M-I-C-K-E-Y

Starting to think about our next trip to Disney. 
Honestly, I love this place more than one person should.
Our whole Four Family does.
It is, in these years of our lives, the perfect vacation for the four of us.  It won't always be. So we take advantage as much as we (and our wallets) allow.
G and I love every minute of planning our Disney trips and all four of us have a complete and total blast from start to finish. 
We have figured out a way to deal with Mouse stress-free and relaxation-filled.
(Well, the only stress is keeping it a secret from H and M who insist on being surprised for every vacation we go on. So, sssshhhhh...)
Can't wait. 
Now, only 300 or so days to go...

Quite Possibly a Tear Jerker. Sorry Folks.

I think about them a lot.  More than most of you would imagine.

What would they look like now?

Would they be funny and do well in school?

Would we like their friends?  

What would their favorite foods be? 

Would they be each other's best friends from the start?

They'd probably be starting to get a real sense of what they'd want to be when they grow up. 

I wonder what that is.

Would they love to cuddle with me in the morning?

Would they love us to the moon and back?

If things had happened the way (at the time) we thought they were "supposed to happen", we'd not have been blessed with H and M.

And that thought simply.  takes.  my.  breath.  away.

And yet, I still wonder.

Nearly every day.

Mid-Life Crisis Alert

 Exactly a week after he turned 43, G is clearly in the throes sort of mid-life crisis. 

It could be worse.  Much worse.

He could have come home looking like this.  And to be honest, I'm not sure what would be worse - the tattoos or the hair.

He's not coming home with one (or ahem...both) of these

while riding one of these. 



Or even worse with one of these. 

He's not suddenly developed an affinity for this

or this. 


So, really, who's to complain?

He just suddenly wants to be like this. 

And really, who doesn't love Alex Van Halen, right?

So, I'll buy him one of these, soundproof it, and throw it in the backyard.

He can practice his drum licks to his heart's content. For hours on end.  Through the night even.

And then, that way, when I have MY midlife crisis and come home with this,

he'll be too busy to notice.

Problem solved.

Sometimes I shock myself with my brilliance.


Ridiculous with a Capitol R

I'd have been really angry if someone told me that I couldn't marry G because he is a guy and I am not.

That'd have been completely and totally asinine, right?

Aren't there better things that politicians need to deal with these days?

Honestly.

Walkin' the Tightrope

This weekend was all about balance. 

Boys' Night for G and a fun night out with some gals for me.
"Date Night" (where we left the restaurant without paying...we apparently need to not be left alone so that our friends can take care of us...). 
Mumma and Daddy cuddle time with H and M.
But also a sleepover at a friend's house/bowling/birthday party.
A little bit of working but not "too much".
Family party. 
Late night hang with besties.  
Dinner and drinks (and lots of laughs) at home with great friends and the 'rents. 
We even got to spend time with A Babe this weekend! 
The only thing missing was getting in enough hang time with the "usual gang" (although we did have a few minutes on Saturday and plenty of texts back and forth).

This balance is hard to get.  We're all going in so many different directions.  It's hard to not get pushed and pulled and then, before you know it, you're very heavy in one direction or another. 

It's not always easy but both G and I try to keep this balance in our lives and the girls' as much as possible. 

After a weekend like this, it makes you realize just how important it is for the soul. 

Aaaaahhhhh....

Coming Soon To A Downtown (Franklin) Near You

A table of women, friends since grade school, celebrating an admission in to grad school for one, an engagement for another.
A 40th birthday celebration complete with friends, old and new.
A nervous pair on their first date, trying to think of what to say next.
A "we finally have a babysitter" couple, thrilled to be out for the night sharing a quiet dinner and drink, but secretly wondering how their babe is doing at home without them. 
A bunch o' guys out celebrating a promotion and saying goodbye to a pal before he moves cross country.

Incredible food.  Exciting food.  Interesting food.  Food you talk about the next day. Food you wish for the next day. 
A bar filled with the best beer, wine and spirits around.
A roaring fire when there's a chill in the air or an outdoor patio to spend our perfect New England summer nights.

Pick up a fun gift for a housewarming party.
Grab dinner on your way home.  (You won't want to cook again.)
 Drop in for a quick drink.
Stay all night.  (You won't want to leave.)

