeous, handsome first born son as he headed off to a party/sleepover with a great family.

We have reached that stage. The baby birds are leaving the nest. It's a natural progression. I prepared my husband over the last couple of days. I told him these are the things he should be doing. He's in good hands, he's with his friends. He works hard. He deserves it.

My head knows that. My heart didn't. I usually am weeping at midnight. Tonight it started at 8:30 as he left for the party. He asked me if I was OK, I couldn't even speak. I choked out a few words. I'm OK. Happy New Year. I love you.

Jamie came home and said James wished me Happy New Year and gave me a big kiss and a hug. Did you tell him to do that? I just waved him off. I couldn't answer him. I did not tell him to say anything to his dad. My tears and inability to speak may have tipped him off to the fact that we were adjusting to his newfound status.

It's my first New Year's Eve without my son in fifteen years. I get him back tomorrow morning so I consider myself lucky. It's an adjustment period for all of us. We'll get through it.

Thanks for reading my blog. Thanks for the feedback and for taking the time to be part of my life. Happy New Year, everyone. In the words of my friend, Ben, Buon Anno a tutti 2012.

It's A Wonderful Life

My favorite movie of all time is on tonight. I usually save it for when I decorate my Christmas tree but it's on in black & white so I got drawn in. It's putting me into the Christmas spirit. My boys took down the Christmas decos and tomorrow is decorating day for the outside of the house.

This has been a difficult year for a variety of reasons. I've lost a lot of friends this year. I've attended more wakes than I can remember or than I can count on two hands.

I've felt badly that I haven't blogged in three months but I'm letting myself off the hook on that one. I've re-read my previous posts for the last year. I wrote them and I enjoyed reading them again. I am writing again and I'm enjoying it.

It's been a difficult year. I am trying to enjoy the present and not wait for things to get better. Things will be as good as I make them or as good as I handle them.

I got a text today from my dear friend Kim (and former babysitter) asking if the boys would like to go with her and her sister on their annual Christmas adventure. Before telling the boys that she had texted, Joe asked me if they were doing their annual Christmas trip with Carrie and Kim. Timing is everything.

I guess what I'm trying to say is it's a wonderful life even when you have a shitty day/month/year. And it's the little moments of joy that make it all bearable.

So thank you to Kim, NBC and Honey Delight Spa. I had a really good day :)

PS Upcoming topics: Herman Cain - Jerry Sandusky - don't play with your partner's feet under the table at a restaurant and then EAT - it's not a crime to say Buon Natale

Obnoxious Housewives

Hey Andy Cohen! VP of Original Programming and Development for Bravo Network! Do I have a show for you!

Here's the premise. Picture it.

The Obnoxious Housewives of Nassau County

Rail thin, size 0 women based in Nassau County, NY. They will obsess over their failing marriages. They will rail against their deceitful husbands. They will tawk about how they did NOT show that letter to their rat bastard husband. I would NEVAH!

They will completely ignore their adorable child for 45 minutes while waiting to be seen by an emergency pediatrician because "I think she has the sniffles or sumthin. It could be a infection. I don't know."

Did you say Niveah? No? Oh, OK. Back to the phone call.

He just leaves the house, doesn't say a word and disappeahs for hours on end. I don't get it. Does he think I'm a fool? Am I supposed to sit around and wait for him? I don't think so.

Here's the kicker, Andy. You don't have hunt far for this delectable star. She's hanging out in the waiting room of PM Pediatrics in Syosset. Oh, and by the way, if you wait a few minutes after she gets the scrip for antibiotics, she will probably stop at Rare 650 next door for a quick lunch before filling the scrip. I'm sure there are plenty more candidates to be found there.

No need to thank me now, Andy. A percentage will be fine.

Genius

There are not many opportunities in one's lifetime to come across genius. I personally have not met genius but the efforts of a genius impact my life every day.

That genius is Steve Jobs. He is the genius behind Apple.

I no longer listen to commercial radio. I listen to my iPod.

My husband gave me a Mac as a Christmas present this past year. I will never go back to a PC again. I blog on my Mac. Its ease, simplicity are unparalleled.

