thus it continues...

I'm A Sprinkler, I'm A Drizzler, I'm A Midnight Nibbler...

2012-01-10T10:20:00.000-08:00

I have always loved throwing dinner parties...the real deal...sit down, plated, three course meals for adults. I love selecting the guest list...choosing the menu...concocting a signature cocktail and wine pairings...planning the table settings and linens and centerpiece... Mostly I love how it all comes together and becomes about creating an experience that ultimately, will make the guests feel happy and cared for. You know...life gets busy though, and the year passes by in a flurry of seasons...every weekend is taken up...and you have to focus your energies and pocketbook beyond your obsessive need to entertain...so it had been a while that I hosted a full-on dinner party myself....

Last year when planning the Spring Dinner -- the biggest PTO fundraiser of the year --

somehow it came to me to donate a dinner party for 10, to be served in the home of the highest bidder. Some of my friends offered to take part as clean-up/service/kitchen crew...so I went for it...donate away! Three courses, a signature cocktail, hors d'oeurves, floral arranging, full service and clean-up...really, it's a bargain for the bidder, regardless... And as it turns out, five of my girlfriends from the long-running monthly Gourmet Group teamed up and snagged the highest bid...I suspect being in my Gourmet posse, they had no reservations about my skills, so they knew the win was sweet. We agreed to wait to schedule until after summer...and then after the Holidays...and so....

I spent the last two weeks menu planning and testing concepts and asking for thoughts and advice from my foodie friends of like-minded palates and greater abilities (Jim, Nick, Heidi and SuzT...thanks guys!!). I shopped and prepped and coordinated...and then, this Saturday night I descended upon Marisa's kitchen with boxes and bags of my tools and ingredients...my team (whom I am thinking we need to call "The Midnight Nibblers," thanks to our mid-course re-working of the Steve Miller classic, "The Joker") consisted of Gwen (Head of kitchen hygiene); Lisa (Sous chef/Director of plating); Nancy (Barmaid/Server/Drizzler); Susan (Line cook/Server/Sprinkler)...and me, Exec Chef/Chef de cuisine/Expediter...dressed in our professional "all-black".... There were herbed chevre crostinis and beet-carrot fritters and the seared scallop on butternut squash puree with bacon and maple cream drizzle and Syrah-braised short ribs and truffled mac & cheese and roasted brussels and Bananas Foster bread pudding...there was an Elderflower cocktail, courtesy of ADP, mixed up by Nancy... And the meal went really well...and the guests loved everything...and though there were unexpected moments, we managed them...and when all was said and done, if I do say so myself...we were an awesome team and we put out a top notch dining experience for our "guests." And they were happy. And I was blissful.

So I have been thinking....

You know when people ask: "what would you do if you won a huge lottery jackpot?" Usually people say: "quit my job," "travel the world," "pay off all my bills," "buy my parents a house," "go back to school and become a History professor," "invest for my kids' future and live off the interest..." All good answers...respectable and practical and smart uses for an extra $180 million... My go-to answer had always been: "buy a rambling home in Nantucket with extensive, private grounds, a view and a ropewalk down the cliff to the sea...wake up every morning in the salty air and stay there forever...." (of course, I'd also need a pied a terre in New York City, let's be honest....)... Still, I would love to do that...I love the idea of being in a beautiful place year-round, even in the whipping, grey winters of New England...I love the thought of waking up every morning and seeing the water -- am a Pisces to the core, you know?...and I love the thought of being in a place that takes so much effort to get to, that your beloveds would make this special trip by boat or puddle jumper just to see you... All great reasons to spend your $180 million as such...

But I wonder now if the rambling house on the teeny, tiny, removed island would truly be my go-to plan...once the bills were paid and the kids' future was secure and my interest check was arriving... You see, a few years ago my friend, TL, told me his answer to the lottery question, and since then I have wondered if maybe he had the right idea.

He said: "I'd become a barkeep at a low key but welcoming watering hole, mix up great cocktails, chat with the customers, welcome friends..." Well, ok...I jazzed it up a little, I think he really said: "I'd become a bartender..." but he meant what I wrote...

I remember being so struck by that...and kind of jealous that TL came up with that fantastic answer before I did. I mean, if you are 100% comfortable in life...if your children are cared for and your bills are paid, you totally could keep a low key but welcoming watering hole, mix up great cocktails, chat with the customers, welcome friends...

So anyway, I was reminded of all this during the dinner party...and how much I have always loved cooking, and being around friends and giving my love to people I care about in this way...and I thought of how often I enter a restaurant or a pub and wish it were mine...or I pass a location and think how great my own little upscale greasy spoon would look on that corner... and how many times I have discussed the need for an awesome breakfast place or a better local beer and burger joint or a homemade doughnut shop with everyone from Nancy, to Rob, to Sandy, to Sam, to Kerry, to Tim H., to Scott S., to Terry from Total Concept, to my children, for goodness sakes... And I am not sure I can wait for TL or myself to win the lottery, though I think his watering hole would be much improved with me in the kitchen cranking out delicious bar bites...I am not talking greezy mozzarella sticks or soggy nachos...I am talking gastro-delciousness....fantastic little bites and super creative versions of food we all love... Served up with a delicious, frosty beer poured by TL (notice he has to tend the bar regardless of whether or not he wins a dime...thanks, Tim!...I should probably have run all this by him...but don't lie, you would ALL be regulars if he and I teamed up on our fake fantasy watering hole with the good food...)... But it would be such fun for me...even in the hell that is the restaurant business...if no one bothered me and I could get lost in thought while I made food all day long, I'd be so happy.

So ask me again -- "what would you do if you ever won a huge lottery jackpot?"

I'd keep a small, creative kitchen cranking out delicious food and seasonal treats for neighbors, friends, guests, visitors, passers-by...

I still love Nantucket...maybe my watering hole can be there...but when I snag that $180 mil, I will hold off on the extensive grounds and the ropewalk and the seaside view...because before I had ever even been to Nantucket, I had fallen in love with cooking... And more I think about it, the more I see that in general our goals and dreams in life should be to open our eyes to what it is we love...and how it is we want to live our lives...and what truly brings us joy...because I think having that love in your life everyday would be worth giving away the $180 million...

So...have I successfully convinced you to engage in a bidding war for my donation at the Spring Dinner this May???

Photos:

1. A dinner party with Pina, Colleen, Gwen, Helen and the guys... Ok, clearly this is The Brick House, but all my REAL dinner party pics are trapped on my dead laptop... Still, you get the idea, yes?

2. The Gourmet Girls enjoying a "We've Got B*lls!" dinner last season...ADP, Marisa and Robyn, all dinner party winners...and Suse, of the crackerjack catering team... Marisa is totally eyeing up the balls!

3. The Midnight Nibblers: (left to right) Lisa, Me, Suse, Gwen and Nancy...

4. The actual first course just after plating: seared scallops, butternut squash puree, a drizzle of maple cream reduction and a sprinkle of lardons and chives... Yum.

5. Ok this rambling Nantucket manse will just have to do...

6. Me, TL and Kathie...surely she'd be one of our first customers...

7. This looks like a mighty fine watering hole for me to cook out of... That might actually be TL taking up one of those stools...

8. A little summertime crostini I whipped up last June...that'll look good on my bar menu...tastes great with a Bud!

Such A Rare Thing, Radiant Child...

2011-12-28T12:04:00.000-08:00

2011. Officially a blur...

I feel like this year flew by at the speed of light...I know it was an important year too, historically and societally and personally too... Even so, in looking back, it feels like only yesterday that I was noticing a world full of Marky Mark's sisters from The Fighter...or driving three hours to a roach motel in Rhode Island only to vehemently turn down the windowless, fire-trap of a room, hop in the car, gun the engine and drive right back to New Jersey 15 minutes later, my kids laughing the whole way...and wasn't it seconds ago that we had "The Clap-Out" for our Class of 2011 5th graders at Washington School...and I could swear it was just last weekend that Susan, Mary and I ate Smith & Wollensky take-out on our beds, an ice pack to Susan's head...then there was the fluke October snowstorm, mass hysteria and cancelled Halloween, but not before I could rock my Mrs. Mia Wallace look...and my Oktoberfest dirndl...and my Boy George feathered braids (2011 was apparently the year of the masquerade, maybe that's why it went so quickly...)... And here we are now, the Holidays almost completely behind us and 2012 within reach...