Summer, 2013.
Downtown Franklin.

So exciting.

1,300 Miles

You know when you walk in to a house and it feels like "home"?  I mean, there are plenty of houses that I have been in and I feel completely comfortable.  And that's a great feeling too.  But I'm talking about that house that literally feels like it's your home. 

Well, that place, for me (us) is sadly far away from here.  It's 1300 miles far away. 

We (well, not just us but all visitors there) have our own little guest cottage with our name on the door.  H and M, of course, sleep in their own room in the main house and like the fact that they are in a different house than us.  I think it makes them feel as if they are on a vacation without us.  And, that's way cool.

We have been there many times.  But it's never enough.  Each time, we immediately start talking about when we can go back.  

H and M learned how to swim there. 
It is there were they had their first knitting lessons.  (They need to have another knitting lesson soon.) 
We played our first game of Mexican Train dominoes. 
H and M saw their first real live orange tree and alligator...or was it a crocodile??
We eat delicious food, drink too much (well, some of us) and I make extra batches of sauce to be frozen and eaten once we head back home. 
We tool around in a golf cart, laughing the entire way.
Last year, we celebrated La Befana (or as I called it, "La Botswana").  We made homemade Christmas gift tags for next year.
We have become obsessed with one visit each trip to "The Sweet Tomato" (pronounced "to-MAH-to" in our house) and sometimes, "The Sweet Tomato" staff shows up in our kitchen back home.
We pile in to the car with enough food and drink to last us a lifetime, on our way to visit Mickey. 

On paper, there are only two children in the car.  But in our hearts, there are six.  Because it is impossible to not giggle, squeal and practically fall on the floor with happiness when with these two.

We swim, we eat, we drink, we cook, we laugh,  we read, we relax. We live.  We love.

You know those people that are in your life that you thank your lucky stars for? Well, we've got two of them.  I honestly cannot imagine life without them.  We share them with many (they are VERY popular peeps) and we are so grateful for every minute with them.  They truly have taught me (and many others) how to "be".  It's that's simple. 
And I am missing them dearly. 

Love you, Verena and Fred.  Love, love, love you !!

MCAS

We are very thankful that H and M seem to have a "healthy" relationship with school and learning in general. 

They take it seriously, try to do their best and (thankfully) do quite well. 
They don't flip out about deadlines and such but they are very diligent about not waiting until the last minute and this makes both G and me very happy. 
They study, don't make themselves sick about how well they'll do but surely do all that they can to get a good grade.
They prepare and, for the most part, just keep on keepin' on.

That is until it is MCAS season.  And then, they turn in to this kid. And worry about every moment of the damn tests.  Why they think they'll suddenly forget how to write a coherent sentence, understand fractions or long division (or whatever the hell it's called now) is beyond me. 

It's really funny to watch. And yet, I can't wait for MCAS to be over.



Happy Birthday, Guyzee!!!

The first birthday I remember celebrating with you (it may not have been the first one, but it's the first one I remember) was when you turned 21.  I remember thinking that you were "so old" and "so cool."  I remember waiting in the car as you bought your first legal six-pack...err...um...I mean your first six pack ever.  Anyway...I never imagined that all these years later, we'd still be celebrating.  I guess I never really thought about it.  It just sort of happened.  And before you know it, here we are, lotsa years (and gray hair) later.  And I wouldn't change a thing.  Well, there are a few things...but those don't need to be brought up here...

You share your birthday with Big Bird, Bobby Orr, Carl Reiner, Mr. Rogers, to name a few.  Not bad company, I'd say.  Oh and Janene Asgeirsson...she's sort of okay company...

No matter what anybody else says about you...you're not half bad.  In fact, you're a real stand up guy.  (Except when you're watching a Patriots game.  Then you leave a lot to be desired.  But really, that's just my opinion.)  Some people find it entertaining to be with you during a Pats game.  I'm just not one of them.

You make me laugh like no one else.  You laugh at me when I get really angry with you.  That bugs the shit out of me when you do it, but after the fact, it's pretty funny.

You are the best Daddio in the land.  And that's the greatest thing you could ever, ever be.  You work really hard at it.  And you're doing a great job.  Our kids are proof.  They're not perfect.  Neither are we.  But I think they'll not turn out half bad.  Thank you for all you do for them.