I was gifted an iPad 2 by Jamie this past year as well. I read every night before I go to sleep using the Kindle app. I take notes and write my grocery lists on it using the Penultimate app. I check my email. I surf the web using Skyfire. I watch movies (Netflix) as I fold laundry or clean the house. It fits in my purse.

Steve Jobs is dying of pancreatic cancer. This I have surmised from his resignation as CEO of Apple.

I met a genius. And he set up a place for us to meet other geniuses. And he called it a bar. The dude gets us.

So I say thank you, Steve. I want you to know how much I appreciate the impact you've had on my life. We don't get to tell people how positive an impact they've had on our lives before they pass on.  I don't know you but want you to know that.

Thank you, Steve. You've changed my life.

The (not) Great Gazoo

I ran into some interesting and not necessarily appealing characters this past baseball season at my son's JV baseball games. One of the not so appealing and actually repugnant characters was the Great Gazoo. That's not actually his name. It's the name we gave him. A group of the parents named him that after watching him on third base during the game. His oversized head in his oversized batting helmet and his lack of body proportion in relation to head size conjured up the image. Gazoo.

He was on the small side physically and even more so mentally. The first indication we got was when the kids on his bench started dropping the F-bomb during the game. We parents said Whoah, boys, not appropriate! The coach turned around to us and blamed his kids' PARENTS. 

He was horrible. He was antagonistic to the umps, he berated his players and he made the boys run the hills after losing to our team. He talked trash about our kids while coaching third base. He cursed his kids out after losing to the team. We were told after that they had been undefeated up to that point and NEVER expected to lose to our team. Winning was pretty sweet that day for our kids; sweeter for the parents maybe even than for the kids. 

He didn't limit his nasty behavior to High School East. We talked to another coach from another team and he told us Gazoo had quite the reputation in the league. Turns out his dad played major league ball and does private coaching. From what I'm told, his dad is a gentleman and would abhor his son's behavior if he knew of it. 

For those who don't remember Gazoo, he was an alien character in the Flintstones cartoon who was exiled to earth for inventing a doomsday machine. 

East Islip, be afraid for your children. The Great Gazoo is in your midst and he has his finger on the doomsday machine. Run for hills and take your kids with you. 

So, Sue, I've left you hanging long enough. That was the story of the Great Gazoo. 

Tea Party

So I'm doing my morning run, watching True Blood, when the phone rings. It's 8 am. I always answer the phone when it rings that early. It usually is important.

That was not the case this morning.

It's a political announcement from Dick Morris. I am calling you because you have been selected as one of our most important political conservative supporters.

Yes, I'm a Republican but I certainly wouldn't consider myself a very conservative Republican.

We must fight the health agenda shoved down our throats by Obama...blah blah blah...14 trillion dollar deficit....blah blah blah....Tea Party. DING!

It's the dumbass party fronted by that dumbass broad Bachmann who is an embarrassment to womankind.

Now I'm ripping. Tea Party political phone junk mail? To me? I don't think so.

I have to speak to someone so I listen because I know they're going to put a live person on. This should be fun.

A woman with a Southern drawl gets on the phone. This is Kim.

Hi Kim. Do you know Dick Morris?

I can smell the pride over the phone as she answers, Why yes I do.

Good. Please tell Dick Morris to go fuck himself. You've got some pair of balls calling my home at 8 am in the morning with this drivel. Lose my number.

Have a nice day, y'all!

Tony and Jim

It's Father's Day and I have to give equal time to the fathers in our family.

I've written about my dad, Tony, in previous blogs. My dad worked nights most of my childhood. He would have his supper and head off to work. He was a bartender for a lot of years in my neighborhood. Walking through the neighborhood with my dad was like walking with the Mayor. He was well liked, well known and a handsome fella, to say the least.

I really hadn't thought about this but my brother posted on Facebook recently about my dad's courage in coming to the United States. He was a young married man with three babies when he came here from Scotland in search of a better life for his young family. He left Ireland first, moved to Scotland and then to the United States. That took chutzpah, courage, balls. He was a hard working man with a great sense of humor and an even better head of hair.