Like I said, 2011 is officially a blur...

The end of the year, however, is always crystal clear

in my mind, because it is this week every year that I reflect upon my life and where I am...and where I was this week 12 years ago now -- December 1999. Most of you know that at that time I was awaiting the birth of my first child...and on January 1, 2000, she came to me. My first baby, my only girl, my truest love...who knew one person could be so many things to me, but she was...and she is even more to me now. Not just the loving and giving and empathetic and open-hearted girl anymore...she's still all those things...and she's still trustworthy and loyal and unapologetically straightforward...but, outside of being my daughter, she's also maturing into one of the most fun people to be around...to laugh with and hang with and ponder life's mysteries with.

A few weeks into this school year, I picked her up at the middle school and we were racing back to the elementary school to get the boys...the car was quiet and I caught sight of her in the mirror, with her messy bun and fuchsia and navy, tie-dyed scarf and she just looked so cute and fresh-faced, like an adorable preteen with all these possibilities ahead of her... She flipped on the radio and on came the opening bars of "Summer Breeze" by Seals & Crofts ("blowin' through the jasmine in my miiiind..." SUCH a guilty pleasure!!)...and usually Ellie would flip to some crap Top 40 station with Taio Cruz or Bruno Mars busting out my speakers...but that day I hear her say under her breath, "oh cool..." as she turned up the volume. And without speaking or even looking at one another, we sang every word of that song ("feel the arms that reach out to hold me/in the evening when the day is throoooough-ooo..." ) at the top of our lungs for the entire ride -- in harmony, no less. I loved that...I loved that I was singing with my best girl...that she was awesome enough to know all the words to "Summer Breeze" and that I felt like it was 1988 and I was riding in my old Volvo with Allison and Casey and Murph and Danielle and The Donut on way to some fun Bergen Catholic football tailgate...being there with her felt that free...and that joyous. What a gift!

Now I know that "Summer Breeze" thing seems like a nothing story, but to me it was that moment that Ellie became this totally cool, fun, silly friend on top of being my beloved firstborn. I texted TJ: "Ellie just sang every single word of Summer Breeze along with the car radio..." And she wrote back: "Ellie totally kicks a**!" So true.

Ellie reaps all benefits and suffers every drawback of being my oldest...so much more is expected of her...she has to work two times as hard in the house as either of the boys ever will...she is the first to be taken to task...and, no matter who is at fault, Ellie is the first one I will look to to end the madness when there is some screaming/chasing/yelling/tussling the three are engaging in... And as such, she is often frustrated with me...with the unfairness of being the oldest...sick of feeling like so much is expected of her...tired of always being the one who has to give in...like her slip-ups are received in a completely different way than the same slip-up by one of her brothers might be... And as I am the fourth of five children, I cannot help but notice and call her out when she is acting like a bossy older sister....so, in many ways our relationship can be complicated.

But the bright side is that she is my other half...she and I laugh at the same things...and now we even share shoes and some clothes...she gets to stay up later and go to better shows and restaurants and overnights with me...we see movies together and we talk about clothes and makeup and friends and boys and secret hopes and dreams... And though we are actually different in so many ways, Ellie knows me like no one else does at this point...she knows who and what is important to me...she knows when I am hurt or holding back...she cares for me when I am sad or in pain...she cares about my extended family and friends, inquiring after the health and wellness and happiness of those I care for beyond this home... Sometimes she is the mom, giving pep talks and having "come to Jesus" moments with me...and in doing so, there have been many times that she has reminded me to never forget what I am worth. Of course, she calls me on everything -- when I am being unfair, or unnecessarily harsh or strict or angry or insecure or filling up with self-doubt....and she doesn't let me get away with any of it... Still, when it comes down to it, Ellie wants my happiness above all else. Ellie is my very best friend.

Now she is turning 12. I know that we are heading into the years in which she will naturally separate herself from me, keep secrets, share her deepest thoughts and girl talk with her very own versions of Allison and Casey and Murph and Danielle and The Donut...and I know that's normal and that I should let her have that... I should let her experience some of her life's moments with privacy and distance from my eyes and ears. I am ok with that.

But I have wishes for Ellie too...that she stays the loving, giving, empathetic, openhearted, trustworthy, loyal and unapologetically straightforward girl she genuinely is. That she champions her own victories and accepts failures graciously....and that she always knows exactly what she is worth.

Mostly I hope she understands and embraces what I think most adult children struggle with their entire lives -- that her mother and father will always love her no matter what choices she makes and path she follows and stumbling blocks she encounters going forward. I hope she knows that as her mother, as her very best friend, her happiness is my most ardent desire and hope and dream, above all else.

Wishing a very Happy New Year to all of you, my loves, my friends... I have a feeling that 2012 is our year, the best one yet...and in the blink of an eye we will be back here, reflecting on our blessings and good fortune, and wishing Ellie a Happy Birthday once again.

xoxo

Photos:

1. Me, channeling The Boy...watching 2011 fly by...

2. - 8. Ellie during various seasons, at various ages, with various loved ones and on her own... 2000 to the present....

You'll Be My Breath Should I Grow Old...

2011-12-15T06:56:00.000-08:00

"Actually, I value every second we're together, from the moment I squeeze his orange juice in the morning till I tuck him in at night. He's not just my boss, he's my best friend too."

Waylon Smithers, The Simpsons, Spring 1991

Most of you know that I am the mother of three...and I think most people would agree that there is no way to explain what it is like to be a mother...not to take anything away from Dads...my Dad, my kids' Dad, my friends who are Dads...they are all truly loving and wonderful Dads... But being a Mom is different because your children are always, without fail, the number one thing on your mind at all times... Men are a million times better than women (savor that, boys, I will likely never say it again!) at separating their thoughts into boxes, focusing only on what needs to be done or dealt with at that moment...and as a mother, that is an impossibility...the lives you are responsible for never exit your brain. Even so, sometimes we just go through the motions...follow the pattern of each day and week and month without thinking about it...and we only snap to attention when something falls out of line or diverts from course.

Some of you know that I am actually the "mother" of four.

No, no...there's no secret baby in my womb or in my imagination or hidden in my attic...this baby is real and was my very first baby...he is my 15 year old pug, Smithers...

Smithers became ours in the spring of 1997 after his breeder decided that though he was genetically perfect, he was too untrainable (even for a pug) to show. He lived with us in a six floor walk up on Morton Street in The Village...and he was the reason our neighbors got to know us...he was happy and spunky and he marked every damn thing in the apartment, on the street, in the park, at my parents house, in the yard...seriously, anywhere he went he desecrated some rug or piece of furniture...but he was so damn cute and we loved him regardless. I remember one time he was sick and I bolted out of the office before a big meeting to get back to him...and he was miserable, on the couch, listless and laying in his own vomit...and I bawled my eyes out the entire cab ride to the Gramercy Park Animal Hospital...and the other patrons were so jarred by the sight of me they unanimously agreed to let Smithers go in ahead of their animals...I didn't even have to ask.

Years later we had Ellie...and the day she arrived home, in this almost un-Smithers-like dog-ness, he became a ferocious guard dog! He hovered around Ellie and me...he barked and snarled at any human being that approached us...he paced outside her bedroom door and when I nursed her he sat at my feet. My sister's two dogs arrived one afternoon as we sat with Ellie on the couch and as they approached, Smithers stretched himself across my stomach and fully got in the bigger dogs' faces like: "keep away from my girls!"

