The Mystery TF Visit

H lost her tooth a few days ago.  She was thrilled because she was enroute to a dentist appointment and was afraid that the denist would pull it out.  Crisis averted.

At the end of the day, she was getting ready to go to bed and found a great brand new pair of socks on her bed - white and red stripes with penguins on them. Right up her alley.  Immediately, she looked at me and said, "Wow - the Tooth Fairy already came!" She looked at M, who was equally perplexed and thrilled, and they ran downstairs to see if they could find her tooth in her folder from school. They could not, thus sealing the deal that the Tooth Fairy had in fact visited early.  That she came during the daylight was beyond amazing to them both.

Now, came my condundrum. I had NO idea where the socks came from.  When the kids were little, we'd give them little gifts from the TF because that was more fun for them than money.   We still do that (they still totally believe and it's fun.)  No one else knew that H's tooth had come out so the socks had not been given to her as a gift because of her lost tooth.  Besides that, no one would ever give H a pair of socks and not M (whether there was a tooth involved or not). 

Should I go with their belief that the Tooth Fairy visited early?  What if I don't put anything under her pillow, she finds out who the socks are from and then they know that the TF didn't in fact come?  And/or what if she finds her tooth in the morning in the folder and then wonders why the TF didn't take it?  OMG - is there really a toothfairy?!?!

After they went to bed, I grabbed $2 and snuck it under her pillow.  (If she wanted to share with M, she could.  If she wanted the loot all to herself, that'd work too).  I looked in her folder and did, in fact, find the tooth so I stole that just for safety's sake.

The next morning, I asked her if the TF had left anything under her pillow.  She said she didn't even look because she was sure that the socks were from the TF.  I told her to look, just to be sure.  She found the cold hard cash and was thrilled with the money. She didn't give the Sister any (sorry, M) and is wearing the socks as we speak. Life is good.

The point of this story is:  I still have no stinkin' idea where the socks came from, but if you DO, don't tell her (or her sister.)   They are loving these most recent turn of TF events just as they unfolded.  Please don't rock my boat.  It's a little bit shaky as it is...



Good Circle

Many, many moons ago, in my first or second year of teaching, I taught a weekly general music class.  As they walked in the room each week, I would ask them how their day was.  More often than not, I would be bombarded with "oh, my brother hit me", "my mom said I couldn't play outside", "my dad took away my toy truck because I wet my bed."  After a few weeks, I was like, "dude, you're five.  How bad can your lives be?"

I quickly welcomed to our weekly curriculum something I call "The Good Circle".  Each week, after I took attendance, we'd do our Good Circle.  We'd go around the circle and share with each other one good thing that happened to us that day.  I didn't need to be earth-shattering, like "I found out we're getting a puppy and a pony".  It could be silly like, "I had four oreos instead of only three at snack."  Whatever.  Just tell me something good that happened.  Please.  Not saying that life's all rosy.  Just saying please don't throw up on me your bad-news-grumpiness at our first glance of the day.

Now, (horrifyingly) many years later (my God, I've been teaching for over 15 years...) I still do nearly weekly Good Circles in my musical theater classes.  Does a Good Circle have anything to do with singing or dancing?  Nope.  Performing on stage?  Nope.  But it has to do with life.  And that's why we do it.  If you dwell on the shitty stuff, your life feels shitty.  And the people around you start to feel shitty because of it.

Anyway, I think I'm instituting a "Good Circle" policy within my Four Family.  Whether they like it or not.  Look out.  If it works for as many kids as I've taught over the years, it can work for them too!

Dinner Anyone?

So, you know when you say something and it comes out completely differently from how you meant it to come out?  Well, usually, I'm the one who says something and then, moments later, I'm like "oh, wait, that's not what I meant...no, really."  (Just ask my friends about our visit last week to Guru.)  This time, it was not I who said something that made someone want to cry or scream.  It was my daughter. And she said it to me.

Earlier today, the girls and I went home after school.  H and M typically have FSPA "stuff " on Mondays and I teach, but H is not feeling 100% and I figured that we should take one more afternoon of chillin' out before the madness of production week begins.  (Their role in The Sound of Music doesn't require many crazy nights this week, but still...)  I had a sub scheduled for today anyway then, as it turns out, didn't need her (thanks, P!!) but had her teach for me anyway.  H rested all afternoon and hopefully she's good as new in a jiffy. 

ANYwho...on our way home from school I told them that they had rehearsal from 6:30-7 and that G had to be there for 7.  So, I'd make them a quick egg sandwich, scrambled eggs, toast, fruit salad or something.  We have had "production weeks"  since they were three.  They know the drill.  We sort of eat on the go and, to be honest, I don't mind it all that much.  Our entire Four Family is involved in FPAC so it makes it fun. And it's only for a few nights.  Some peeps have to eat like that all week, year-round, because of their schedules. We are very fortunate.

Anyway, M's response:  "Mumma, are you EVER going to cook us a NICE dinner?"

Now, I know she meant "was I ever going to cook a nice dinner THIS WEEK", meaning "will we be ships passing in the night until curtain on Saturday night?"  But the way it came out, it was as if she wondered if I was EVER going to cook a nice dinner EVER!

SO not a big deal, but I guess I must have just been feeling extra fragile because I felt so badly for myself.  I nearly started to cry.  (I am not a cryer, so when I do, look out...just ask G.  He typically laughs at me-which makes me cry more.)

Anyway, I don't do everything right, by any means, but I work SO hard at balancing work and home.  Life is too short not too.  Soon enough, it'll be G and me staring across the coffee table eating dinner, just the two of us, because the kids'll be off doing who knows what. This time is important.