Jamie's dad, Jim, was a very smart man. He told Jamie that the smartest thing he could do was marry me. Just brilliant. He was very much in love with Vivian, his wife. They were married for 45 years when Vivian lost her battle with cancer. After Vivian passed away and Jamie and I were helping sort through the house, we found an envelope filled with love notes he used to leave her. They were sweet, handwritten notes telling he loved her, have a great day, don't forget to call about the tree service or some other task she had for the day. Jamie was a late in life baby for Jim. He became a first time dad at the ripe age of 46, virtually unheard of in the 1950s. He adored Jamie and adored his grandsons, James and Joe. He worked for Grand Union for over fifty years and taught Jamie that the food business would provide a stable living. You'll never get rich, he said, but you'll always work because people have to eat.

So on this Father's Day, I say thank you to my Dads, Tony and Jim. Please keep watch over us and especially over your grandsons. They have some big shoes to fill.

Finish this sentence. Anthony Wiener is a .....

a dumbass. That's how I'll finish it, to start.

Really, Anthony Wiener? You're a married congressman who regularly engages in social media putting you into the category of tech savvy.  You didn't think that people would figure out that yes, you sent out that lovely "package" picture and were not, in fact, hacked?

What makes him an even bigger dumbass is that he sent out the above picture with a photo in the background of him and President Clinton. I believe there is a photo of him and his wife as well on the left hand side of the credenza behind him.

In the words of Jay Leno, spoken to Hugh Grant after he was arrested for soliciting Divine Brown for oral sex, "What the hell were you thinking????

Here's the thing, guys, you're not thinking.

Your erection has obviously deprived your brain of some very necessary blood flow. Depriving your brain of blood flow can lead to severely damaging circumstances.

Had your brain not been momentarily deprived, you would have stopped yourself from soliciting that hooker.

You would have stopped yourself from uploading that penis pic via tweetdeck from your Blackberry.

You would not have allowed an intern to perform oral sex on you in the Oval Office.

You would not have slept with your housekeeper (who so is NOT attractive) and kept the fact that you impregnated her from your uber-sucessful wife for over ten years.

You would not have hired your mistress to video tape you for fake political documentaries and then impregnate her while your wife was experiencing a recurrence of her cancer.

Take a moment, gentlemen. Let the blood flow back to the head on your shoulders. It could lead to a lot  less bloodshed in your family.

In life, some lessons are best learned, not taught

I feel like I've been on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride the last few weeks. I haven't blogged in a while and I truly do miss writing. There is a lot on my mind but first and foremost has been my son, James. James broke his wrist while playing JV baseball. He saved the team's win but suffered a buckle fracture of his radius and a fracture of his ulna.

What was unbelievable was the range of motion the kid had on his wrist. When we took him to our orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Jerry Ellstein, he basically did the same check that we did...flip the wrist forward, back and twist from side to side. It was the x-ray that had the final say. Final prognosis: cast for four weeks, one week off, physical therapy and he's good to go. Here's the beauty of youth - you heal well and fast. It's like the green sapling branches on a tree in the spring. They bend but don't break. Dr. Ellstein said if it was my husband, it would be six weeks in a cast.

By the way, if you ever need an orthopedic doctor, I highly recommend Dr. Ellstein. I met him on February 5, 2000. It had been a particularly icy winter. We had a new driveway and Jamie was reluctant to use ice melt. I was on my way into the city on a Saturday morning at 7 am, forgot my cell phone and headed back to the house to get it. I was eight weeks pregnant at the time with Joseph. I parked on the driveway, ran into the house, grabbed my cell phone, ran back to my truck and lost my footing as I got into my truck. I fell onto the ice under the truck and broke my humeral shaft on my left arm. I'm left handed. My friends have all heard this story. I'll fill you in on the details in another blog but the point here is when I went to the emergency room, Dr. Ellstein was on call. God was watching me that day. He brought Dr. Ellstein into my life and through a variety of circumstances, he has stayed in my life. This is James' second go round with Dr. Ellstein. The how and why are fodder for another blog!

Back to James...