Thank you for all you do for me.  You let me be me.  I know that's not always easy. 

But really, when all is said and done, this is how I think people should remember you on birthday.  It's perfectly appropriate.  You're welcome.  

Happy Birthday, Guyzee.  I LOVE YOU!!

Kev

I'm sitting at my desk missing him.  I keep looking at his picture, still not believing that he's gone. 

There are truly no words. 



No words for the person he was.

No words for how much he is missed.

No words for the hole that we all have in our hearts.

No words for the sadness we will feel.

Forever.

Love you, Kev.  Plain and simple.



Run, Forrest, Run

You learn something about yourself every day. Even when you least expect it.

This morning, I was about 8 miles into my 10+ mile run.  A woman rounded the corner on to Pond Street on the opposite side of the street from me.  She was minding her own business and, I'm sure, paying absolutely no attention to me. She had no reason to.

Unbeknownst to her, I decided that we were in a race.  I am not all that competitive but there was NO WAY that she was going to pass me.    I ran so fast for the last 2+ miles, I honestly pulled a thigh muscle.

And I won.  Left her in the dust.  BAM!

And now, I'm icing my leg.  bam.

Girls Will Be...Daddy's Girls

We knew we were having twins very early on in my pregnancy.

That was a blessing.  It took us a long time to wrap our arms around that little tidbit of life info.  Yikes.

It was around five months or so that we found out we were having two girls.  Literally, the first thing out of G's mouth (poor thing, he turned white as a ghost) was "oh, God, they will be thirteen some day." 

He just couldn't imagine having two girls for many reasons.  His family is quite small.  No sisters.  No girl cousins.  He's a guy's guy.  All sports.  All pat on the behind, in your face, swear, watch football and drink a beer kinda guy.  Not one, but two girls...What in the world would he do with that?

Well, suffice to say, he has figured it out.  They are Daddy's Girls.  Through and through.  I just sit back and watch.  And smile.

Today, we came home and, as I headed to the grocery store, the three of them donned hats and gloves and went outside to play football.  They came inside a while later, freezing cold, red cheeks, smelling like "outside" and loving life.  

I'd say he's doing just fine.

Oh, Ward...

I frequently refer to myself as "June" because I like for G (aka "Ward")  to take care of most "things".  I don't like to talk to banks, applicance repair people, insurance companies. Pretty much, unless it involves family, friends or food, I prefer to not have much to do with it.  He humors me and takes care of pretty much everything.  I tease him and myself by saying that if he drops dead tomorrow, I'm in big fat trouble.

Well, this morning June has had a very busy day (as far as I'm concerned) with things that Ward usually does (because he's the boy) but he can't because he's on the road for work. 

So, June is doing them. Ward is very thankful and has been calling June all day thanking her for trying to take care of these things.

But June is exhausted.

June needs a drink.

"Thank You, Easter Bunny. Bawk! Bawk!"

Yesterday, while I wasn't in my classroom, someone put some colored Easter eggs on the shelves in our Little Music School room.  (I feel as if someone told me they were going to do it but I can't really remember why.  It's all a bit vague.)

Anyway, I wish you could have seen the looks on my students' faces when they were CONVINCED that the Easter Bunny made an early appearance.  "At our MUSIC CLASS!!  Not even in our HOUSES or our YARDS!  MISS KIM, can you BELIEVE it?!?!"



Reason  #5,309 why I love my job.

A Little OCD

I saw this today and it made me laugh.  I've been crazed by making this very hard decision a number of times in my life.  It made me think of other OCD-ish type things I do on a nearly daily basis.

Don't roll your eyes at me.  You know you have them too.

I have to buy and eat things in multiples of two.  For instance, I could never take three strawberries or grapes from T's tupperware at work (Thanks for sharing!)  I'd have to eat two or four...or, given my appetite, six ... or eighteen.  If pairs of socks are 3 for $10, I'd have to buy 6.  Same thing with cans of corn, tissue boxes...you get the point.  (I actually think this stems from having twins and always buying things in pairs for so long.  Either way, I still have to do it - with everything!)

When I go running and need to attach my key to my shoelace, I cannot have it tied to my right shoe.  It makes me nuts.  It always goes on the left.