Over the years we had more children...and Smithers accepted his increasingly less dominant position in the household. In recent years he prefers to hang out alone, cuddled up in a ball on his bed in the kitchen while I spend the day writing... We lived in harmony, all of us...he became blinder and deafer and more arthritic as each month passed...and frankly, I committed a cardinal sin of mothering in that he dropped from my thoughts often... My human kids were my priority...our happiness was foremost. Smithers was quietly living...and my role had turned from mother to healthcare aide...feeding and changing and bathing and keeping him alive. Not so much snuggling or playing...sometimes I even tripped over him and I'd get annoyed.

Then last week it all came down on me like a car crash in my heart, and I was certain that I was going to lose him forever...

There was this noise coming from him that made him sound slightly less healthy and spry than a 200 year old man with emphysema. And being a pug, he has that squashed face, so weird breathing noises and hacking were kind of the norm, frankly. But I sat here in my kitchen with some friends last Wednesday night and this sound was new and so awful it scared me, shook us all...when Will heard it he looked to me with panic in his eyes and said: "Mommy help him!" The next day we were at the vet. And though I had prepared myself to hear the doctor prep me for bad news, hearing her say that Smithers needed a chest x-ray because this awful sound could be the result of cancerous tumors in his lungs...and being that he is 15 years old, we will need to consider the options should that prove to be the case...

I knew what she meant...we were going to have to put him down. And she just kept handing me tissues and I tried to apologize but I couldn't speak through my tears. Her aide carried Smithers away and I signed off on all the tests and I agreed to the the estimate...

I called Rob from the car and he was panicked that he wouldn't make it home to see him again...and of course I promised I would never let the doctors do anything to him without each of us having the chance to say goodbye. And he said maybe we can medicate him through Christmas...so we could have him for one last Christmas morning... I totally got where Rob was coming from...but something inside me was saying that if the doctor thought he was too ill, that I owed it to him, as his mother, to ease his pain completely...

I called my sister, Trish, who has had five of her own dogs, three currently, and runs her own dog daycare and outdoor adventure business. And she was so great easing my nerves...she said: "the best gift you can give Smithers is NOT to do anything heroic here...he needs you to be utterly unselfish..." And that is it, you know...the animals give us everything...they make you happy, they keep you warm, they love you so much that they will lay across your belly and growl at all who approach...and they willingly take the backseat to everyone else in your life, no matter how much attention you throw at them or not. The one thing I could do for Smithers was to love him enough to let my feelings take the backseat, to lay across him and not let anything hurt him ever again. I decided that if the doctor came back with bad news, I would be strong enough to let him go. I wept non-stop for the rest of the day.

Later, the doctor called. Smithers had a partially collapsed lung. Likely the result of a bronchial issue developing, an attempt to cough, and a weakened lung taking the hit. While this is serious...and concerning...he could be medicated. There were additional tests pending to rule out tumors, but the normal ways in which they would present on a chest film were not showing. He could be medicated. He would live.

Huge sigh of relief. Praise Jesus or Santa Claus...or maybe my dog-loving Gramps who used to feed Smithers brownies when I wasn't looking was up there pulling for the little guy...regardless, I was not going to have to go through Christmas Day knowing that I missed the chance to show him once again how much he was loved. He's been home for a few days and we hug him every morning...I don't even care when his hair gets all over my sweater...and when he steps in front on me in his blind deafness and I almost kill us both as I trip, I am not mad...because he can't help it. And I am not just feeding and changing and bathing and keeping him alive...he never leaves my thoughts. I am his mother again.

So...this whole exercise was a lesson to me in many ways...a lesson about love, first and foremost...I love that dog...he has meant so much to me...I don't want to take that love for granted... His life was a gift to me...and I guess I realized that in all my loves and relationships that the gift of someone's love is the most blessed thing we can ever possibly possess...and besides your love, the next biggest gift you can give to someone is your unselfishness...your willingness to put their needs ahead of yours even if it hurts to do so. And I always thought I knew that...but I didn't really know it until I faced losing him...until I had to imagine Christmas without my first baby...

So the ending to this story is happy...Smithers is blindly nudging at the Christmas tree as I write...I haven't heard him make that horrible sound in at least 12 hours....and the kids and all those gifts that need giving are back to dominating my thoughts. You know, this is a beautiful time of year...no room for sappy, sad moments, as important the lessons those moments bring us may be... And so, I am just going to celebrate the season and toast the coming year and laugh with friends and hug my kids and cherish those I couldn't imagine living without. And to you I am sending all of my prayers and cheer and joy and blessings of love.

Happy Christmas!

Photos:

1 - 7: Smithers, various ages and stages of life, with the people who love him

Cherish: The Thought Of Always Having You....

2011-11-22T11:24:00.000-08:00

So when we left off Suse wasn't moving, Mary was screaming and I was...well, half-dressed...

In the meantime, while you were waiting to hear whether Suse survived or not, some biblical October snow storm from the depths of hell descended upon the Northeast...and this time it was the great state of New Jersey upon which Mother Nature's fury rained down... So usually we are all smug about the 200 year old oaks that are the prize of our neighborhood...I mean, of course, every time the wind blows I run outside and scream bloody murder for my kids to drop what their doing and join me in the basement...I have an irrational fear of being crushed by a falling tree...that and being swept up in a surprise tornado...oh and I am also afraid I will be bitten by a vampire... But on that Saturday of Snowtober 2011, it was like every tree in the neighborhood made a suicide pact, because all at once they were falling like a particularly scary and dangerous meteor shower... Every few minutes I'd hear a crack and see snow and leaves wafting through the air in monstrous clouds...another one down. The power blew after a tree on my neighbor's lawn tore the power lines out of both our homes...and so began the fun and games the next six days brought us... No heat, no power, no Trick-or-Treating...no blogging... And it was awful...but thankfully, it was Suse who rescued my family from the cold and dark that week...generously offering us beds and meals and warmth...

But I will get back to that...for now, let's get return to the bathroom floor...

So Mary is kneeling next to Suse and I am standing over her...and we are both yelling: "Suse! Suse!"...and after what seemed like forever, but was probably 10 or 12 seconds, Suse's eyes began to flutter open...and we kept yelling to her: "Are you ok? Suse?" But she wasn't answering. So Mary takes charge and tells me that we have to get her on her left side...and that's when Suse started to talk a little...she says: "I fell..." Awww...I wanted to cry...we know you fell!

Soon Mary was barking orders at me -- thankfully, I must say, because I am tragically useless in a crisis...do I have to remind you about the time Suse cut her fingertip off on a mandolin and I stood there staring at her asking if I should call 911...??? Anyway...I got the wet cloth as Mary turned Suse on her side and covered her with towels...Mary checked Suse's pulse, inspected the bump and then told me to hurry and get some ice. Hurry? Ok...let me remind you that I had just walked 26 miles...then I sat on a bus for 20 minutes...then I stood in the room undressing while Suse showered. Every muscle in my body had stiffened, and not in a good way...I could barely freaking move!!! And I wasn't dressed!

But Suse needed me....so in my best impression of Tim Conway's "Old Man" character from The Carol Burnett Show (LOVE that show!), I shuffled from the bathroom into the room and in what had to be like 5 minutes of maneuvering, I somehow pulled on those Athleta yoga pants and my pink fleece, grabbed the ice bucket and Tim Conway'd my way out the door and down the hall...and I am thinking: sh*t, I hope Suse's life doesn't depend on this ice because she may not make it at this rate! Of course, there was a family waiting at the elevator, a mom, dad and two girls...and while I tried not to make eye contact with them, they stopped their conversation, turned completely around and gaped at me Tim Conway my a** to the ice machine and subsequently spill ice all over the floor because I didn't lift my arm fast enough to turn it off...I kept my back to them and my eyes to the ground and they finally boarded the elevator...then I Tim Conway'd back to the room...

Susan was lucid when I returned and the color was returning to her face...they were talking and as I wrapped some ice up in a wash cloth, Suse started to apologize to us...which was ridiculous and we told her so...and she kept saying: "give me a few minutes and then I will be ready for dinner..." and we kept telling her to shut the hell up...but it did remind me that we had dinner at 7...we had Sam and Betsy coming in from NJ and the other girls were all getting ready in their own hotel rooms...but Mary and I had already silently agreed that Susan was going nowhere, and neither were we...