When a fifteen year has a broken wrist and he plays baseball, it seems like the end of the world. The down side of youth: perspective cannot be taught. I understand as a woman in my forties that four weeks is doable. To a fifteen year old, four weeks is FOREVER. It's a rarity that I need to cheer lead James but that's what I've been doing the last four weeks. James LIVES for baseball. I love his enthusiasm for the sport, for the comraderie, for his teammates. It's been taken away from him for a short period of time. I marvel at his fortitude. He turned his energies to his studies. He's right handed and he broke his right wrist. I contacted each of his teachers and the school administrators that he would be facing some difficulties for the next four weeks. Can I tell you that he has not asked me for assistance in writing or typing homework since he broke his wrist? He's sucking it up and getting it done. It's the kind of kid he is.

He's got great friends. He has sought them out and they have rallied around him. They've bucked him up and made life bearable. I take him to see Dr. Ellstein on Wednesday and hopefully he'll have good news that his injury is healing well. So say a prayer for him.

I had a girls' night recently after James broke his wrist. On the way to Becky's house, I broke down. I don't know what it was. I think I knew I was headed to hang out with a bunch of moms who knew exactly how I felt and maybe I felt safe there. It was my safe place to have a cry. I pulled myself together in the car and had a great evening with the girls. Some of my girls know me better than others and knew I was upset but didn't pursue it. If they had, I would have lost it totally.  They talked to me about it after the fact, made sure I was OK and I love them for that.

There is no more helpless feeling than wanting to solve a problem for your child that is only solved with time. I am, at times, a super woman but even I cannot overcome quantum physics.

The last couple of weeks has been a struggle but we've made it through thus far. Bear with me. It's a break I could use.

Superbien

My dear friend William is turning 50. It is time to celebrate all that is William. Believe me, he is a celebration.

We met William many years ago. Jamie and I were dating at the time. That's at least five hundred years ago or twenty-five in human years (inside joke with Jamie via Tony Soprano). He was a customer of Jamie's in the wholesale food business. Do you know how sometimes you meet people in a professional capacity and the business and personal lines blur and a friendship blossoms, grows and thrives? It happens rarely. And when it does, you count your blessings.

William is that gift. He started out as Jamie's friend and as the years have passed, I have become as close a personal friend with William as Jamie is. I have become great friends with his wife, Rosa, one of the most elegant, beautiful and kind women I have ever met. Just take a look. She's GORGEOUS.

Our first born sons were born five days apart. I was thrilled when William called on April 27th to tell me his son was born. I remember when they were both so small they could sit in the base of the microwave cart in my kitchen enjoying a snack together. Rosa worked at the day care center that my kids attended and every time Miss Robin told me it was time to move Joseph up to another class, I insisted he needed more time with Miss Rosa. Our children are in different school districts now but when the boys get together, it is as though they saw each other last weekend. 

The hand will sweep twelve and William turns 50!I think there should be a ringing of bells in the cathedral to celebrate such accomplishment but William would insist on a more understated mark. He's that kind of guy. I admire him greatly. He was born in the Dominican Republic, came to United States and after a successful career in banking, chose to become part of the family business, supermarkets. They are an entrepreneurial family. Nene, Robert, William, Jimmy and an extended family have established and grown a grocery business, an extremely successful one. His businesses are based in the poorest of neighborhoods where no one else was willing to take on the risk and quite literally, the danger, of doing business in these places.  

We were out at dinner, the conversation led to work as it is wont to do. I whined about a few subjects and William gently chastised me for allowing my employer to treat me in such fashion. I burst into tears but he was so right. I allowed it. And I thank him for snapping me back to reality, to attention. I value and treasure his advice.

We have traveled all over the world together. This is the four of us having lunch in Vienna, 1999. Tres chic! I love talking about movies with him, busting Jamie's balls that it's taking too long to get to Atlantic City, comparing songs on our iPods and getting the crap scared out of me by his "dog bites." You haven't lived until you've survived the dog bite. 

Happy birthday, William! I think you may have surmised that I'm a huge fan.

William Rodriguez. One word. Superbien.