When I dry my hair in the morning, the lights in the bathroom have to be turned off.  It's not because I'm frugal.  It's because I'm nuts.

The napkin fold has to be on the outside of the plate when I'm setting the table.

I always have to brush my bottom left teeth first.

Dishes always have to go in to the dishwasher with the bottom of the dish facing the stove, not the sink.

The pillow cases on our bed need to open to the outside. Opening to the inside would be madness.

Pens and pencils need to be point down in my pencil holder.  This is partly because I don't like the mess when pens explode at the bottom of the holder.  It's also partly because they just have to be that way.

So, I guess I don't really know what OCD is.  Perhaps none of these things demonstrate OCD.  Perhaps, I'm just quirky.  Either way, after reading this, if you are ever doing laundry in our house, please be sure that when you're folding G's t-shirts, the white ones go on top.

Thanks much.

Twin Project

When H and M were two years old and then again three years old, they participated in the Boston University Twin Project.  In fact, they still get b-day cards from BU every year.  I don't recall the details (I notice while writing this blog that I "don't often recall" a lot!) but it was some sort of study that recorded their activity level based on other twins'.  They had to wear monitors on their wrists and ankles for 48 hours.  Then, twice a year, for two years,we went in to Boston, they were observed and filmed while playing with the folks conducting the tests, we went out to dinner and we went home. It was fun.  It was a good excuse to get in to Boston with the kids every now and again. 

Well, last night, we watched the videotapes of their sessions.  First off, let me say, that it was hysterical to watch them cry and scream and throw fits when I left the room.  ( I forgot all about that phase of their lives - especially H's.  But it's nice to see how much they loved The Mumma...G was a little bit annoyed that they weren't crying asking for him...) The girls and I were cracking up as we watched them turn red in the face and flail on the ground like raving lunatics.  G didn't enjoy watching it again quite as much.  It was like he was reliving it again...no thanks...

It was really fun to observe them interact and play (once they regained their sanity).  It was amazing to me.  They both were spot on mini-me versions of themselves now.  Way cool.

Hannah was soooo upset each time I left the room.  Her face turned redder than red and her little eyes bugged out of her head.  I'm sure she sweat through her clothes.  It was mostly, though because she was unsure of what was going to happen next.  She didn't miss a trick while the test was being conducted.  She was watching every move the grad students made.  You could tell from the look on her face that she wanted to be happy about what was going on (I mean it was all games, toys, movies, M & M's and goldfish - what could be wrong with that?!)  Eventually, she warmed up to the peeps, participated, played and had a blast.  I think she was more hesitant of the unknown. 

Now, years later, she is the same way.  Each night, at bedtime, she asks G and me these three questions, in this order:  "If we have a bad dream, can we wake you guys up?"  "Is the bathroom light on?" "Are we going to see you in the morning?"  The answers are always "yes", but she has to ask every night.  (Sometimes I answer "no" to them and then proclaim "Happy Opposite Day" but she doesn't find that as humorous as I.)  Each morning on the way to school, she likes to go line item by line item as to what will happen after school, who will pick them up, who will be where, what our dinner plans are and such. She just likes to be prepared.  And if she is, she's good to go.  She's totally fine (thankfully) if things change mid-way through the day. She just needs to know that there is, in fact, some sort of plan as we head out the door.

Maddie started out just fine in the study sessions. She walked in and started working the room.  (Just like her Daddy.)  From the get go, she played with everything with a smile on her face, talked (as much as she was able at two and three) and seemed to be quite comfortable from the very beginning. We thought, "ahhh, this will be easy.  Not like the crazy Sister"  Then, all of a sudden, every time, (I think she must have heard my voice on the other side of the door), she completely and totally lost her mind.  Out.  Of.  Her.  Minda.  She turned in to a raving lunatic - kicking, flailing, nutso.  She was pissed.  And there was no consoling her. She couldn't and wouldn't listen to reason. She was rarely like that as a babe.  It was so funny to watch. 