Given our busy schedules, we eat dinner together a LOT during the week. This is something that is very important to G and me and I do all that I can to make sure this happens.

And when I say dinner I don't mean throw some stuff from the freezer to the oven to the table, (not there's anything wrong with that).  I mean full-on dinners.  I have a BINDER of new recipes that I try each week for these stinkin' rugrats.

...Apparently, though, I don't do it enough.

It's funny really.  She SO didn't mean it. I knew that.  But it hurt my feelings anyway. I told her so (because we're all about teaching them to talk about when something's bothering us). And of course, in typically M fashion, she lost her mind because she had made me feel badly.

Oh well.  Now she knows what it feels like...

And The Award Goes To...

The 85th Academy Awards have come and gone for another year.  Clearly, the highlight of this year’s ceremony was seeing FSPA alum, Nadine “No Bad News” Malouf perform on stage. Are you kidding me? She is so near and dear to so many peeps in my life – brava, Nadine!!  (I am truly convinced that last night was not the first and last time we will see her on a stage on a night such as this.)

I’m sure that there have already been lots of recaps of various goings on last night.  I’ve not watched the news or been much on facebook since the show aired, so I’m sorry if this is repetitive. 

Here are my Random Thoughts of Last Night:

Barbra Streisand singing “Memory”.  Does anyone else see and hear Tom Hanks in Big whenever you hear that song?  Sorry, Babs, but it’s true.  "Memory...likethecornersofmymind..."

Kristin Chenoweth is so stinkin’ tiny, she makes me feel like Adele.  Seriously, watching Kristin interview Adele was like watching Jack and the Beanstalk.

I’ve never seen so much coverage of the balconies at an awards ceremony. Now, if the producers really wanted this year’s ceremony to make history, they’d have had these guys in the balcony seats:

I don't know what their official title is but if I was one of the people on the red carpet with the clipboards and walkie talkie shuffling people from one camera to the next, making sure no one stepped on Charlize's gown, etc., I would be drinking for weeks afterwards.  Way too much stress.

Poor Kristen Stewart.  She clearly thought that the awards were next weekend and on her way home from the gym, she found out she needed to be somewhere special.  Really?  I was embarrassed for her. 

Has anyone ever seen Seth McFarlane and Christopher Knight (aka Peter Brady) in the same room?  (Don’t tell me that’s not the first thing you thought of too.)

How many SNL spoofs are already in the works about Jennifer Hudson’s friend/relative that she took with her?  God forgive me, but they will practically write themselves.

Please, Quvenzhane Wallis, don’t become a punk.  You are WAAAAAY cute.  Listen to your mother (unless your mother is best friends with Dina Lohan) and you’ll be good.  Promise.

When Channing Tatum was giving the award for Best Costume, he said, “And the award goes to Jacqueline Durran” and didn’t say the name of the movie.  I swear he can’t pronounce “Anna Karenina.”

Would some please, anyone, give Juliana Rancic a cupcake?  For the love of God.

Until next year...

"I Just Felt Like Running..."

Gotta love a Forrest Gump quote, right?

As we all gear up for yet another snowy weekend in this neck of the woods, I am thinking about my Sunday plans.  I (hopefully) will run a 1/2 marathon in Hyannis.  I'm sitting here thinking about how to dress, what I need to pack, etc. and I am thinking about "why I run". A lot of people ask me that.  I think a lot of runners are asked that question.  Before I go any further, I honestly don't consider myself a "runner".  I'm not saying that so that people will tell me that I am.  I just don't see myself that way.  I consider myself "someone who runs". To me, there's a big difference.  I don't have any idea what I'm doing.  I just put on my sneakers and go.

I never ran a day in my life until 2001.  I had a lot going on in my mind back then and I needed something to do with myself to keep my mind busy.  So, I started to run.  Literally, yards at a time.  I was very patient (something I'm not typically) and little by little I added to my mileage with each passing week.

The first race I ran was a 5K (a tad over 3 miles) in Franklin.  I think that I was literally the last person over the finish line.  I had no idea about pacing myself.  I started in the way front and started at a stupid fast pace.  I was exhausted before I ran a quarter of a mile. I didn't even know how to pin my number on my shirt and it kept flapping in the breeze the whole time.  Clueless.  But I did it.  My dad cheered me on as if I was running the Boston Marathon.  Have I mentioned that my dad is The Best?

And I kept on running. I never thought that I'd be good at it.  But, the more I did it, the more I enjoyed it and I got better and better.  Over time, I ran a few 10Ks and such and with some words of wisdom and confidence from one of my best buds since junior high school, I kept upping the ante. I love her more than life itself and wish that I could run with her every day.  Love you, Smel.

Shockingly, I decided a few years ago, that I wanted to run a full marathon before I was 40.  I have no idea where the idea came from.  I honestly think that I just woke up one day and decided that I wanted to do it, Everyone (or most everyone) thought that I was nuts.  Why in the WORLD would I want to do that? I've run two marathons now and it's safe to say that I'm done with that distance.  Been there, done that.  Thrilled to have that checked off of my list of things to do.

I still run a bunch each week but I'll leave the 26.2's for others now. I continue to run 13.1 races when I can and I don't want to lose the ability to run that distance whenever I want to.  You work SO hard to train for a marathon.  I'd hate the idea of going back to square one.