So though I didn't want to alarm anyone, I decided to text the entire group the news...and I quote: "Little bit of an unexpected wrinkle... Susan just fainted and hit her head on the tub. She is lucid but very pale and starting to get color...we r not leaving her." And though the girls are still mocking me for choosing the words: "Little bit of an unexpected wrinkle..." it wasn't meant to be funny...but for some reason...the night got more and more ridiculous from the moment the text went through...

We got Susan to bed...she was talking and laughing at my stupid jokes and Mary was making fun of my Tim Conway gait as she put Moroccan oil in Suse's hair to help dry it... And Mary is a Master Trainer with a million health and nutrition degrees, schooled in all proper First Aid techniques...so I was confident in the care we were administering...and I felt my role was just to keep us laughing...and fed...you know, since I wouldn't let Susan stop to eat all afternoon and that certainly contributed to her episode...oops... You know, I owed her some nourishment...

But...come now, you know me...no crappy room service for us...I suggested we order out some juicy, iron-rich fattiness and creamy, starchy deliciousness from Smith & Wollensky...my treat, of course... And truthfully, I insisted it be my treat so they wouldn't suggest another option... Crafty!

So I called the restaurant and rambled on to the guy on the phone, whose name was Oliver...and maybe it was a slow night, but Oliver and I were getting along swimmingly, becoming buds in mere minutes...and in the process he obviously detected my silly, euphoric weirdness and decided he should try to make me and my hotel room full of three delirious chicks his new fantasy girlfriends. Just like a man! So as Oliver hung on the other end, I chatted with Mary about the menu...and he goes: "Say hi to Mary for me..." And I stopped cold...the lack of food finally taking its toll...it was like my brain blanked or did a flip... He called Mary by name!?! How could that be? How could he know I was with Mary? Seriously, this stream of idiotic consciousness went through my brain.

So what did dumba** here say back to him, suddenly turning on our newly minted friendship and getting all suspicious and angry-like? I say: "Hey, wait...who is this?? how do you know Mary?" I was dead serious...and before he could answer, I said: "Mary...did we really call Smith & Wollensky or is this a joke? Is this a trick? Am I talking to (Mary's husband) Sandy? Sandy, is this you??" And I hear hysterical laughter on the other end of the line..."I heard you say her name, dummy!" Oliver says between guffaws.... Oh...right...duh... So after Oliver ranked on me for a minute, we sent Mary to pick up the food, and Suse begged our Master Trainer with multiple health and nutrition degrees to come back with some Coca-Cola while she was at it... And though we were throwing her to the wolves at Smith & Wollensky...and though she would rather die than buy a Coke...off she went... And as it turns out, Oliver and the Irish bartender made her have one glass of pinot noir out of the bottle she wanted to buy...and they asked her to sing for the food...and while she waited they tried to set her up on a date with some illegal from Ireland sitting next to her at the bar... Imagine I had Tim Conway'd my a** three blocks down for that? I would probably still be there...

Mary came back with the food (and a Coke purchased at Duane Reade...) and found Suse and I already under the covers...we ate dinner in bed and fell asleep by 9:30, Friends With Benefits with Justin Timberlake playing on the hotel pay-per-view in the background....

The next day the Walk continued...I stayed back with Suse so we could take our time getting ready...we met the rest of the girls on the Upper West Side after an early morning breakfast at a cafe on Lexington Avenue... (You see, I saw the error of my ways...health and wellness includes sustenance, even if it means finishing the Walk three days after everyone else does...). Anyway, we waited at Columbus Circle, where Mary ran to us and we embraced...and we walked the next 8 miles together... The rest of the girls caught up with us with one mile to go...and among the group was Colleen's sister Kristin... Kristin, another young mom having her own personal experience with the disease, had joined The Jugheads that day for the final 13 miles...a show of strength that our group had first seen in Kathy...and now again... Colleen and Kristin gripped one another's hands as The Jugheads walked the final block...and as we crossed the finish line, a surprise awaited...Colleen had secretly arranged for their Dad and Kristin's children and husband and best friends to be waiting there, cheering for Kristin...and it was an amazing moment for us as a team... We all cried at the scene...and we embraced as we passed through the arch marking our ceremonial finish. Yet again, another beautiful and emotional ending on that final day...sisters and friends...strong bonds and unending support...

So I always say this, and being Thanksgiving, I suppose it means even more -- each year the Walk reminds me to cherish my friendships and to acknowledge how blessed we are to be surrounded by people who truly want the very best for us... And I am reminded how lucky we are to know how wonderful it feels to love someone enough to Tim Conway past the highly populated elevator bank for a bucket of ice...or to sing for your meal at Smith & Wollensky, and have to buy a Coke on top of it....or to arrange for everyone you know to surprise your sister at the finish line...or to wait behind until every Jughead makes it to the end...or to bang your head hard enough to pass out and still get up the next morning to walk another 9 miles...or to never tire of spending the small moments together -- beers at the twenty-first mile, hating on the Youth Crew, The Manhattan Bridge, oddly worded texts, snuggling under the covers in a hotel on Third Avenue, eating high end take out and falling asleep to pay-per-view...

And whether it is the Walk or some insane snow storm or something as simple as laughing with my kids, a chat with my mom, a surprise phone call, a walk around the block, dinner with the girls, cocktails on a sunny afternoon or a generous friend opening her home to me....each year at Thanksgiving I am reminded that life really is filled with moments to cherish and the simple love we share..and I am reminded why every single day I am beyond thankful to be surrounded by all of you...

With lots of love to you and yours this Thanksgiving...and always...from me and mine...xoxo

Photos:

1. Man down...

2. Looks like me, dragging my a** past the elevator bank....

3. Suse, Mary and me...Oliver's fantasy, seen about as clearly as I could think...

4. Suse, Mary and me...looking nice and sharp on Day 2, Mile 10...

5. Sisters Kristin and Colleen support one another on the final stretch...

6. Team Jughead 2011 -- 39.3 miles in... at top: Susan M.; center, left to right: Kerri, Kathy, Helen, Suse and Wendy; front, left to right: Mary, Me, Kristin and Colleen...

7. My most cherished...the kids, with me in Paget, Bermuda, July 2011

Help Me Get My Feet Back On The Ground....

2011-10-25T05:52:00.000-07:00

Ok so...I know you all want to know how I learned my lesson...and I will get to that... I will fast forward right through the walk up First Avenue as Suse, Susan and myself gazed longingly at every pizza joint and dumpling house and taco truck and cupcake shop and chino-latino dive and Italian bakery we passed on the way to the next pit stop...and maybe we were grumbling a little that we were bringing up the Jughead rear while we were at it...and as such, I was still refusing to stop for pizza, dumplings, tacos, cupcakes, chino-latino grub or cannolis...

Soon we reached St. Vartan Park on First and 35th, where the Walk coordinators were inexplicably dressed as leprechauns and saying "Happy St. Patrick's Day!"...and no, I was not hallucinating in some delayed reaction to the evil spirits of the Manhattan Bridge...this was by far the oddest pit stop theme yet... Either way, we pushed past the group in fuzzy, orange wigs and green, plastic bowlers and Susan and I stopped to use the ladies room while Suse hit the snack table...

While on line at the bathroom behind this woman who was disrobing in the stall...a frizzy-haired, Latina girl, probably early 20's, poked me on the shoulder and said: "So, how was the Bridge?" And it's then that I realize we Jugheads are not alone in our Manhattan Bridge issues...or wait, did she know me? Nah...it really was just that hurdle all the Walkers struggle with... So I am all: "well, it was better than last time...we feel a lot less beat this time..."...yada yada yada... And then I say: "How did you guys find it?"...and she goes: "oh no...I didn't go over the Bridge...no way I was ever doing that again. I didn't even bother going over the Brooklyn Bridge...I just came right here..." Oh...huh....not sure I would have admitted that, but ok.... I just stared blankly back at her and moved on to dousing myself in Purell from the wall dispenser...