And, she's still a bit like that. She's pretty even keel and then BAM! She's crazed - perhaps because H didn't erase a pencil marking in her notebook well enough or because I brush her hair at the wrong angle or because G puts her pants away the wrong way in their closet.  We all stare at her (as we did during the study) like, "are you effing serious with this?!  Chill out, dude!"  She mutters under her breath as we tease her, willing us to go far, far away.  Eventually, she's cool. But in the interim - look out.

Suffice to say that the people dealing with both of them and their tantrums were NOT getting paid enough.  YIKES!

They had little itty bitty bodies with massive heads of hair - ponytails in all different directions.  They had chubby cheeks and diaper bums.  They had little voices and littler hands.  It was sad to see how much things had changed.

... I was still a bit chubbed, wearing overalls and had a horrible haircut.  It was not sad to see how much that had changed.

Did I Really Just Say That?

So, were high school, I think.  Maybe college.
AJ, my best friend, and I were in the backseat of their car. 
Her parents were in the front.
We were in the parking lot of The Ice Cream Machine. 

I had weird ways of saying things at the time.  (Still do.)  I don't remember exactly what we were talking about but I know that I ended my sentence with "Oh, happiness."  I sort of ran out of breath as I said it.

AJ's dad asked me what I had just said and my response was, "Oh, I said 'hap' and then I just squeezed out the 'ppiness'.

We were all silent for a minute. 
And then burst out laughing.

Don't get it?  Say it again.  Outloud.  You will.  

I Am S(n)O(w) Annoyed

All I can think of right now is the beach. 

And the sun.

And air conditioning.

And mosquitos.

And BBQ's. 

And flip flops. 

And sunblock. 

And ice cream cones. 

And a warm breeze coming in through the window. 

And dry streets that don't make running a near-death experience.

(No, I didn't run today. But would like to some time soon...not sure when that'll be likely to happen...is it EVER going to stop snowing...???)

Will we ever see these things again?

Ever?

Thursday Night

The Cosby Show. 
Family Ties.
Cheers.
Friends.
Seinfeld.
ER.
Chinese food take-out.

These things have been, for years, our tradition on Thursday nights. 

Now we have a new one.  And it's my favorite Thursday night tradition of all.

Spending it with a dear friend and his two lovely daughters.  Every Thursday. 

I cook.  Kids play.  We laugh.  We've cried. 

It's all good. 

Very, very good.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

I hesitate to write this entry because you just simply cannot get the gist of it.  Unless you lived it.  With me.  If you are one of those people, you deserve a medal. 

Yes.  You guessed it.  I'm talking about my obsession with Danny Feeley.  I don't typically put full names in this blog but, in an attempt to try to fully disclose this period of my life, I feel as if I need to give you as much information as possible.  I'm sure he won't see this - I don't think he's often on facebook, but I think it'd be hysterical if he did.  After confirming that I wasn't still stalking him and waiting for him behind the corner in his livingroom, he'd be able to relive his younger days and feel like a rockstar. 'Cuz I totally thought he was one.  For real.

I don't even know where to begin really.  It all started innocently enough.  I decided to participate in Oskey.  Oskey is (I guess I'll say "was" as I don't know if they even have Oskey any more and if they do, it may be very different) a high school variety show.  Great tradition in town.  Anywho...the opening number was 'Summer Nights' from Grease.  I (a freshman) was cast to sing the "Sandy" part and Danny (a senior) was cast to sing the "Danny" part.  Really, the story should end there.  La, la, la, you sing a song with a guy.  You move on. 

I so didn't move on.  For years.  In fact, my ability to move on was remarkably impossible. 

There's no need for me to go in to his physical attributes that I found so appealing in every way - his hair, his clothes, his scar (yes, I said scar) by his ear, his earring.  All you really need to know is that he was the lead singer in a rock band.   Could he have BEEN any cooler?  He also played the bass guitar and that was an added bonus.

So, while school was still in session (Oskey was in May so, during the spring), I of course, looked for him in every corner of FHS.  We clearly ran in different social circles so the possibility of seeing each other was next to impossible.  I barely ever spoke a word to him.  And yet, whenever I did happen to catch a glimpse of him, it was clearly fate and simply a precursor to our wedding day.  I mean, the fact that we both happened to be walking down the hallway in the high school we both attended was a clear sign that we were destined to wed.  Right?

He used to work downstairs from FSPA in the News Store.  He once sold me a snickers bar. I saved the wrapper.  For years.

