Three Deaths in Two Weeks

Hi. I'm going to begin with my usual apology for not blogging regularly. So here it is. I. Am. Sorry. That's it. That's all I'm gonna do.

Over the past two weeks, I have been somewhat touched by three deaths. They say bad things happen in threes. I think they do. The first one was our school principal's daughter, who battled depression for years and is finally at peace at the very young age of twenty-five. She was the principal's only child. My brain cannot even begin to fathom the deep and scorching pain that must burn a hole right through your aching sole when something so earth-shattering happens. Awful.

The second death was our Uncle Albert. He wasn't exactly an Uncle, he was my stepdad's cousin, I think. Uncle Albert was like a father to my mom, very caring, kind, gentle and sweet. A good, endearing man who you longed to be around. He talked about "making memories" and the importance of the concept. He was in his late eighties and suddenly was having bizarre delusions, his hands turned black due to some apparent vascular blockage and after a few days of ups and downs he passed away. He is now with his equally lovely wife, Dorothy and their child, Marcy, who died when she was only nine years old. With this much tragedy, how could he have been so kind-hearted? I would have become a menace to society for sure.

The third death occurred today, a rep who works for my company in Tucson, in her early forties passed away. She was having GI issues for a short time, was admitted to the hospital and died during surgery. Unexpected. I just saw her a month ago at a meeting. Hard to believe.

These type of events rock my core. It makes me want to go live better, stronger, to feel alive right this very second. It makes me want to promise that... "I'm gonna..." and then I list stuff that I'm gonna do or not do, so here they are:

I'm gonna...
Not be so nice to EVERYONE~! This is a detriment to myself and I know it. Why do I need to be overly nice to the hostess at the restaurant cleaning off the crumbs stuck to the menus, the lady in front of me at the grocery store who has fifty gazillion coupons, the ultra bitchy acquaintance that doesn't give a crap about me that I smile at anyhow and say, "hi" to, not expecting anything in return but a grimace. I'm tired of being nice. It really sucks. As my mom says, "Nice guys finish last!" So screw it. No more over the top sugary sweetness from this bee-otch. I'm just gonna save it all up for the people who I love and who love me back. So take that~!

I'm gonna...
Make more of an effort to be a better "homemaker". I know you're snickering at the 1950's Leave It To Beaver image and the prospect of me with an apron on, whipping up a casserole in heels and perfect hair. It's kinda funny. I just really hope my kids don't only have memories of me making quesadillas in the toaster oven and pasta ev-er-y sin-gle sol-i-tar-y god bless-ed night~! I also would love it if my husband came through the door and looked amazed and excited when his nostrils filled with the unbelievably savory aroma of a fabulous home cooked dinner, at least once or twice a week, instead of the usual, "whadda you want for dinner?" which usually follows with us eating tortilla chips or an apple. I just finished ironing Jerry's old, faded jeans, so you know I must be serious about this one.

I'm gonna...
Take better care of myself. We just joined a schmancy gym that is three minutes from our house, so we'd better get our flabby asses there. My cholesterol is high and I know it is imperative that I get it under control because I want to be around for my kids to "make memories" with. In the same breath, I'm also not gonna "not live" to the fullest, today I had a Grande instead of a Tall at Starbucks and ate the rest of the king size bag of Cheetos without a single regret. I forgot how absolutely delectable Cheetos are. I even licked my orange stained fingers and held the giant bag up to my mouth and polished off every single fabulous crumb.

I'm gonna...
Love more fully. I tend to hold back at times, not intentionally, but I just do. I am not as verbal or emotionally available to tell my loved ones how deeply I love them, even though I think it. I will try to share my gratitude and love more openly, not to be confused with being too nice though.

Kinda New Year's resolutions like, eh? But they're just "I'm Gonnas" to make me appreciate how fragile and ever-changing life can be. Notice, I didn't include "I'm gonna blog more..." Cuz I can't commit to something that demanding. So there it is for now. Go forward and conquer. And make some memories.

Delusional Winter Break

I could not wait for Winter Break. Two weeks I had blocked off for vacation from work, so I could stay at home with Cole and Patty and pretend I was a Stay At Home Mom. I had it all planned out, I would bake them delicious blueberry muffins for breakfast, we would giggle while playing rounds of Candyland and Monopoly. Our days would be well planned, riding bikes to the park, creating crafty projects like making castles out of toilet paper rolls and baking cookies together.

Delusional? Oh yes.