We found Suse waiting outside the restroom area with cheddar Goldfish in her hands...and she almost seemed unaware that she was standing right next to that damn Youth Crew, still in yellow, still too loud and this time doing the effing "Mashed Potato"...immediately my mood soured...that spunky sh*t was a bit much on any given day, but come on! I sneered at them as Suse led us to the snack table where Susan and I grabbed those PB&J graham cracker sandwiches and the worker said to me: "oh, The Jugheads...we have seen a bunch of you today! you guys are probably the third or fourth group...." Wench! Was she looking to get slapped? I mean, especially after the Youth Crew irked me with their sugar sweet sunshine sh*t... But all I said was: "Yeah, we know...." Ok...I shot her a nasty side-eye while I was at it...

Soon we were on our way back up First Avenue when Suse received a text from Kathy -- she and her crew were waiting for us on Third Avenue at 46th Street at a place called O'Neill's...I had been there before...and the thought of a frosty cold one was a nice motivator... We made record time, practically skipping up Third (ok, maybe not...we were at 23 miles by this point...)... We busted through the door and found Kathy, Wendy, Helen, Kerri and PJ with pint glasses in hand...the rest of the bar was filled with men sitting alone and a cranky bartender... Soon we all had drinks in hand -- Stellas for everyone! We toasted...we took some pics, none of which came out...and we rejuvenated... Back out on the street, we moved forward...and I noted to Suse that we were only 3 blocks from our hotel, to which she said: "oh please don't tell me that..." Ha!

It was all laughs for us...even the pain and the Youth Crew and the friendly competition...and as we giggled about the hotel being within reach -- can we go take a nap?? -- a group of Walkers stepped in front of us... There was a young guy, maybe 28, who was walking with the group and he was wearing a plain old Hanes t-shirt with these words on the back in black Sharpie:

I'm Walking For You, Mom

1952 - 2008

Ouch. Ow. That just broke my heart...it made me think of my own children, how they would survive without me...and it reminded me that the blisters and the Youth Crew and the hunger and the exhaustion were nothing. I grabbed Helen by the hand and, finding myself too choked up to talk, I gestured towards the guy and his shirt...and she said, solemnly: "yeah, I know..." We walked the next 40 blocks to the Upper East Side...and I don't remember sharing one complaint that entire time...

Soon we crossed East 84th Street, passing the home my Dad grew up in between York and East End, which I pointed out to the Walkers surrounding me -- none of whom were Jugheads, other than Wendy... Next thing I knew, we were walking up the East River promenade, recounting the first year when we took a moment to play Justin Timberlake in "D**k In a Box"...still hilarious! Behind me I heard Suse saying that Pina (Pina! I hadn't seen her in hours!) had texted, asking us to let them know when we were crossing the foot bridge to Randall's Island...we could see it in front of us...the finish line in grasp...

Wendy and I were leading the pack as we stepped off the foot bridge onto ground at Randall's Island...and as we followed the walking path along the East River, we heard cheers and claps as Pina, Mary and Colleen (still with the Ghostbusters nuclear power pack strapped across her a**...) jumped out from behind a tree... We hugged and squealed...and then waited there as the rest of the Jugheads crossed over... Together we walked to the 26 mile marker and made some guy take our team picture... And together we walked the next .2 miles and, with a crowd of spectators and walk coordinators cheering and clapping...and, tearing up a little, The Jugheads crossed the Finish Line together, as a team...

It was truly moving...

Once we had celebrated, we extracted ourselves from one another's embrace...and suddenly, we were splitting off in different directions -- some to the massage therapy station, some to the tent full of electric foot massagers, and the rest (that means me...) to the medical tent to visit the podiatrist... Mary had already made BFFs with one of the doctors and she walked me, Susan and Helen right over to him and he went to work. He bandaged me all up with his girly soft hands and he put a brace on the little piggie on my left foot that reverberates with agonizing pain only during the Avon Walk and when I wear super high heels...or when I walk 25 blocks in super high heels looking for a cab, which happens on occasion... Next, Mary and I grabbed Susan in the foot massage tent and headed for the bus back to Midtown...Pina and Colleen decided to join us and the others decided to wait behind for the final group of Jughead friends to cross the Finish Line... Sam and Betsy were on their way in to meet us for dinner, so the plan was for all of us to meet on the corner of Third and 49th at 6:55 and walk to dinner together. It was 5:00...

Thirty-five minutes later Suse, Mary and I were dropping our bags on the floor of our hotel room, chit-chatting and organizing the shower schedule... We were dragging a little after sitting on the bus and the muscles stiffening...but we were looking forward to a fun night out and a long awaited meal... Susan usually takes the lengthiest shower, so she hopped in first while Mary and me laid out our clothes and undressed for quick shower turnaround... Mary was sitting on her bed and I was standing next to the TV, in nothing but undergarments and a tank top...I was texting the other girls, determining their whereabouts and progress...and Mary and I were laughing about something...maybe making fun of the Youth Crew or laughing about Colleen's Ghostbusters nuclear power pack....

And then we heard it... Thump, thump, thumpity, thump... Coming from the bathroom...

"What the...? Did you hear that?" I said as Mary stood up...

"Hey Suse, what's going on in there?" I call out...

Nothing.

"Suse? Suse?" Mary called as we walked towards the bathroom door...

Nothing....

Mary and I lock gazes, both of us in disbelief.

"She's f**king with us...." I said...hoping???

Mary began knocking...

Nothing????

"Suse?! Are you ok? Suse?!..." she called...

Nothing!!!!

My heart began to race...

"Ok, Suse I am coming in!" Mary said...

She opened the door....and then she screamed...

"Oh my god! She's down! She's down! She's not moving!"

...Yeah, so...that lesson I learned? This is where that part starts....

More later...xoxo

Photos:

1. Walked right the hell past it!

2. Utterly out of place Walk coordinators...at least as I remember them to be!

3. Told you the shots all tanked! Still...I know you wanted to share those Stellas with us anyway...(if you squint you can see it's, left to right: Susan, Me, Wendy, Kerri, Helen, Kathy and Suse...)

4. My early morning bestie, Pina, greeting me on the walkway to the Finish Line, Randall's Island...

5. Jugheads at 26...smiling through the pain...(back row, left to right: PJ, Kerri, Kathy, Mary; center row, left to right: Susan, Suse, Wendy, Helen, Colleen; front: me and Pina...)... Please take note of the mammoth fanny pack attached to Colleen's a**....

6. Suse, Mary and me...back at the hotel after 26 miles....in our (your??) fantasies...!!

Tick-Tock On The Clock...

2011-10-19T07:33:00.000-07:00

Jugheads 2011...third year...fourteen friends...39.3 miles...over $31,000 raised...

Ok so, I am still trying to figure out how the hell Colleen was moving so fast with that Ghostbusters nuclear power pack pouch she had fastened to her a**...but somehow she was...and after the first mile, I saw she and Mary only once more before we crossed the foot bridge into Randall's Island on Saturday afternoon... But I am getting ahead of myself...

For my friends and I, the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer has become a wonderful annual tradition...everything we do that weekend has become sort of a ritual, starting with our midday arrival on Friday...check-in at event headquarters...an afternoon cocktail and a group dinner... This year Suse, Mary and I added an afternoon stroll up Third Avenue in search of the lululemon and Athleta stores for Walk must-haves (organic cotton yoga pants and fuchsia bra-strap headbands...who doesn't have those?)... Forty blocks later, Suse was getting irked at mine and Mary's refusal to cab it and I was already developing blisters on my sockless, riding boot clad tootsies...and it was raining too... Against all odds, I remembered to take along an umbrella...and those of you who know me well, likely remember that I was raised by a mother who's solution to unexpected rain is: "oh well, a little rain won't kill you...run!" I never have those "in case of emergency" items tucked in my bag -- baby wipes, Purell, healthy snacks, tissues, breath mints, extra undergarments, umbrellas... I've got money, Excedrin Migraine, an Epipen and Nars lipstick...usually I depend on Suse or Ellie to mother me through these kinds of moments... Either way, I had an umbrella and I was so proud of myself...it almost made up for thinking that a 40 block walk wearing riding boots without socks was totally fine...so things were looking good... Then we snagged the only cab available on all of the Upper East Side at 4:30 on a rainy Friday, and found our way back to the hotel just in time to freshen up and meet Kathy, Wendy and Helen for dinner at Pastis in the Meatpacking District... No doubt a fantastic evening ahead...