He also worked at the gas station downtown.  He filled my aunt's car with gas once. She called me immediately and told me what he was wearing and saved the receipt with his initals on it to give to me. Now that's love - my aunt's for me, not his for me...but clearly, in my mind, he did love me. 

I was able to relate every. single. song. that I heard to the radio to him.  I honestly thought that Lisa Lisa was writing specifically about me. 

Any time I saw the color red, I would look at my friends and they were to just know, that simply seeing the color red, made me think of him.  All I needed to give them was a glance.  Why red, you ask? I'm not really sure.  I think maybe his car was red.  I have a faint memory of seeing a red cloth or something (maybe from the gas station) hanging out of his pocket once.  Anyway, anything red, sent me in to alpha-warp.  Complete and total alpha-warp.

He graduated and, while I don't remember for sure, I'm sure I was a mess. He was leaving me.  Now, mind you - we. barely. spoke. a. word. to. eachother. Ever. He had no need for me (why would he?)   I, however, had a great need for him.

I can't tell you how much gas I (and my family and friends) spent driving by his house EVERY DAY, numerous times daily when possible, in hopes of catching a glimpse of him as he walked from his car to his house.  (At one point, I knew his license plate, but I'm happy to say, that it escapes me now.)

He went off to college.  However, this surely didn't stop my obsession, or drivebys to his house, or crying over song lyrics.  It continued.  With a vengeance.

One day, in English, we walked in and on the board we saw the letters DF.  I think it referred to certain periods of the day. I looked at AJ, my best friend, and wrote on a paper, "Danny Feeley".  She wrote back "Dave Forgotten".  I remember this so vividly because it was my first (and really only) time as part of an intervention.  It was terribly dramatic.  I had a boyfriend at the time (...blog entries to come...) and she was trying to snap some drama-filled sense in to me that I was more obsessed with DF than Dave.  Yep - I think I was...She was always so much more mature than I...

One night, I was in D'Angelo's and he was in line in front of me.  I was beside myself that he was home from college for the weekend. Of course, I didn't go up to him to say hi.  I was WAY to shy - but still obsessed.  (Plus, I'd have drooled over myself and then wet my pants).  He ordered and left - never saying hi.  I went home and sobbed on AJ's shoulder that night for (what I remember to be) hours.  Her shirt was completely soaked from my tears.  Come to find out (and I don't even remember how I know this) it was his brother in line in front of me, not even him!!!!  I still find it shocking that I could have made that mistake.  In my defense, they did look a like from the back, I think.  In any event, if AJ hadn't won the Best Friend of the Year by then, she should have!!

So, this went on for years.  I would write down every single time I saw him, a friend saw him, a relative saw him, a friend saw a friend of his.  Every time I heard a new song (pretty much any song) that made me think of him, I would listen to it ad nauseum. (I don't know how my parents lived with me.)

At our Senior Banquet (I wish I had the video), 'Hit Me With Your Best Shot' came on.  (My corner of) the dance floor opened up and I launched in to my own rock star lip sync performance.  Of all the songs, this was the biggie.  I not only had my own moves, but I also added in some of his that he did when playing the song in Oskey. There I was - big hair, hot pink lips, hoop earrings to match.  Lunatic. Singing in to Mr. Gianetti's massive 1990-style camera.  But really, I was singing to Danny.

When setting up my bank account in college, my pin number was his phone number.  I had that pin number for years, until finally, G was like "so, we've been dating for years and it's weird that you still have his number as your pin."  It was weird.  I admit. (They, by the way, were friends in high school, which makes the whole thing even funnier.)

My freshman year in college, I came home to go to Franklin Junior Miss to "give away the my title".  That sounds so queer. I don't know what else to call it, but surely I don't mean to make it sound all fancy schmancy.  Anywho - they were just about to announce the awards and I was finishing up my speech.  Before I was even done, I happened to look over to stage left and who was there - on stage - in a tux with flowers for me, yep.  Danny Feeley. 