Pat and Vivian

My children have two grandmothers, my mom, Pat, and Jamie's mom, Vivian. Jamie's mom passed away before my children were born. My boys have been blessed to know my mother. She is their last living grandparent. We don't see her as much as we'd like to due to overly busy schedules on our part and an impediment in the form of the Long Island Expressway and typically horrendous traffic.

Vivian was an interesting lady. She was a mom, first and foremost. She adored her son. I still to this day tease Jamie about his mom. "My son, my son," it was her mantra. She was a chef at the Linden Tree in Huntington, New York who lived in a house with two picky eaters, aka meat and potato eaters. I feel her pain. I can't say that she was necessarily pleased when Jamie got engaged. It wasn't the idea that he was marrying me, it was that he was marrying at all. We married in 1990. She succumbed to colon cancer in 1993. When the bishop visited her to administer last rites, he asked her what was holding her on this earth as she was dying. She said I want to meet my grandchildren. That didn't happen. At least, not in the typical way.

By hook or by crook, she met her grandchildren. Before I write this next section, please understand that I am a very normal person by most standards and for the most part, relatively sane. I can tell you without a doubt, that at one point in our house, when Joe was crawling through the kitchen, the pocket door magically closed before he fell down the step and that I would go into the kids' rooms and tell Vivian that the boys needed to sleep, so please stop playing with the toys. Toys that had heretofore started making noise on their own would suddenly fall silent. 

If you think that your loved ones are gone, think again. I can tell you many stories about the presence of loved ones who have passed making their presence known in our lives. The signs are always there. We just don't recognize the signs for what they are. 

My mom is a pretty amazing woman. She hasn't won any Nobel prizes but her efforts at maintaining a civil relationship with some of the in-laws would rival the best efforts of Carter/Sadat/Begin at Camp David. Seriously. She gave her kids a work ethic. Need I say more? My sons know when Nanny is coming for a visit because I start baking Irish soda bread. They love her quiet laugh, her quiet happiness sitting by the fireplace, watching a movie with a cup of tea and a slice of Irish soda bread.

It was from her that the importance of education was impressed upon me. I have passed that goal onto my children. You will do the best you can. You will work hard. It's really the most simple of life's tenets and probably the most important life lessons you can pass onto your children.

So this Mother's Day 2011, the eighteenth anniversary of the passing of Jamie's mom, thank you to Vivian aka Grandma Vivian and thank you to Pat aka Nanny. You were and are amazing mothers and grandmothers. I strive every day to live up to your example as a mother and one day hope to experience the joy of being a grandmother, aka spoil the kids and send them home when they get cranky or I've had enough.

Call your mother! Happy Mother's Day!

A Decade to Remember

The PS3 network has been down for 18 days now. It hasn't affected James so much. He's 15, tons of homework, quizzes, tests.

Joe has hit a brick wall. I fear for my son if the US Armed Forces is tracking Call of Duty. The kid is a sharp shooter. At one point, there was a clan named "Fuck Joe Litchhult." Nuff said.

Playstation Network has been down for 18 days since it was hacked. Fortunately, I don't store my credit card information online so it hasn't really affected me. I have been enjoying the additional talking time with Joe. He's totally bored so he's spending more time with me. I'll take it anyway I can get it.

With the events of this week and the lack of PS network, we have spent time discussing the events of September 11. Joe was two, James was five and a half. When you are five, the half is uber important. At the time of the events, after attending many funerals, after watching the news coverage that week, James wisely and succinctly said at that time, "Mom, you shouldn't watch this any more. It makes you so sad." From the mouths of babes.

On Sunday night, I was weeping watching the announcement that Osama had been caught and killed. James knew the source of my sadness. Are you all right, Mom? Are you OK?

Tonight, as the news coverage continued, Joe asked me, did you know anyone who died that day? What did we do that day? I told him. I watched the announcement from the Today show by Katie Couric as I fed you your yogurt. I remembered getting the announcement that the school was in lockdown. When your first grader goes into lockdown, it scares the crap out of you. When I tried to talk about all the friends I lost that day, I burst into tears and asked him if we could talk about this at another time. He just nodded.

Can you believe it's been 10 years? I cannot. My son was in first grade. Now he's in high school.