And it was...the six of us were all tucked away between a super long communal table full of Euros and a small, round table of buff yet perturbed gays who definitely would have preferred more distance from our girly yapping... Sorry boys! We ate our goat cheese salads and steak frites and Moroccan salmon and seared scallops and drank our champagnes and Tanquerays and cabernets...and we had the best time, really catching up beyond playground chat for the first time in a long time...talking about the kids and our families and the new happenings and developments and moments we are reaching in our lives... And it was a celebration to kick off this great weekend...but also a reminder that now we are able to have those conversations with ease, when only a few years earlier there was a heaviness in our hearts...yet there we sat, this time, celebrating Kathy's recovery and survival... This is why we do the Walk every year...

The next morning, the sun not yet shining, Mary, Suse and I, all clad in various shades of pink, met the rest of the girls on the corner of 44th and 12th...Susan M., Colleen and Pina had driven in together that morning...Kathy, Wendy and Helen had caught up with PJ and Kerri along the way...and our new Jugheads, Amy, Liz and Meika, were all excited for their first go-around... We sported brand new team shirts designed by Helen and Susan M. gifted us each with strands of pink Mardi Gras/"show your t**s" beads to wear (which brought quite a few comments and compliments from the bikers along route...hmmm, I wonder why...)... With the look complete, the Jugheads were ready to roll, so we made our way together to the front of the line...staying at the head of the pack was an essential component of our "keep moving, finish strong" strategy... The only drawback to our positioning was this sticky, sweet, super cheerful "Youth Crew" in yellow shirts who were bellowing cheers and yays! and yahoos! and way to go's! in our faces and I truly wanted to shake the happy exuberance right the hell out of them...too early for that much noise. Thankfully it lasted only minutes...and at 6:45, we were off....

Not even 10 minutes later I had already fully lost sight of Colleen and Mary up ahead, and I looked behind me to see the rest of the girls taking their time... And I may have short little legs, but I walk quickly...so Pina and I kept pace and found ourselves alone together for the first six miles... And it had been ages since we had time like that together, so it was a gift...even though we wondered if we would ever see the others again. We did eventually, over on Upper Broadway...we stopped for an iced latte and saw Kathy, Wendy, Helen, PJ and Kerri...and we stayed with them until we bumped into Mary and Colleen on Columbus Avenue...the Walk coordinators had just told them they were Walkers #3 and #4...wow, we really were at the head of the pack. Pina skipped ahead with those two and I pushed through with the others until we parted ways when the group decided to make a Starbucks run on 9th Avenue... I don't like to stop...I am like that on road trips and with household projects...let's just keep moving til it's done or I will lose interest...I will want to hit a movie or grab a cupcake or call friends to meet me if I don't keep going... I figured I was ok walking alone...you know, I'd catch up with one of them along the way, wouldn't I? But wait...our frontrunners were long gone...and the others were on an endless line ordering coffee...was I being stupid embarking on this solitary mission...??? So I stopped right beneath the 11th mile marker on 9th Avenue and 58th and waited....and wouldn't you know it, just minutes later the two Susans were walking towards me...I hadn't seen them since the starting bell went off.... I was so happy to have friends by my side again...

We headed downtown together.... They caught me up on their morning as we passed through Hell's Kitchen, Chelsea, The Village, SoHo, Chinatown and on to FiDi.... All along we checked in with the other girls to confirm our positions along the route... "Colleen just texted -- they are at Mile 20!"... "Helen texted -- they are only a few blocks behind, just leaving SoHo!" We crossed the Brooklyn Bridge together, the wind whipping...the tourists and strollers and hand-holders and the Chinatown Alzheimer's Walk posse making it hard to navigate... But we stayed together and took in the scene...this beautiful, historical place on this gorgeous day...an American flag perched on top...it is a breathtaking experience.

Soon we stepped into Brooklyn and a Walk coordinator said "You are Walkers 180, 181 and 182..." Still ahead of the pack of 5,000 walkers, we were kind of surprised...but thrilled. We felt great...Suse suggested we grab a slice to celebrate our arrival in the outer boroughs...and Susan, a proud Brooklyn girl, was willing...but I insisted we push through... It was about 12:30 p.m. and the Manhattan Bridge was looming....

Now those of you who have been following the Jughead saga these past three years may remember the collective hell we encountered that first year on the Manhattan Bridge... It was surreal...like the minute we stepped on the foot path there was bad energy all around...bike riders zipping by at alarming speed, seemingly on a mission to kill us...packs of Hasidic men pushing us aside...the loud, rattling subway car every few minutes...dehydration and hallucinations...injuries and complete loss of hope. For us, the Manhattan Bridge had become a symbol of the low point we all encounter during difficult times...that bump in the road...that cross to bear... And it was Kathy -- back then still in treatment, sporting a pink bandanna over her hairless head -- it was she who pulled us through, who cheered us on, reminding us that we would cross this bridge together... And it was such a pivotal moment for us that first year...so symbolic and true...the turning point that bonded us at once, not just as friends, but as sisters. We were there together for Kathy...experiencing the toughest moment in her personal journey...and with that truth as inspiration, how could we not fight our hardest...

Even so, none of us ever wanted to cross the Manhattan Bridge again... But there it was, standing tall and foreboding...taunting us, maybe?.... But we kept walking forward...

And who the hell did we see waving at us from the bridge as we rounded the corner? Kathy, Wendy, PJ, Kerri and Helen... Weren't they a whole neighborhood behind us when we hit FiDi?? What the?? Whatever...time was ticking and the wave from the top of that sinister Manhattan Bridge was a beautiful omen...like the energy up there had changed since our last visit...our friends were smiling down at us and every little thing was going to be all right...

Ok, so there were speedy bike riders and the rattling subway train...and it is too tight on that foot path to fit groups...but no Hasidic men shoving us...no hallucinations, thank goodness...and no injuries, even better! Susan regaled us with stories and we looked at the gorgeous Manhattan skyline and the wedding party having their photo taken on the ground...and we watched as the Jamaican dude with short dreads and a Gilligan-esque sailor's cap on the vintage Schwinn stopped for a little ganja fix...every little thing really was going to be all right... I am not going to lie...it was still the low point of the walk...but we had conquered the Manhattan Bridge...it didn't scare us anymore...we could cross any bridge we wanted to and be strong and safe on the other side... Still, stepping off the foot path into Manhattan was like breaking free from a dark forest... We took in the moment, not speaking as we walked up Chrystie Street on the Lower East Side when Suse broke the silence with:

"Wait...how did the other girls all get ahead of us...???"

And, with visions of our friends enjoying a round at the hotel bar while we were still walking, I said: "See, I told you we didn't have time to stop for lunch..."

Remember...I am the girl who always leaves the house without the Purell, the umbrella, the baby wipes, the extra undergarments...so of course I am channeling my mom and thinking: what's the harm in another few hours without protein?? A little hunger won't kill you....run!

Be assured, though, I learned my lesson later on that day....

More to come...xoxo

Photos:

1. Who doesn't?

2. (left to right) Mary, Suse, Helen, Me, Wendy and Kathy at Pastis...as shot by some German tourist while the perturbed gays became even more perturbed by our bridge and tunnel posing...

3. Jugheads 2011, the morning of, just before they held me back from throttling the Youth Crew; (back row, left to right: Helen, Mary, Suse, Colleen, Wendy, Liz, Kerri; front row, left to right: Susan, Pina, Me, Kathy, Amy and Meika).

4. Colleen and Mary, walkers #3 and #4, already on Randall's Island while the rest of us are still at the start line...

5. Suse, Me and Susan...sharing a Kodak moment and pausing to let the Chinatown Alzheimer's Walkers pass...

6. Jugheads in front of us...(left to right: Wendy's back, Kerri's back, Kathy's back...)

Milestones...Moments...