Are you kidding me? I think I literally stopped my speech in mid word.  (I probably threw up a little bit in my mouth too.)  I don't even remember taking the flowers from him but I know that as I went around the ramp, my friends in the audience were screaming.  I don't know how they were able to stand it.  My poor boyfriend, D, at the time, came home (which was a huge deal) and gave me flowers as I walked around the ramp as well.  That was so nice of him, but really I was like, "ya, whateva, I just got flowers from Danny Feeley in a tux.  Step aside."  (Poor D.  We've since had a chance to apologize for being not all that great boyfriend/girlfriend to each other.  It's all good.)

Anyway, we went on one date a few weeks after that and had a perfectly fine time.  He was, to  my recollection quite nice.  I think I was inwardly hyperventilating the entire time so my memory is a bit foggy.  But really, he was a nice guy. (I'm sure he still is.)  Poor guy, though, he could never have lived up to what I imagined him to be in my head.  And surely, to him, I was a complete and total nutjob.  Thank you, Sweet Baby Jesus AND his Mother Mary, I was never one to make unwise decisions and he was a complete and total gentlemen that night.  He did kiss me goodnight and when I closed the door, I literally fell on the floor like a ragdoll.  Mature.

The story of him showing up in a tux at Junior Miss is, to this day, one of RL's great accomplishments.  She has had some pretty heavy-duty accomplishments in her life...and yet, we joke that one of her greatest accomplishments is the Danny Feeley in the Tux thing.  I still don't know how she did it.  I think she just called him up at college and said, "look, this would be really funny. I'll handle the details.  Just show up."  Nicely done, RL.

I have a HUGE scrapbook of my DF obsession in our guest room.  Not because I'm still obsessed. (I promise.)  But because when M and/or H come home one day, completely and totally out of their minds obsessed with a guy three years their senior who smokes and plays in a rock band, I will tell myself (and Guy who will be passed out from heavy drinking) that all will be okay. 

Star Mail

Yesterday afternoon, the girls and I were in my office. We were talking about the weekend and "The Sound of Music."  In the middle of a conversation H and I were having, M yelled out, "Oh, Mumma, guess what?!  Guess who we got a Star Mail from yesterday?" 

Star Mail is a great thing that we do in our FPAC lobby (thanks, G!)  For $1, patrons can send a "break a leg/great job" message to a performer backstage.  (Sometimes, cast members send to other cast members as well.)  You put the message in a big mailbox and it gets sent back during intermission.  It's so much fun.  It's a great way to get performers pumped for their upcoming show and it's an easy way to raise a little bit of money.  Win. Win.

Anyway, after numerous guesses (much to M's annoyance...), I was unable to come up with the giver of the Star Mail.  M finally told me that it was from M (a girl who had a lead von Trapp role).  "Oh, how nice.  She's seems like a cutie patootie.  I'm happy that your guys are becoming friendly with her."  "Mumma, I know. But why would SHE give US one?!  She was a LEAD and we were only in the ENSEMBLE!"

***Time for Life Lesson #4,396***

 I am very thankful to M (not "my" M but the "giver of the Star Mail M") for unknowingly giving us that quick opportunity to chat about life at that moment.  And thanks for making my kids feel special - even though you're just a kid too.

Sometimes when you least expect it, you're able to teach your kids something really important.  Love.

Smile

Surround yourself with people that make you smile.

Life's too short to live any other way.

Really?

I've heard this story a number of times but really should double check the facts before sharing.  Ah well...the following will be mostly accurate, I'd say.  And, it's really not the most appropriate story considering that we potentially are in mixed company.  However, again, it's a good story so I will proceed.  (As you know by now, I'm all in favor of a good story.)

G was in high school.  Not sure what grade.  He had completed a paper.  I think it was for health.  Clearly, while having a serious lapse of judgement, he let a friend copy his paper. From what I understand, I think he was under the impression that his friend was going to use his paper simply as a guide.  (You know where this is going, don't you?)

You guessed it.  The friend gave G back his paper and proceeded to tell him that he had copied it word for word.  G was none too pleased but, at that point, there wasn't much that he could do.  He was in a different class than his friend, who assured him that, because they would be turning their papers in hours apart, the teacher would never find out.  I am horrified a) that the friend thought that and b) that perhaps the teacher wouldn't have noticed.

Anyway, a few days later, G turned in his paper and was surely ready to move on. Suddenly, the friend barreled in to the room and announced to the teacher, "Sorry I was absent yesterday.  Here's the paper I was supposed to turn in then."