So, why do I run? 
Because I can.
Because I love the feeling of running for hours (whether I'm training for something or not) when I can either think about a ton of stuff and solve all the problems of the world - or I can think of nothing.  Embarrassingly - nothing.
Because H and M know that I take the time for myself.  I love them.  But I love myself too. I think it's important for them to see that.
Because H and M now like to run short distances with me.  Sometimes, we do it as a Four Family.  I love that.
Because if I didn't run, I'd be twenty pounds heavier than I am now.  (I'm just being honest.)  I love to eat and running burns a lot of calories.
Because it has helped me to appreciate all four crazy seasons of this wacky part of the country.
Because it gives me hours throughout the week when I can be by myself.  As much as I love the peeps in my life, I really enjoy this alone time.
Because I am way proud of myself for doing something that I NEVER thought I'd be able to do.  I've run two marathons.  That's pretty stinkin' cool.

 

That's me a few yards away from finishing my first marathon in October, 2010.  I think I must have been saying to my family, "I can't BELIEVE I just DID THAT!"  They were yelling at me to stop talking and cross the damn finish line!!  And I DID. In a little over four hours. WHAT?!!?  Yep.  Nuts.

#1 Day of my life - The day H and M were born. 

#2 Day of my life - Our wedding

#3 and #4 Days of my life -the days I ran 26.2 miles and can honestly say that I enjoyed (nearly) every step

No question. Best days ever.

Now, back to what originally got me thinking about this.  I'm either going to run the 13.1 miles on Sunday crazy fast so that I can be done with the madness of running in this ridiculous winter weather or (more likely) super slow because I am so annoyed that I am running in this ridiculous winter weather. 

Either way, I will run.  And I will be proud...and I will eat a lot when I am done.

Take A Break

So - yesterday, the girls and I were leaving the library and my van wouldn't start.  Long story short, I called AAA and when the guy came to tow me to our mechanic, the van started perfectly.  (Isn't that always the way?)  Even still, he said that he wanted to check under the hood before he left just to be sure he didn't see anything weird. 

He was unable to open the hood.  I had the hood replaced a few months ago and have not needed to open it since.  I told the AAA guy that I was set, thanked him for his time (even though I ended up not needing him) and decided that I'd drive the van to the autobody shop that replaced the hood.  They re-aligned it and I was good to go. 

I decided that, while I was already half-way to our regular mechanic, I would swing by there real quick so that they could try to figure out why my van wouldn't start earlier in the day. While dropping it off, it occurred to me to mention to them in a sort of "oh I almost forgot-it's not a big deal-but I may as well mention it" way, that my breaks had been making a weird noise for a few days.

G got a phone call from the mechanic.  They, too, can find nothing that would indicate why my car wouldn't start.  They did, however, tell him that my brakes were nearly shot, pieces falling to the ground (these are not the technical terms, but you get my point.)  I shouldn't have been driving the car - without question. 

Had my car started fine in the first place yesterday, I'd have driven without questioning the brakes, until who knows when.  If the car hadn't started but AAA towed my car to our mechanic, I'd have never thought to mention the brake issue. 

Scary. 

You may call it a coincidence.  I call it Divine Intervention.  It's would have been my Gram's birthday today. I think she gave me a present.

Thanks, Grams. 



The More Things Change...

I am sitting at my desk as the seven Von Trapp children get fitted for the costumes for “The Sound of Music.” 

Major déjà vu. I was cast as Gretl in St. Mary Church’s production in, what must have been March, 1984 or so.  (I was twelve, but looked six.  It all worked out just fine.) 

Anyway, I remember standing on RL’s hearth, practicing my audition song, as if it were yesterday.   She is down the hall, no longer as the pianist, but as one of the show’s directors – simply amazing at what she does.  I am so blessed to have her in my life – for so many reasons.

The woman (girl, at the time) who played Liesl, works here now as well.  She just started less than a year ago.  We joke that I’ve always been a little bit obsessed with her and now that I see her every day, my obsession just grows.

The guy who played Friedrich is now my brother-in-law.  Funny stuff.  Love him!

As much as some things change, the more things stay the same.

Ode to the Drink

Ode to Large McDonald's Diet Coke. 

Oh, how I miss thee. 

Your bubbles. 

Your straw. 

Your perfect ice to liquid ratio. 

(You really can't get it "just right" anywhere else.)

The cupholder in my car is empty. 

Waiting for you. 

Missing you. 

Knowing that you'll not be back for a very long time. 

(Easter Sunday can't come soon enough.  Let's be honest.)

After dinner last night, I was sad.  So very, very sad. 

I had some juice. 

I had some water. 

Nothing. 

Nothing helped. 

(If I resort to drinking the only other beverage of choice-aka wine-I will have bigger headaches than 

caffeine withdrawal ones).  

So I went to bed thirsty. 

And dreamed of you. 

You may know this already, because we are so close. 

I swear I'm going to be too dehydrated for my run this Sunday, dear friend. 

If I fall on the side of the road, it will not be my fault for not training.  

It will be yours.  For leaving me. 

There is no substitute for you. 

I am in love with you. 

I miss you. 

And I will continue to miss you.

Until we meet again. 

It can't come soon enough. 

For reals.

A Near Perfect Circle

I just read a facebook post of a woman who was just told that her baby (due in a few weeks) is the size of a watermelon.  Such an exciting time for her and her husband. I have seen fb pictures of her - she is gorgeous - with or without a babe on the way. 

When I was pregnant with H and M...to the best of my recollection, I was not so much gorg.  I'm okay with that.  I had a lot goin' on that I had to focus on...

G went to every single doctor's appointment with me. And I had more than most.  He rocked the world.  Given our history of horrifying doctor appointments, he didn't want me to be alone.  Ever.  (Long story.  Believe me.)