2011-09-08T11:40:00.000-07:00

A decade has passed...

I know I am not alone when I wonder where the time went...feels like a lifetime, but wasn't it just yesterday...? And I know that on occasion each of us, in our private moments, looks back on that day and still, all these years later, we feel the hurt as if it did just happen yesterday... I certainly do...

But then I remember that a week after that day, I was gifted the most beautiful and amazing baby boy...Tim. He really was so perfect...sweet and happy and mine...and as much as my spirit was kind of broken in the days before his birth, Tim brought me out of the collective heartbreak we were suffering...I was his mother, and I had to be present and loving and joyful in his birth. As hard as you would have thought joy might be under the circumstances, his birth was what brought my family and many of my friends back...his birth reminded us that we are blessed and life would go on...

He will be 10 in a few days...living proof that it has actually been that long... He remains beautiful and amazing and perfect still today...a decade later...

When I was a little girl I remember being overwhelmed by the concept of a decade...I remember what had to be late in 1979, being tucked in one night and telling my Dad that I was afraid to exit the '70's, the decade of my birth... The '80's were looming and I was almost innocently anxious about what that turning point meant (maybe I knew that leg warmers, acid wash, "We Built This City" and the birth of Lindsay Lohan awaited...I have always been a little clairvoyant...)... But truthfully, the turn of a decade seemed so huge to me then...I felt like I was leaving something I loved behind.

So it is an immense amount of time that has passed, and an immense amount of time that lie ahead...

I was thinking a lot about how we seem to process the 9/11 experience each year... This past weekend I spent Sunday morning scouring my TiVo menu, adding every single anniversary special and commentary and documentary and analysis to the "to-do" list...wanting to remember all the details from every perspective...not wanting to leave those memories behind... And I made my arrangements to attend memorial tributes and blessings and Masses...and I guess I figured I was fulfilling my vow -- the vow we all took -- to never forget. And as genuine and heartfelt as I know my gestures to be, I began to think that maybe, for me, "Never Forget" also meant something more....

I don't know...maybe it's just me, but I do wonder what deeper knowledge they would share with us if they could...and in my heart I think any one of those lost would urge the rest of us not only to Never Forget the events that took place...but to also remember how much they would give to have been able to live even one day of life this past decade... And maybe to Never Forget can mean that honoring their sacrifices is as simple and ordinary as recognizing the beauty of living everyday life -- the good and bad...the ups and downs...the late trains and early arrivals...the boring lunches and fantastic dinners...the bad hair days and rocking a sweet new look...the break-ups and make-ups...the rainstorms and warm summer nights...the final endings and new beginnings...the mundane moments and major life changes...

A decade behind and another ahead...in a blink of an eye Tim will be turning 20...and the decade of my birth gets further and further away...and that little girl snuggled under the covers in 1979 is responsible for three of my own who will take from this anniversary the most valuable wisdom I can impart... That early lesson I had in Tim's birth -- that life goes on -- is what I

will remember as the gift their sacrifice gave us... The rest of us get to live life...and so, with their lost hopes in mind, I don't ever want to forget to embrace the simple joy in doing so...

So...my wish as we start the next 10 years is that you and I are still here at the other end...living each day, being surrounded by the people and things that fill our hearts and color our worlds...whomever and whatever that may be at that time...and that we are engaging in whatever good and bad, ups and downs, final endings and new beginnings, mundane moments and major life changes that this life may bring us...

So much love to all of you...this day, the next 10 years and always...

xoxo

Growin' Like A Breeze...

2011-08-03T07:45:00.000-07:00

I drove through 8 states on the way to drop Ellie off for a second year at Camp Hollymont in Asheville, NC... Once beyond New Jersey, we hit Pennsylvania, Maryland and West Virginia before we hit Virginia, the lengthiest part of the ride...and it was beautiful, I must add...the Shenandoah River Valley and the Appalachian region...truly beautiful country. Then to my complete surprise, upon exiting Virginia after a Friday night layover in Roanoke (and a visit to Hollywood's Restaurant where they had a menu item called "Better Than S*x" and I mortified Ellie by jokingly telling the waitress: "I'll have two of those..."), we crossed the state line into...wait, what?... Tennessee??...huh? I am an Elvis girl, you all know, so I am all about Tennessee...but, really? Tennessee? I guess I thought Tennessee was somewhere else...obviously my geography is way the hell off because those crooked state lines down there got me all screwed up... I trusted

my Garmin though, and it was correct, because we arrived in Asheville, NC only about 90 minutes after we crossed into Tennessee... Those 90 minutes brought us through the most amazing vistas of the Blue Ridge Mountains... I wish I could have taken it in deeper, but even the glimpses through my windshield were breathtaking... In my head I was humming a little John Denver "Take Me Home, Country Roads" and choking up...partially because it is sad that John Denver is gone...but mostly because this is truly a spectacularly beautiful country.

Anyway...once in NC, Ellie and I hit the Little Pigs BBQ for lunch, bought Lilly Pulitzer dresses at Palm Village to wear to dinner and (at the recommendation of the always spot-on, Helen) checked into the super chic Grand Bohemian Hotel. Perched at the base of the Biltmore Estates, Grand Bohemian is this fabulous boutique-y hotel with a hunting lodge vibe...moose heads on the walls, animal-

hide upholstered chairs... Hill Country antiques and artwork...so fab (like the other end of the universe compared to the Un-Pleasan t View Inn of Westerly, RI...)... We ate at The Red Stag Inn and chit chatted and shared secrets and fell asleep together one last night before I had to let her go for two weeks... And the next morning, I did just that...she asked me to drive away when she wasn't looking because she couldn't bear to see me go...heartbreaking! So I did....and just under 11 hours later, at 9:11 p.m. on Sunday evening, I pulled into my driveway... The house seems empty without her...

But...

I had to get home...I had to bust through those 8 states before Monday morning so that I could wake next to my sweet little darling, Will, whose 8th birthday was that day. He entered this world with a bang, you will all remember, in a touch and go emergency C-section...and from the minute they wheeled me in to see him, all wrapped and swaddled like a little football-sized sausage, he stared into my eyes after all that trauma...and damn if he didn't have my number right from that moment. We have been nearly inseparable ever since...and secretly, my heart hurts when we are apart.

As you know, it is my tradition to salute my kids on their birthdays so that someday they will have proof how much they meant to me... And there is a boatload I could say about Will...I could go on for hours... I could tell you all about how he's my most challenging, outspoken, competitive and the most naughty...how he's been known to break into fisticuffs with his brother on the church steps after CCD...how once he drew a picture of two people sitting at a table and having dinner and drinks in the "date" field at the top of his homework page...and how he argued almost to the death with me because I didn't want him to name his new Wholly Mammoth Webkinz "Horny..."

And I could go on and on about how Will brings such joy to everyone...about his natural humor, vast creativity and staunch individuality.... how he tends to be obsessive with his passions...how since Day 1 he has been fixated on architecture and building construction, pointing out improvements that could be made in every structure we enter...how he loves music and will ask me to play songs over and over ("The Boxer" is a fave...so is "Centerfold"...no joke...) while he quietly listens (and yells at the other two if they dare sing along...)...and how not only

has he watched Titanic over 50 times, he can rattle off facts about the actual ship and its ill-fated

voyage like he is talking about breakfast. And I could ramble on about how super ballsy he can be -- loudly

and confidently ordering a Bud from the vendor at the Yankee game; sneaking into the VIP section of some fundraiser/party we attended at the Yogi Berra Museum at Montclair State...(the kid walks right the hell up to Yogi...by the time I enter the room he is posing for a picture with the legend...and the next thing I know, he's poising with the Jersey Boys. As we walked out, Will goes: "I love it in first class...")