In any event, don't kid yourselves, folks. The pain is still being worked through. For those that get impatient, chill out. Time heals all wounds. How much time is needed is determined by the person suffering, not by you. So to those who say it's time to move on, go ahead. Some of us need more time.

18 days. 10 years. The two experiences have absolutely no relation to each other in consideration of importance AT ALL. Don't misinterpret me. I am just making an allusion to how the passage of time affects people. Your 18 days is my decade.

Everything is relative.

Good bye and good riddance

Osama bin Laden is dead. It's a surreal experience to watch the news in the last 15 minutes. The bastard is dead.

Let the keening and wailing begin on the part of Al Quaeda. It's called karma, you fuckers. You can't escape her. She will give you back ten times what you put out, either good or bad. She's had some fun this weekend. Khaddafi lost his son and three grandchildren this weekend. Osama took a US missile and now his feckless followers are gnashing their teeth knowing the US has his body and can confirm that he is, in fact, dead.

He and his cohorts destroyed too many lives, too many families.

My family had a great weekend. My kids had their friends over, we had dinner with friends on Friday, Joe pitched on Saturday and pitched great today. He was cheered on by the Bleacher Creatures, led by his 15 year old brother. More friends over for dinner tonight. The giggles and laughs filled my car and my home. I got to reconnect with my baseball friends. My signature cheer, often imitated and never duplicated,  came back into full swing. I love cheering for my kids and it's my privilege to do so. It was small moments of joy all weekend but it's those moments I've come to cherish the most. It truly was an all American weekend: family, friends and baseball.

I never take for granted the freedom I enjoy as a citizen of the United States provided by our fine military service people or the gift of life I celebrate every day.

To the survivors, I hope tonight's news brings a small measure of comfort to you all. It's a psychological victory that I hope you all take a moment to savor. To my two blog readers in Iran, I don't know how you'll take this blog but we Americans have a reason to celebrate tonight. The bastard is dead.

Well isn't that special......

I've got more than a few pet peeves. I know that. And then there are some things that I just absolutely, positively will NOT do.  Get your filthy minds out of the gutter. I'm talking about parking illegally.

I have never and will never park in a handicapped parking spot without a proper permit. It absolutely pisses me off when people do just that.

I was leaving Spuntino the other day when I watched this putz in his Audi TT zip into a "spot" which he created in the blue lines between two handicapped parking spots. So he effectively put not one, but TWO handicapped parking spots out of commission. Way to go, Jerk Off. He jumped out, ran into Spuntino. Knowing he was parked illegally, he must have been a real joy to wait on for the counter guys. I can imagine him anxiously bouncing from one leg to the other, trying to keep an eye on the parking lot in case he gets a ticket while trying to pay for his pizza and get back to his illegally parked probable mid-life crisis car.

Yes, I took a picture as he was pulling away. Did you know that the town of Huntington actually has people with cameras that take photos of people parked illegally and then send you the ticket with the fine for your illegal parking act? I'm betting that I could send this photo in and he'd get a ticket. I could consider it my civic duty. It would probably take more spare time than I have to find out exactly how to do that. After all, I have blogs to write about Kazoo and Daddy baseball. I know Sue and Stephanie will agree with me (wink wink). 

So to the owner of the silver Audi TT, NY license plate OSF 318, you'll probably never see this blog. While your lack of common sense and courtesy does qualify as a mental deficit, it does not entitle you to park in/on/in between handicapped parking spots. Don't park in handicapped spots while you run in and pick up pizza. It's not cool. 

If any one reading this blog knows this tool, let him know he was busted. 

Thanks in advance for your anticipated assistance. 

Embarrassing my children is my life's task

I had a great conversation with my son James tonight. He didn't think it was a great one but I did.

We somehow got into a conversation about personal grooming with James and Jamie. I love my husband but he should not get into personal grooming conversations. I have much better advice than he does, having actually experienced the waxing process. I will not get into the nitty gritty details but Jamie had a couple of suggestions, the theory was right, the execution was WRONG.

James, at this point, is climbing under a blanket stating "I hate my family and I'm posting that on Facebook but don't take it personally."