Anyway, at one such appointment, we were waiting for quite a while for the doctor to come in the room.  We were bored and G saw the tape measure on the counter.  You know the one.  He thought it'd be funny to measure my belly - all the way around.  I was huge.  There is no getting around it.  No need to sugarcoat it, either now or then.  Massive. 

Anyway, he took the tape measure and started to wrap it around my body.  He was pulling so hard to fit it all the way around me - he broke it.  It didn't fit.  I don't think we've ever laughed so hard in our lives.

I was over 4 feet around.  I am only 5 feet tall.  I was a beach ball.

And for that visual, you're welcome.



Are Your Ears Burning?

So, in a few hours, the girls' first friends, "The Boys" will be over. We'll hang out with their parents all night as they play for hours, doing God knows what and loving every minute of it.  They are dear friends of ours. You know the kind I'm talking about - so close they come to your "family parties" even though they aren't technically family. We love them to pieces and are so thankful that they are in our lives.  I know their family always will be.

Anyway, it made me start to think of the friends that I had when I was younger...
...which made me start to think of people that were in my life for any number of reasons, that I no longer see much (if at all) any more...
...which made me wonder who (if anyone) thinks about me and wonders what I'm up to, how I am, what I'm like as an adult...

Kinda weird.

I'm not saying that I'm kinda weird (although that may be debatable by some..).  I'm just saying that, now that I think about it, I bet there are a lot of people who think about each one of us on a regular (or not so regular) basis without our knowing that they do so. To me, that's weird.

The more I thought about this, the more random people popped in to my head that I've not seen or thought of in years.  Here are a few.

I wondered about Charlie.  We'd return to our classroom after being at recess or gym or something and his entire desk would be tipped upside down, with all its contents on the floor because his desk was so messy and it was the only way our teacher could get him to organize his stuff.  Brilliant.  (Now, a teacher would get sued for doing something like that.  Ridiculous - but that's an entirely different post.)  He'd shake his head like, "here I go again" and start pick up on aisle 5.

Twins, Amy and Julie, were the first twins I ever knew.  I remember them being so different from each other and I thought that was so cool.  I guess I should have taken a lot of notes while I had the chance.

I dated a guy, Doug, who my cousins are still close to (so I s'pose I could still have easily kept in touch with him).  I was a complete and total jerk to him, in every way.  He is married (or at least I know he was married) so I am thankful that I did not turn him completely away from the female species.  Yes, I was that much of a horrible person.  Ugh.

I went through elementary school with a kids named, Chris.  For the most  part, I am not at all competitive as an adult. I think that is because I was off the charts competitive with him for so many years.   If he got 19 answers correct, I wanted to get 20.  If I got to sit in the front of the class right in front of the teacher, he wanted to sit right next to me.  There was no way that he was going to skip a reading level without me following suit.  I was sure of that.   We definitely had a love/hate relationship.  Thinking of him makes me remember that, at one point in my life I was quite smart.  I'm not sure what happened. I think that maybe I got dropped on my head when I was twelve and this is what I was left with.  In any event, I wonder what Chris is up to.

Mrs. Goss (who I actually bumped in to ten years or so ago) was, in my memory, the most beautiful person ever.  She reminded me of Snow White.  (I told her that when I saw her.  Ok - so maybe THAT'S weird.)  I loved second grade and I'm sure that she had everything to do with it.

Anyway, my point is - as I sit and type up this silly blog, I wonder if there's anyone thinking about me. Or thinking about you.  Whether it's someone that we've not seen in decades or someone we saw last night.  I never really thought about it before.

It kinda creeps me out - and makes me smile - all at the same time.

LMF14

Valentine's Day would have been their wedding anniversary.  Uncle Louie and Auntie Maffie's.  (See my "Cookie" post last month.) 

As an adult, Uncle Louie was the first person that I loved with all my heart and soul that I lost.  It slayed me.  It slayed all our family.  Losing him made me realize that my family was not going to be around forever.  It scared me breathless. 

Uncle Louie was a huge man.  Massive hands.  The broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen (not in a football uniform).  But when he smiled and laughed, he suddenly was the gentlest thing I’d ever seen. He’d laugh so hard and his eyes would get all squinty and his whole body would shake.  He sort of laughed like a muppet – either Bert or Ernie, I can’t think of which one – and it made me laugh just to hear him.

Uncle introduced us to the Cape.  Enough said.

Uncle Louie taught me how to swim.  We would go out to the Big Rock on our beach.  He’d hold me and, even though I was scared, I knew he’d keep me safe.  I’d hold on to his shoulders and he never let go.  Until the day he did. And I swam away.

Uncle Louie made THE most delicious meat you’ll ever taste. He never told us what he put in the rub (little bugger) but it was to die for.  He’d put the venison on huge skewers and then cook them in a barrel in his backyard.  As a skewer was done, he’d put the meat in a silver bowl on the table and then go outside to check the rest of the meat.  Before he got to the barrel, the meat that he’d just brought in was gone and we were waiting for more.

Uncle Louie played the organ.  He's the first person I remember seeing play live music.  I'm not sure if watching him is what sparked my interest in the piano but I am sure that I was always amazed at how his huge fingers could play the keys with such accuracy. 

Uncle Louie's red and white polka-dot hat that he wore for quahogging still hangs in the house at the Cape.  I can see him in the water, digging for quahogs.  He’d bring them home and open them for us non-stop.  He made it look so easy.  We’d eat them raw with vinegar or tabasco like they were candy.