Yep. Right on top of G's paper.  There was no way the teacher wouldn't realize that what had happened.
G sweat it out all afternoon and night and was just counting the minutes until they both got in trouble.

He returned to school the next day, pretty much waiting to be called down to the Principal's Office.

You'll never believe what happened.

The teacher's house burned down to the foundation and all of the papers were destroyed.  Everyone in the course got an A.

Are you kidding me?!!?

Now, that's a good story, right?

I Won't Grow Up (I Won't Grow Up)

I don't remember the details, but I was about H and M's age.  My mom and dad had had some people over (our house was always "the place to be", as I remember it) and my parents were cleaning up.  My mom was upstairs in the kitchen and my dad was vacuuming the cellar.  I don't remember if I had been in bed or what, but I remember suddenly being "so sad".  I snuck downstairs and hid behind the chair in the cellar.  When he was done vacuuming, I snuck out from behind the chair, sobbing.  (Now in retrospect, I'm surprised I didn't give him a heart attack!)  Anyway, I remember being "so sad" because I "didn't want to grow up."  I wanted things to stay exactly the way they were.  I remember telling my dad that I always wanted to be able to lay with him on the couch and watch tv.  I wanted to always be able to play softball with him out in the backyard.  I don't remember the exact conversation, but I know my dad told me that I'd always be his little girl and that no matter how old I was, he'd always be there for me.  He made me feel so much better.  I went upstairs to bed and I never really thought about it again.

Until about an hour ago. 

The girls and I got home from rehearsal and they wanted me to lay in bed with them a little while before they fell asleep. (I think they were a little annoyed that we weren't at "the hang" after rehearsal with G and wanted me to take their mind off of all of the socializing they were missing...are they really my daughters?) 

Anyway, we all climbed in to H's bed, H on my left, M on my right.  (For those of you keeping track, the nighttime cuddle is opposite of the morning cuddle where M in on my left and H is on my right...)  But that's not important.

M and I chatted for a few minutes and H was sound asleep in no time. Before I knew it, M had fallen asleep too.  Suddenly, I was "so sad" but this time, I was sad because I didn't want THEM to grow up.  I started to think about the last time FPAC presented "The Sound of Music."  The girls who were cast in the Children's Festival Ensemble just like M and H are this weekend, are now are in college.  We still are very close to many of them and their families.  They are amazing, wonderful, fantastic adults.  But they are no longer kids.  In a flash.  Twelve years went by.  Just like that. 

I know every parent goes through it. I know we will come out the other side just fine.  I ask them these things nearly once a day. "Will you always hug me - even when you're older and your friends are around and you think you're too cool?"  "Can you always cuddle with me even when you're big?"  They humor me, but I'm banking on the fact that I will remind them of all the times that they've said "yes."

We're very fortunate.  Many of these same now-adults that I referred to above are the snuggliest, coziest, love-their-parents peeps you ever want to know so M and H have good role models.  Thank you, Sweet Baby Jesus.

I'm just saying.  It made me sad.  And I cried and cried, all over H's Taggie (which just so happens to be a gift from another now-adult whom our family has watched grow up).  When I snuck out of H's bed, H said, "This is the comfiest I have ever been" and M said "How'd you learn to be such a good cuddler?"

My answer. "I learned from you both.  And I love you.  Goodnight".

And then I cried a little more.

Preservation

I just printed out all of my blog entries that I've written thus far and will continue to do so every time I post.  Man, I have spent a lot of time on this foolishness.  But that means less time on dumb tv, so it's all good.  A friend of mine suggested that I print them out in case the website goes down or something. That would be sad. (Thanks for the heads up, J!!) 

This blog could be a nice "look back" - not only for me, but for our Four Family and for H and M.  I know they will be scarred for life when they learn how much I shared about them on Facebook.  Oh well.  It is what it is. 

I don't think they will feel the same way about this here blog.  (At least not yet...)  I hope they enjoy reading it when they are older.  And when I'm old and gray.  And in that horrible nursing home in Cumberland.  You know that one just past the Ice Cream Machine?  It's horribly depressing to look at as you pass by. Each time we do, Guy yells out, "everyone say 'hi' to Mumma!".  He's such a jerk.