When a conversation comes up and it's an opportunity for a teaching lesson, you have to grab it. Whether it's during a Knicks game or some time in the car, I grab it.

And you know I'm right, James.

Love ya, mean it.

We are not friends on Facebook so I know he'll never see this but I know he knows it :)

Women Warriors

I had a crazy busy day today and as usual it revolved around my sons' baseball schedules. James had a game against Smithtown High School East. They lost but Smithtown East players are gentlemen and have a deep sense of sportmanship, unlike East Islip. I will fill you in on the East Islip antics in another blog. Baseball game, get back home to get Joe ready for baseball practice, go pick up James from HSE, back to Otsego then home to get dressed. Another wake.

We lost a family friend this week. Gary was only 26 years old. He was much loved by his family and his children but that wasn't enough to overcome his demons. I have to tell you that I am weary of the phone calls and messages this year telling me that I've lost another friend. Over a dozen this year so far and it's only April. I don't want to become known as the obit blogger but it sadly is a part of my reality.

I would tell you about Gary but tonight I want to focus on the strong women who figure so greatly in our lives. I call them my women warriors. They come in every shape and form but they are fearless and amazing.

I watched Susan tonight at her son's coffin, stroking his hair and mourning her baby. I watched her sisters come one by one and kneel with her, place an arm around her in support. I prayed to God that I never have to live out that tableau. Then there is Krista. Krista had the strength to get up and say a prayer from the heart that no one else go through this pain and that Gary's death serve as a life lesson, a hope that no other family should live through this painful lesson. Krista is Gary's sister-in-law and provided Gary with shelter and love in the most difficult of times.
 
I have a group of women in my life whom I know should I need that arm around my shoulder would be there in a heart beat. A few are blood related but most are not.

For those of you wanting a funny story from me tonight, that's not happening. But when I write about East Islip and Daddy baseball, you're gonna laugh your ass off. I promise.

In the meantime, to all my women warriors, thank you and stay strong because I need you to be so. Some of you don't even know how bad ass you are. Becky, Suzanne, Steph, Bridget, Lucy, Maria, Carlene, Jamie and many many more....thank you :)

On a side note, I'm so loving the RHNYC and just saw the promo for RHNJ...can't wait!!!!

Stupid is as stupid does

Some ideas are just plain stupid.

Bebe Gluton, the breastfeeding doll, is just a stupid idea for a toy. Any time the words "strategically placed faux nipples" are part of the instruction for playing with a doll, WINNING. Imagine the look of joy on your face when you watch your adorable son when he straps on the faux flower nipple apron and plays away for hours on end.

In the spirit of inappropriate instructional toys, here are a few more:

Yes, it's an actual creepy shaving doll. Eeeeeewww.

In the spirit of Miley Cyrus, it's the Pole Dancer, not at all related to my beloved Dancerina Ballerina.

Just because it can be made doesn't mean it should be made. Is this really a part of motherhood that we need to have little girls emulating at such an early age? I certainly am not knocking breastfeeding. I breastfed both of my sons and strongly encourage any expectant mom to give it a try. But little girls? It's a very slippery slope and a very mixed message. Don't get pregnant, kids, but here's a breastfeeding doll to enjoy many happy hours of play time.

We as parents work very hard to try and keep our children, children. It is our job to protect our children. As with Abercrombie and their padded swimsuit top for little girls, if you don't buy it, they can't sell it.

So much to talk about and so little time!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Changes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forever Young

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Better call the WAAAAAHMBULANCE

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bully Pulpit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The subject: bullying

Someone was not paying attention.

Hey Now

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luv ya, miss ya, mean it!

Radar

It's been ten days. Mea culpa.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cookie & Elmo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A word of warning to whomever pissed off Mary: 

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

Here endeth the warning.

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

Fire!

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

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

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

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

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

Karma's a bitch, bitch.

Fables

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Levity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The check-in conversation goes something like this:

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

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

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

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

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

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

I sh*t you not.

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

Irish Eyes

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rest in peace, Eileen.

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

Strawberry Shortcake

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In this case, Just Google It.