Uncle Louie taught me how to blow a bubble.  I remember sitting in the back seat of their car.  (Well, really it was “his” car because Auntie Maffie never got her license).  I was so afraid that I was going to spit the gum out at them.  We were laughing so hard, I thought we were going to run off the road.  He told me that we would not get out of the car until I learned to blow a bubble.  I did.

Every time there was an election in Franklin, I’d go to Ma Glockner’s with Uncle Louie and Auntie Maffie. It was our tradition.  He always ordered me a Shirley Temple.  I never liked them, but I never told him so.

He was very proud of his country.  If you helped him take the flag off of the flagpole, you’d better do it right or not at all.

He had a teeny tiny radio on the mantel down the cape that played swing music constantly.  I cannot listen to swing music without thinking of him. 

Uncle Louie got up at the crack of dawn.  When we slept over down the cape, and he thought it was time for us to be up, he’d take a broom handle and whack it on the ceiling of the livingroom which was right below where we slept.  Suddenly, we were up and ready for the day too!

Because he got up so early, he’d fall asleep on the couch in the middle of the day, throughout the day, like nobody’s business.  He’d snore so loudly that he’d wake himself up.  If I may say so myself, I imitate him freakishly well.  Sometimes G asks me to imitate Uncle Louie snoring because it’s so funny.  (There are apparently no end to my talents.)

It occurred to me this morning while running that he always wore converse-like sneakers in the water.  Hmmm....maybe it's from him that I get my obsession.

One time when I was quite young, I stayed down the cape without my parents.  I apparently forgot to pack my belt.  He went out to his shed and came back with a piece of thick rope that he thought I might use to hold up my pants.  I was horrified.  I didn't want to hurt his feelings so I wore the damn rope all weekend.  He knew that I so embarrassed and it cracked him up. He teased me about it for years.  When G and I got married, Auntie Maffie and Uncle Louie gave us a great butcherblock for our kitchen.  Inside the drawer, he put a piece of thick rope.

In September, 1997, I was sitting at their kitchen table down the cape when he told me that he had just gotten back from the doctor's. He had cancer. He didn't know how bad it was. I wasn't the least bit concerned.  This was Uncle Louie we were talking about.  Are you kidding me?  He can beat this.  G and I got married a month later.  Uncle Louie was already starting to decline by that point, but there was no way he was going to miss our wedding.  Our photograher took a Pecci Family Picture that was taken at the reception and it is one of my favorite things in this world.  It's the last photo I have of him. 

Uncle Louie passed away two days before Christmas, 1997.  I am so sad that he never got to know H and M.  Man, would he love them. 

A Love Story

As we prepare to celebrate Valentine's Day, I thought I'd share this story of romance.

Before G and I got married, we attended a day-long Pre-Cana class.  (For you non-Catholics, this is a fancy way of saying mandatory marriage counseling).

At one point in the day, we all were instructed to write a letter to our future spouse. To the best of my recollection, the letter was supposed to express what we loved about the other person, what we most looked forward to and such.  It pretty much was a love letter (...that a priest instructed us to write.  I guess that's kind of weird, but whatever...we did what we were told.)

I, of course, took this very seriously and while I honestly don't remember what I wrote, I know that I labored over this letter.  I wanted to share with Guy all that was in my heart and soul.  I had waited for this love that I had found with him all my life.  I couldn't wait until we proclaimed our love in front of our family and friends a few short months later.  I couldn't believe that I had found the love of my life in him - someone I'd known all along.  I'm sure it was filled with sickeningly sweet sentiments like this.  And I meant every word. 

As I was writing my letter, I kept watching Guy write his.  I was surprised that he was so busy writing.  He never looked up from his pen and paper.  Not necessarily one to be all that "mushy", I was so intrigued by what he had to say.  I was so happy that he was taking this so seriously.  It made me fall in love with him all over again.

I finished my letter first and I patiently and anxiously awaited his.  I was so in love and, while I knew he loved me, I couldn't wait to read what he had written.

Well, this is what he wrote.  No joke.

Dear Kim,
I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really...[for the entire page] love you.
Love, Guy

I should have known what I was getting myself in to at that point.  I have no one to blame but myself.

9 Step Program

Step 1:  Open up bathroom cabinet.
Step 2:  Look inside bathroom cabinet.
Step 3:  Put hand inside bathroom cabinet.
Step 4:  Find full toilet paper roll inside bathroom cabinet.
Step 5:  Take full toilet paper roll out of bathroom cabinet.
Step 6:  Take empty toilet paper roll off of wall.  (I know you noticed that it's empty.)
Step 7:  Replace empty toilet paper roll with full toilet paper roll. ('Cuz that will make things much easier the next time you're in here.)
Step 8:  Throw away empty toilet paper roll.
Step 9:  Watch mother do Happy Dance.

Any questions?

As Crush Would Say...

Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.  It’s not always easy.  In fact, sometimes, it feels downright impossible.  But really, there are times when what is “supposed” to happen may not necessarily be what we “expect” or "want" to happen.

I saw this in full swing this weekend at my cousin’s wedding.  Months of planning and then – BAM! a blizzard of epic proportion.   Long story short, the wedding was scheduled for Saturday and it ended up happening on Sunday.  In the end, it was a great weekend, fabulous wedding and M and L are on the beach on the honeymoon as I type.  All’s well.  But I’m sure that there were times this weekend  when they wanted to jump of a high cliff.  They had to change their plans so many times, make adjustments, re-adjust, and then change again.