My children commented that "these blueberry muffins taste REALLY bad...they are NOT like Bubbie's...", Candyland turned into a wrestling match on top of the kitchen table and my vocal chords are spent from screaming at my darling offspring. ALL. DAY. LONG.

Threats that "...and if you don't behave, I'm cancelling Chanukkah tonight..." hung in the air. Time out after time out and taking away TV time was becoming standard. Where was the Brady Bunch Break I so yearned for?

A few playdates, driving around looking at Christmas lights and cute family movies later, things have become more peaceful and quite wonderful for all of us.

Happy Holidays to All! xo

On Becoming A Hobo and The Great Depression

Happy Holidays to all, I am late in these wishes to everyone, but I guess better late than never. I have felt less than inspired to write anything once again. Excuse of the month: Holiday hub bub, lists that don’t end. It’s not that I’m so totally slammed with stuff to do, just little things here and there that stress me out.

Cole came home from school the other day stating that in Social Studies, his class was discussing the Great Depression.

“Yeah, mom, um, during like, a really long time ago, like in the old days or something, there was a really bad time and they called it the Great Depression.” Cole explains.

“And…” I prompt, wanting to be assured our tax dollars are hard at work.

“And, like, well, people were very poor because they lost their jobs and so they didn’t have any money. So then they couldn't work and so then, they couldn’t buy any food and they couldn’t live in their house any more. So they had to live on the street. It was sad. “

And the nine year old version of the Great Depression continues, "And my teacher said that history repeats itself and we’re probably going to have a Great Depression, or somthin', like that, Mom.” He looks up at the ceiling, thinking deeply, tapping a pencil in the space where his two front teeth used to be. Long pause… and then, “Why did they call it the Great Depression, it doesn’t sound like it was really that‘great’…”

“No the Great Depression was not ‘great’, Cole. And your teacher might be right. Things are tough right now, Cole. There are people losing their jobs all over the country. Luckily Daddy and I are ok right now. Our jobs are safe at this time. We are just being careful, watching every penny we spend.”

Patty, the quiet, but soaked little sponge sitting nearby, taking in all of this serious commentary, bursts into tears, announcing dramatically, “I don’t want to be a hobo, Mommy!”

Hobo. Hobo? Where did this child get this term? When we were young, a hobo was someone dressed up for Halloween with a stick resting on a shoulder with a filled, red bandanna tied to the end, black smudges painted on their cheeks and tattered clothes. Nothing gets past Patty.

So this holiday season, let’s hope that if we are headed into a Great Depression, that we can make it somewhat ‘great’?...and that Hobos will be somewhat back in style?

Thankful for Mom

I am thankful for...lots of things, especially this year. Mostly for the fact that Cole is such a sweet, dear person. He had to write what he was especially thankful for this year in school.



He wrote, "I am especially thankful that my Bubbie is feeling better from her car accident."



(Bubbie is my mom) I was overwhelmed with pride, amazement and sadness that he thought enough about her ordeal to put it on paper.



In May 2008, my mom was involved in a "freak accident" as many refer to it. That day, an hour before it happened, I actually ran into her coincidentially. I was working with my manager that day. We were heading into a doctor's office to bring them lunch. My mom was just leaving her appointment in that same office. I introduced my boss to my mom, we laughed about what a small world it was. My mom was then off to get her hair colored, her once-every-three-weeks ritual to keep her grey roots from appearing.



The day went on, and because my boss was in my car, my cell phone was turned off till 5:30 p.m. Once we parted ways, I checked my phone to find about seventeen missed calls from my sister, Marcy. Something was up. My heart pounded as I spoke to her.



"Are you driving?" Marcy inquired.

"Yes, just tell me, what is it?"

"Pull over." she demanded. I was relieved she wasn't crying, so at that moment, I knew no one was dead, because I knew she would have been hysterical if it had been something totally horrific.

"No, just tell me." I stammered, still a little scared for what would come next.

"Mom was hit by a car today." she stated calmly.

"Hit by a car?" It didn't make sense since she drives everywhere.



Long story short, mom was sitting in the chair at the same beauty salon she has been loyal to for the past 25 years, processing with color on her hair, reading a book. A woman who was going to park and head in to get her nails done, allegedly confused the brake and gas and ran her Range Rover through a celing to floor glass wall, through a stuccoed 3/4 wall, hitting my mom, who was sitting on the other side and another woman, and kept driving 25 feet to the back wall of the salon. My mom and the other woman were pinned under the Range Rover, holding hands. The paramedics came and had to use airbags to lift the Range Rover up, so they could pull out my mom and the other woman.