Who knows why their biggest day ever was messed with?  Maybe it's because ... (regardless of the name of this blog) it wasn't "all about them".  That seems crazy at first glance because it's their wedding day, for goodness sakes.  (And I gotta tell ya - we're talking about two fab people.  They are off the charts amazing for more reasons than I can name.  Love them to pieces!!)  But, I talked with a lot of peeps this weekend and we all seem to be in agreement that it's easy to forget (or not even think about) Big Picture because we're so focused on ourselves.  Maybe, because of the turn of events this weekend, other things happened that wouldn't have happened if the weekend had gone as we all had planned.  Who knows?  Maybe conversations were had, moments were spent, relationships were strengthened (you get the picture)...because of the way it all unfolded.  As much as they probably wish they weren't, maybe M and L were the catalysts for some Big Picture stuff to happen.

While they (and others) surely had their moments of being pissed, sad, annoyed and frustrated, their ability to have Faith in what was happening was amazing. I certainly wasn't with them for every moment but when I was with them, I was in awe of their strength and ability to go with the flow.  Just love them.

Thanks, M and L, for teaching me this lesson this weekend.  I think I needed it.  Maybe we all did.

Just A Glimpse

It’s funny. Well, “funny” is not the right word at all, but that’s the problem that I’m dealing with right now.  I can’t find the right words.  Not even close. I have sat down to write “this” blog so many times and it’s been so hard.  There truly are no words. So, here is attempt #273.  (Some of you will get the reference of that particular number.  Clever, huh?)

Dear Gram,

To say that your legacy lives on in me, my cousins and our children is an understatement. We are all more like you in ways we don’t even realize sometimes.  (Sorry, G, but it’s true…good luck. At least you know what you’re in for.)

We joke that you called me “a miracle” to everyone who’d listen (or pretend to listen).  Your pride in me and the rest of your grandchildren and great-grandchildren went unmatched.  I beg anyone to challenge me on that statement.

You never missed a single First Day of School.  Even when I was in college, you’d head up to our house to say goodbye before we headed down to PC.  At the time, it was sort of “expected” because I knew you’d be there.  Now, looking back, I am in awe of it.  What a simple, quick visit can do for a kid.

I can’t think of a single “thing” of mine that you weren't there for, for 35 of my years– recitals, shows, presentations, parties, meetings, you name it.  In fact, when H and M were little and we enrolled them in their first “class”, I was afraid to take them by myself.  I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to handle both of them.  Who came with me each week?  You did.

While I would sing in church, you would tell every single person who walked by you, that I was your granddaughter.  Yes, Gram, they thought I was beautiful.  And yes, Gram, they had never heard a more beautiful voice.  (At least they knew that was what they were supposed to say.)  Oh, and by the way, it was very clear to them that I was your granddaughter.  You had already told them for that past 2,619 Sundays.

Your ability to not take things too seriously (including yourself) is a quality that I am proud to say I see in myself.  Like you, I let most things roll off my back.  And like you, if I do get upset about something – look out.  I mean business.

Every time I need something to be hemmed or mended in some way, (honestly) my first thought is to give it to Gram.  That’s one thing that, unfortunately, you didn’t teach me.  I truly can’t thread a needle successfully.  Oh well, I love you anyway.  You taught me lots of other things… J

Most of the phrases that I have coined as “mine” are really not mine– they are “yours”.  I share them with you. And I melt a little when I hear M and H saying them now as well.

But Gram, I am angry about one thing.  And it’s a pretty big thing.  It’s not your fault.  It’s not your fault at all.  It’s no one’s fault.  And yet, I can’t get it out of my mind.  It creeps in to my head when I least expect it and I get angry.  So angry.  (See “I mean business” angry above.)

Gram, you were taken from us too early.  For a few years, you were “here” with us, but “you” weren’t.  It started innocently enough and, because we didn’t know enough about what was happening, when you said or did things that didn’t make sense, we all just thought “Oh, that’s just Gram…she’s being, well, Gram.”  Soon enough though, that didn’t cut it anymore.  We knew that you were leaving us.  It happened slowly at first and then, as if in a blink, “you” were gone.   Suddenly we didn’t know you anymore.  You looked like you.  You sounded like you, sort of.  But you weren’t you.  We lost you.  And we didn't have a map.

I would say on my way down the hallway to visit, “maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of Gram today.  Maybe she’ll say something that will be 'just like Gram' today.  Maybe she’ll remember exactly who we are and why we are there and she’ll understand what I’m trying to say to her.”  Some days, at the beginning, my prayers would be answered.  I’d catch a "glimpse of Gram".  And I'd be so happy, like a little kid.  I had my Gram back.  And then you'd be gone.  As time went on though, these glimpses were fewer and fewer. 

It just didn’t make sense.  In my head, I would shout, “what do you mean, you don’t know this, that or the other thing?  You’re Gram! How can you not know what I’m talking about?”  I’d get in my car and cry. You know, the big, from the toes cry.  I’d sob.  And I’m sure I’m not the only one in our family who did that.

And then, I'd hope for a glimpse again, the next time I saw you.  Up until the very last day. 

I miss you.  I would say, "I miss you more than you know." But the amazing thing is, I believe that you do know.  You know every breath I have taken and will take.  Now, you understand everything - everything that has happened and will happen. 

You have more than a glimpse of me.  You have an eterntiy.

C-5

There’s a lot of talk about The Blizzard of ’78 right now. Each year around this time, people reminisce but this is especially the case this week because of the storm we are expecting in a few days. 

My parents were managers of Ledgewood Apartments at the time. They had been for years.  In fact, we lived there until the summer before when we moved to our house.  Before, during and after the storm, they, understandably, had to spend days on end dealing with “landlord-type” stuff at the apartments – plowing, shoveling, loss of power, etc.  Only being six at the time, I needed someplace to stay while they were busy working. 

Where did I stay?  Ledgewood Apartment C-5.  

That's it below.  Middle porch on the left.



Auntie Ellie’s. 

My Auntie Ellie passed away last year.  She was 94.  I had the incredible honor of delivering the eulogy at her funeral.  I am beyond words thankful to have been given the opportunity to share with our family and friends my thoughts on this amazing lady. Among the thoughts I shared, were my memories of Apartment C-5.

I spent a lot of time in that apartment with her over the years.  I think about it a lot.  It was really the “hub” of Ledgewood. There were 48 units and yet, everyone knew where the action was.  Apartment C-5.  It was where all the repair folks, delivery folks, perspective renters, and current renters (not to mention family and friends) knew they could go – for a laugh, a drink, some food, a hug, or big juicy kiss – whatever they needed.  There was always something cooking on the stove.  There was also always something in the oven.  And something on deck…in case more company showed up…It was truly amazing.

My most treasured memories of Apartment C-5 took place in a red recliner chair.  I often wonder what happened to that chair.  I would give anything to have it in our house now.  Auntie Ellie and I would spend hours sitting side by side in the chair.  She, in her snap up the front apron.  Me, with  my pageboy haircut and cords.  She’d say, “Push over.  I’m sooo fat!  My big behind can’t fit.”  She'd laugh, I’d giggle and push over as far as I could. To me, though, the more squooshed we were, the better.  We’d grab our songbook from her drawer and sing: “Five Foot Two”, “After the Ball”, “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”, "Side by Side", "Ain't She Sweet", "If You Knew Suzie".  We’d sing at the top of our lungs.  We didn’t care what we sounded like.  We thought we sounded amazing.  It was pure joy for both of us.  Pure. Simple. Joy.

Auntie Ellie gave me our songbook for Christmas in 1990.  On the note with it, she wrote, “Dear Kim, This was our special book.  It has such beautiful memories.  Love you.  Merry Christmas.  Love, Auntie Ellie.”  As I look at her handwriting, I can hear her voice and smell her perfume.

Our songbook and its note sit in my jewelry box.  I see them every day.  And I am reminded me of the love that I felt in Apartment C-5.  I am reminded of what I want to be like when I "grow up". 

Picky Eaters

So, I try to "really" cook at least three nights a week.  Some nights, it's not possible because of our work/FSPA schedules.  But on the "nice meal" nights, I make a new recipe and we weigh in on if it's a keeper or not.   I have a big binder where I keep all my recipes and after we try a new one, it either goes back in (if we like it enough to try it again) or in the trash (if it's not to be tried...ever again).  We've worked really hard this year to make this happen and it's been great.  We've all loved not eating the same thing over and over again and it's been fun eating (and cooking) new stuff.  

The only way I can make this happen is by planning out what we'll eat over the weekend and go shopping before the week gets going.  I promise you, I'm not as organized as this sounds in all areas of my life.  I've just made a commitment to these "nice" meals (for at least as long as our schedules allow) and we do what we need to to make it happen.  Sometimes it's a new crock recipe or something that I make ahead of time and throw in to the oven as soon as I get home.  Sometimes (at least once a week) I make the whole thing when we get home and the kids'll pitch in and help as much as they can.

 It all sounds great on paper.  But I've created monsters.  Food monsters.

Earlier this week, I realized that I was short a meal and I didn't have time to run to the store (which is why I always plan ahead) to grab anything.  In our freezer in the basement, I found some fried chicken and tater tots. 
Most children - would have been thrilled.  Fried goodness, to be covered with ranch dressing or ketchup.  Yum. I was hating every minute of it, but had a cucumber so I was able to at least put something remotely healthy on the plate...

Not these two.

When getting ready for bed that night - "Um, Mumma.  What happened?  You didn't even bread this chicken yourself, did you?" And "the taters tots aren't seasoned either, are they?"  "Are we going to have to have another meal like this - ever?"

Really?  Really?

Don't get me wrong - we love that M and H are more than willing to try new things.  We love that they like to name the herbs and spices they taste.  They are as comfortable eating with chopsticks as they are with a fork and knife.  They'd much rather eat at a fancy restaurant than a fast food joint.  This is all good.

But really?  Really?

Monsters.

It's No Use Crying

So, I’ve gotten in trouble three times in my life.  For reals.  That’s it. 

I mean, I did more than three trouble-worthy things in my life growing up but I either

A) never got caught (I need to be careful as we are in mixed company here),
B) it wasn’t bad enough to “really” get in trouble,
C) my dad was secretly happy that I actually was a “normal” kid,
D) all of the above.

Surely, I did (and continue to do) plenty of things that have displeased folks and such.  But nothing that I’d say was really “wrong”.  I’ve always left that for other peeps.

1978: First grade – Mrs. Wood’s class, Davis Thayer.  (Same classroom where M had first grade, but I digress.)  I was wearing my favorite outfit.  In my mind, I was drop dead gorg.  Navy blue cordoroys (probably size 4T slim), a red and white checkered button down shirt with metal snaps that were really cold against my body and an elastic belt with magnet clasp that was blue with red letters that said “JEANS” across it.  Oh and don’t forget the Dorothy Hammill haircut. I was rockin' the outfit and felt like a million bucks. 