The other woman's injuries were minor and she left the hospital and attended a baseball game that night, we heard. My mom had three fractured ribs, sixteen stitches on her shin and a severe contusion on her eyelid, which called for a very young plastic surgeon to work for three hours hours on the eye. We joked this was one way of getting an eye lift, although it wasn't cosmetic whatsoever. The driver walked away with a few scratches.



"Go home and feed your children dinner. I'm fine" she stated when I arrived at the hospital. After trying to remove the many tiny shards of glass and pieces of drywall from her hair, it was obvious that someone had to be the advocate here, and it was going to be me. As long as I could remain bossy to the doctors and the hospital staff, insisting they replace drugs that were not on their formulary with ones that were less sedating, constipating and other awful side effects, I was not upset. I knew that she would recover and that her injuries were not life threatening, and that made the whole thing less troubling for me.



Mom on morphine and other opioids was memorable. Calling the plastic surgeon, "Doogie Houser", because he looked like he was twelve years old was one classic moment. Yelling at uninvited, nosy, psychotic family members, to "GET THE FU%# OUT!" when they came to visit her out of sheer curiosity was another hysterical incident.



Her attitude throughout this whole ordeal has been, "Hey, I'm still alive." This is insanely heroic and realistic and I admire this outlook immensely. Although she is experiencing some post-trumatic stress at the six month mark here, her progress has been surprisingly accelerated.



I, like Cole am beyond thankful that my mom is still here to celebrate Thanksgiving and every other upcoming holiday and just because it's Wednesday and she is still around.

Cinderella Goes To Scottsdale Fashion Week '08

Zang Toi Fashion Show from Scottsdale Fashion Week...yeah, I didn't know who he was either.

So, um, I live a very un-exciting, yet happy existence filled with blissful homebodyness with my cute hubby, Jerry, Cole's never-ending soccer practices and games, birthday parties, work, meetings, procrastinating cleaning, starting projects I cannot finish. ZZZZ...asleep yet?

So, when my very exciting, fun friend, Fern called me as I was leaving yet another soccer game, inviting me to accompany her to Scottsdale's Fashion Week that night, I felt like Cinderella did when her fairy godmother appeared to spruce her up for the ball! She scored some VIP passes from her friend, R, to attend three fashion shows: Nordstrom, Rolf's Hair Salon and NY couture designer, Zang Toi. Not only did we attend these three FRIGGIN' FABULOUS fashion shows, but WE SAT IN THE FRONT ROW!!! THE FRONT ROW!!! For a broad that's used to sitting in the nose-bleeds for any concert, sporting event, etc. throughout the course of my somewhat mundane life, hence, THIS WAS HUGE.

Did I feel like Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City, attending all the schmancy NY fashion shows? YEP! Although, I am oceans away from Carrie's overtly sophisticated fashion concoctions. So, back to the Cinderella reference, if you will.

So you might be wondering, "Whatdja wear to the ball, ole Cindy-relle?" Since I work full time, my closet is filled with fairly conservative, safe dresses. Work dresses. Not fashion show dresses. I have my one standby LBD, aka Little Black Dress, which works for cocktail parties (haven't been to one in years), funerals or in my case, it works for going to work. I'm sure amongst the stately, high brow crowd a la couture, clad in the latest, sleekest, beyond my vanilla ice cream fashion level comprehension, I looked like a gal who had just come from work. "One of these things is not like the other..." Yeah, sing it sister. I really didn't care. It was a people watching opportunity fo sho.

As the broomstick-like, starving models floated by us, legs as long as my entire 60" body, adorned with ensembles that were artistic and mind-boggling, little Cindy-relle here, looked down at my own fashion statement. It was then that I realized, my Little Black Dress was from Target, one of my favorite stores. My eyes continued down to my painful, patent leather, peep-toe pumps...hmmm, also from Target. My black clutch, resting in my lap...you guessed it, from Target too. I was head to toe Target Couture amongst a sea of legit coutoury couture folk.

The clock struck midnight and I knew my Tar'ge' boutique threads would soon turn into...well, maybe Walmart garb. Oy. Time to go. My Prince Charming was snoring loudly when I returned back to the castle, and the two little mice were tucked sweetly into their beds. I would dream of the amazing creations that glided down the runway that night, knowing that being the unfashionista was fashionably ok for me.

Patty and I Walked in the JDRF 5K!