Anywho…it was snack time. I don’t remember who the friend was but apparently I had a lot to say to him or her.  (I’m sure it was a “her”. The only boy I ever had talked to up to that point was Tommy Walker in kindergarten.  Oh my God – was he so cute – and he had a Dorothy Hamill haircut too!)   As much as I didn’t enjoy small talk (yes, even back then) if you got me in a scenario where I felt comfortable,  you couldn’t shut me up.  (Some things never change.)  Mrs. Wood told me numerous times to stop talking and quietly eat my saltines and milk.  (Were we in prison or in elementary school?)  I did not stop talking.  In fact, I kept talking and getting up to talk to my friend at her desk when I thought Mrs. Wood wasn’t looking.  She was looking and I saw her coming over to me again!  I knew that she was going to tell me that I was going to have to stay in for recess!! That was a fate worse than death!!!  Miss out on playing 7Up or Chinese jumprope?  Not I!!!!

In an attempt to get back to my seat in the front of the room (have I mentioned I was the teacher’s pet) without getting caught, I spun around very quickly and knocked my friend’s milk all over my snazzy outfit . The milk totally soaked my pants.  (I was approximately two feet tall.  It didn’t take much).  I went down to the nurse and she pulled out some of the clothes from the lost and found bin for me to put on.  Really?  (If only my parents had worked right around the corner…they could have brought me some new clothes.)  Anyway, I returned to class wearing the same favorite red and white checkered shirt ... with the lost and found (too wide and WAY too long) orange, purple and green plaid bell bottoms.  Suddenly, I was no longer Vogue-worthy.  I looked like (as H and M horrifyingly say) a hobo.

In a New York Minute, I was no longer quite so gorg.  I was mortified… and apparently, a bit snippy with Mrs. Wood.  I blamed her for my sudden fall from fashion stardom.   I was going to show her who was boss.  In my attempt to show her that I didn’t appreciate what had just transpired, I had a bit of a ‘tude.  (A five year old 'tude, but a 'tude nonetheless.)

I guess I failed to realize that when you are five and in first grade, you are not the boss.  Under any circumstances.

She kept me (and my 'tude) in for recess anyway…

Seasons of Love

As much as I'd surely love to live in the "perfect" climate 365 days a year, as I was running this morning, I was thinking of all the things that I love about living in New England. Sure, all of these things happen elsewhere.  But I honestly don't think I'd appreciate them as much if I lived them all the time, year 'round.  As much as I enjoy each season, I'm happy to see the next one 'round the bend.

WINTER
The first snowfall of the season.
The way my kids' cheeks look after playing outside in the snow.
Those really big snowflakes that you are sure must be fake as they fall from the sky.
When you learn that you turned on your defrost early enough and you don't have to scrape your car windows at all.
The sound of the heat coming out from the radiators.
An unexpected snow day.
Those last few minutes of warm cuddle time before starting the day.
Listening to H and M count the snowflakes that land on their tongues.  (May they never be too old to stop doing this.)
No longer having to worry about ticks. 
When you've run far enough that you can take off your gloves because you're "so hot".
Finding new animal tracks in the snow in the morning.
Listening to G, H and M re-tell their sledding stories to me.

SPRING
Running in a warm rain.
Opening up our windows for the first time.
Jeans and flipflops.
Realizing that there's no more salt and icemelt marks on my floor.
Waking up to birds singing after a quiet winter.
The sound of snow melting off of the house.
Seeing all the local runners on the street the day after the Boston Marathon.
The smell of new mulch.

SUMMER
The perfect beach day.
Heads of hair filled with sand and sunblock.
Watching the Red Sox on tv, knowing that so many other people are doing exactly the same thing.
Sleeping with the windows open.
Walking in to a nice cool centrally aired house after a day of too much heat.
The sound of the rain fall on the roof of our house down the cape.
Daytime thunderstorms.
Fireflies and butterflies.
Watching and listening to the girls play softball in our backyard with G.

FALL
When the girls come in and they smell like "fall".
Shorts and sweatshirts.
Pumpkins, apple crisp and hayrides.
Chili, cornbread and red sauce.  (Well, that's a year-round love, but I mostly associate it with the fall.)
Sitting by the fire in our backyard with friends.
Listening to H and M laugh when they can see their breath outside for the time in a long time.
Needing a blanket to watch tv.
Not having to worry about sunburns.
Realizing that you have no more itchy mosquito bites.
How nice our yard looks after raking (...until it has to be raked again...three days later).
The crunch, crunch, crunch of leaves.

I'm "done" with winter.  But in reality, we still have quite a ways to go. We'll make it through.  We always do. And next year at this time, we'll do it all over again.  (As my gram would say, "God willing.")



I Heart Stacy

Dear Maker of Stacy's Chips,

I think that it is unkind of you to include the highly addictive crack cocaine in your ingredient list without telling the consumer.  How else can you explain my absolute NEED to eat the entire bag?

Sincerely,

A Concerned Customer (With Very Little Will Power)



My Name Is Zoom and I Live On The Moon...

H and M have asked me for years "when you were little, what was it like, not having a sister?"  (They can't even imagine.)

My answer has always been the same.  "Well, I sorta did."

I had a cousin.  And it's her birthday today.

Happy Birthday, Dee.  I love you more than you know.

I can't even begin to recount the stories. It would take a lifetime.

It's probably a good thing that we don't live near each other.  I'd not want to work or sleep.  I'd just want to hang out with you...and that wouldn't make for very productive people...

I love everything about you.  Always have.  Always will.  Even when "life" or miles have gotten in the way.

So often, in the middle of the day, I think of you and start to laugh.  I mean, gaffaw laugh-out-loud.  I don't even try to explain.  It's my own little secret.   That only you would understand.





I hope you have a kick-arse day.

I love you!!!