Patty taking a break at the JDRF walk...

Patty and I at the JDRF walk!

Hey everyone! I hope all is well with you all. It seems like November is slipping by way too quickly. I have been meaning to post this monumentally important one, but of course, it seems that there are often so many superfluous obstacles that get in the way like, well, work obligations and my continued obsession with HGTV that prevent me from posting. The usual excuses, right? I should be ashamed of myself.

It’s not that I haven’t been bragging about my daughter, Patty to everyone with human ears over the last few weeks. I have. OH, I have. Quite annoyingly, some might say. So, now I can officially brag to the world: On November 1st, Patty and I awoke VERY early after a LONG and exhausting trick or treating excursion the night before and walked in the JDRF (Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation) 5K in support of her friend, Jack.

When Jack’s mom, Heidi sent the first e-mail about the walk, I had both Cole and Patty watch the quite moving and inspirational video that was attached. The video depicted the everyday life of Jack, who lives with juvenile diabetes and how he and his parents cope. I urge you to watch this raw, emotional video to gain a better understanding of how this disease effects the whole family. Patty and Cole now understand (as much as their 9 and 5 year old minds can process) the general disease state of diabetes. When the video ended, Patty stated simply that she wanted to walk in support of her friend, Jack.

We walked the 5K with approximately 187 supporters of Jack, or Jack’s Pack, as our quite esteemed group was called. It was an uplifting and wonderful day. Despite the intense heat, Patty forged on, taking many, many, many snack breaks, and water dumping over her head sessions to offset the challenging distance or approx 3 miles. She even had assistance from her coach/mommy, who could barely carry her, but did, several times throughout the walk. (I know, I’m a sucker.) She will undergo a rigorous training program beginning immediately, to prepare for next year’s event~ consuming raw eggs, rising at the crack of dawn to walk and walk and walk, building stamina.

Although her little, wobbly legs were weary that night, (and my back was aching from carrying her) Patty feels proud of this great accomplishment. And I am a proud mama. Please take a moment to watch this important and beautiful video that my friend, Heidi created. Thank you muchos!

Halloween Memories of Diarrhea and Fun!

Cole (Indiana Jones) Patty (Sharpay from High School Musical)

Happy Halloween!!! I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Halloween! Not like wear knee highs with pumpkins and witches on them LOVE, just LOVE in the way that kids get dressed up in their new, sought after costumes, bursting with excitement to collect enough candy to open their own convenience store type of LOVE.

I have such vivid, joyous memories of Halloween, more than any other holiday possibly because there was never disappointment. What could be better than being with a gaggle of friends, gallivanting around at NIGHT, running from door to door, gathering delicious goodies! Seriously, think about it, as a kid, how fun was...

Thanksgiving:

Having to wear stiff, itchy clothing, usually new, not comfy.

Sitting at the more formal than usual table with THE WHOLE FAMILY and people you didn't really know, like 'em or not.

Threats that "...you'd better have your BEST behavior...OR ELSE..."

Being forced to EAT ALL YOUR DINNER!!! Don't want to hurt anyone's feelings if you didn't try the darned green bean casserole they made, ya know.

Hanukkah/Christmas/Kwanzaa (Did I get them all?)

Pressure of finding the perfect gift has sent everyone into an insane frenzy.

Wanting the EZ Bake Oven SOOOOO badly and knowing that I would NEVER get it because it's a "fire hazard"...What.Ever.

Wanting just to play with friends, but they were busy with family obligations too.

SO, this is why I feel Halloween REALLY ROCKS THE CASABA!!! My favorite memory of Halloween was when I let my younger sister, Marcy, borrow my all time FAVE dance recital costume. It was a white, satin leotard with a white, soft, tulle skirt with little silver embellishments on the bottom. Gorgeous. Elegant. I danced to Swan Lake, I think, in that costume. Marcy asked to PLEASE, PLEASE, PRETTY PLEASE WITH SUGAR ON TOP borrow it for Halloween. Ok. I agreed quite reluctantly.

As we were getting ready to Trick or Treat, Marcy didn't feel so well. As soon as those last famous words hung in the air, a rush of explosive, horrific diarrhea blasted all over the once pristine costume. But I forgave her...because it was Halloween.

Sorry Marcy I know you must be mortified, but I just had to share that story...it's funny now, right? Right...?

Anyhow, last night, Cole and Patty had a grand ol' time with their cousins trick or treating...so did Jerry and I reminiscing about our glory days of Halloween!