I can blather on about his sensitive side...how he cares for his two stuffed rabbits (Bunny and Junior) as if they were his real children...how he cries profusely when his sister or brother are hurt...how he is always sharing his wishes and hopes and dreams with me...how he ends each school day running to me and throwing his arms around my neck...and how he says he likes to snuggle up right next to me on the couch so when he looks away from the TV, all he can see is my face... My god, has anyone else ever loved me like that?

But Will is best understood when speaking for himself...and his most marked characteristic is his wit, which births the pithy bon-mots that effortlessly fall from his lips... You know, many times he fully gets his jokes...but often he is just observing...and I am not sure which of those instances I love more. Many of you have been subjected to these bits here and there, and others of you have experienced Will's musings firsthand...but for the rest of you, I couldn't possibly leave you out...so as a birthday tribute to the little monster, I have compiled some favorites below...and no doubt you will find yourself oddly drawn to him like those of us who share his life are...

As the entire family sits down to enjoy our Easter feast, Will asks with strength and clarity: "hey Mom, what does 'puberty' mean?"....

"Mommy, why do robbers and mimes wear French hats?

Explaining Taylor Ham and its Jersey-centric appeal and limited availability to Will, who asks: "You mean even China people and the ones in New York City don't know about it?"

Papa and Will discussing how everyone remembers learning how to ride a bike...Papa:"When you are an adult and you are talking about your childhood...." Will, cutting Papa off: "don't worry, I'll mention you."

Will: "what's a lesbian?" Ellie: "a woman who loves another woman." Will: "well you love Mommy..." Ellie: "no, it's when two women get married." Will: "that's not a lesbian...that's a gay person!"

Will: "Mom, my stomach hurts" Me: "Well then you need to stop drinking that Diet Coke." Will: "oh no Mom, my stomach hurts in a way where I NEED to drink Diet Coke..."

"Mom, I've decided what to be for Halloween this year...a Bud Lite!"

"I don't care what you say about being German, you are more than half Irish and Daddy is too...that makes me 100% Irish!"

“Tim, you have to go to Yale, I want to be the only one to go to Princeton…Dad, tell Tim he has to go to Yale!”

"I don't like salad. It's gross. I mean, it's just leaves with toppings on it..."

After a day of playing with my sister's dogs: "I hate Rocko's personality...but I like playing games with him. Well, I guess it would be his dog-nality that I don't like."

Apparently considering possible destinations for his 10th birthday trip, he says: "Mom, what city is less than 2 hours by plane?" Me: "Uh...Cleveland?" Will: "That settles it, I am going to Cleveland for my 10th birthday!"

Upon serving Will his toasted (blackened) muffin one morning: "Aw Mom, it's burned..." I say: "No, it's crispy.."...his retort: "Yeah, that's because you burned it!"

"Baseball is cancelled? Well that's ok...I mean, I like playing baseball, I guess, but we're not on TV

so what's the point?"

Will: "I got a C on my practice spelling test." Me: "A C? How did that happen?" Will, without irony: "Well it was just the practice test, it doesn't count towards my college grades..." (the "C" was for "correct" by the way...)

Tim: "Mom, what happens when you die?" Will, interjecting matter-of-factly: "After you die you are born again as someone else..." Tim, to me: "Is that true?" Will: "Of course it is..."

“Some people think they are born to do something, but they’re really not. I KNOW I was born to be a great architect.”

and lastly...

"Mom, I am going to build all kinds of ships when I grow up

...the future is going to be SO cool with me around..."

*sigh*

I may be biased...I'm his mother, after all...but my feeling has always been that the present with Will has been exponentially cooler than I ever could have guessed it would be...so yes, I'd say the future is looking brilliant white...bright and sunny and super cool...

And like that beautiful countryside, I want to drink it all in...every word my beloveds utter... Because, you know, that's how I know I will never forget how blessed and lucky we are to have one another to share the future with...

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy! And to my big sis, Cathleen too...this family's original quick-witted Leo...xoxo

Photos:

1 - 3: Roadtripping: 1) The girls...2) Shot from the driver's seat...entering a Blue Ridge Mountain vista... 3) Reuniting with Camp bestie, Kathryn...

4, 5 & 7 - 12: Will at various ages with the people who love him...

6: Clever rendering of how Will sees the "date"...

I Want To Drive It, All Night Long...

2011-07-22T06:39:00.000-07:00

"This in no longer a vacation. It's a quest. A quest for fun..." Clark Griswold, 1983

I don't know where to start...so I think I will just start last week when my friend Christine called and we excitedly planned a couple of days with our kids and our dear friend, Sally, at Christine's family home in The Hamptons...Quogue, as it turns out...or East Quogue...whatever...one of those. Anyway, it was a whirlwind of excitement...Tim was in the car with me and heard Christine and I planning fishing in the lagoon and surf lessons and sailing and frolicking about...and a grown-ups' dinner at the new Nobu, which apparently opened in Southampton (I had planned on packing 3 Epipens, and Sally is a highly credentialed Physicians Assistant on the cardiac unit and a medical professor...so I figured I could sit at a sushi hot spot and be fabulous even with anaphylaxis...)... Anyway...Tim ran home to tell the other two how awesomely righteous this vacation would prove to be...and we were all looking forward to the fun...me and Sally and Christine texting countless times a day leading up in anticipation. And my kids were beyond excited...three full days in a super fun beachy playground.

So I was finishing up my packing when Christine called...and sadly, had to cancel because of a family emergency... And all I cared was that she was ok and was there anything I could do or how could we help...(Editor's note: all is well now, no cause for concern...). But the kids...well, I sat them down and explained...and the older two were like: "well let's still go to The Hamptons..." Like as if it would be quite the frolicky good time as I promised if we were sleeping in some Bates Hotel on Montauk Highway, taking shuttles to the beach...and my kids are too cool for Nobu, anyway... Instead we would wait until we could spend our Hamptons visit with our friends... "No, kids," I told them, "sometimes things don't work out as planned...and we have to just deal and move on..." They smirked and side-eyed one another as they are fully aware that when things don't go my way, I am about as flexible and good-natured as a medieval lord... So to prove them wrong, my three little angels, instead of taking these extra days home as an opportunity to stay-cation, I frantically began planning another jaunt to fill the empty space.

I considered every g**damned beach within three hours of the tri-state and surfed all over the net for a summery, beachy resort that just might have a vacancy.... Soon Ellie piped in with: "why not a day trip to LBI on Wednesday...??" But the boys countered with: "you said we were going away overnight...!" Damn straight, I did! I blew off Ellie and suggested we try to be more creative...maybe go somewhere we hadn't ever been. She was skeptical...and I was grasping at straws. Finally I remembered that friends of ours had always gone to Watch Hill, RI...and in my search I found Westerly and Misquamicut Beach...billed as a narrow, pristine stretch of beach on the ocean from which you can see Block Island and the tip of Long Island.... Perfect, I thought...I can point to The Hamptons...that's just like being there in a private home...sailing, surfing, fishing and Nobu-ing... Well, almost like it... Ha! Told you I was reaching...

So after The Breezeway Resort and The Ocean House and The Winnapaug Inn all screamed "no vacancy," I found a place called The Pleasant View Inn on the internet...and it looked pleasant, in a crusty old New England way...I could make it work, no? Pleasant View Inn was right on the beach! every room has a view (remember this...)! two oceanfront restaurants! a pool! family-

friendly! walk to restaurants! bike rides! old-fashioned carousel only minutes away! Mystic Aquarium a stone's throw! It sounded (sounded...) cute...and the internet pics made it look sunny and cheery...and, well, pleasant. As I dialed the hotel a fleeting thought came to me...should I have asked the lovely staff at The Breezeway or The Ocean House or The Winnapaug for recommendations before I threw caution to the wind? Call my Watch Hill-going sister-in-law for her assessment on the place? Nah! I was just going to go for it!

The lady who answered Pleasant View's phone sounded sweet and vaguely New England-y and she told me the only room she had left was called a recessed room, because it was in an adjacent hallway to the main floor, and that it had a view, but mostly of the lawn chairs, and less of the ocean. Ok well...that's ok, I figured at this short notice...right? Right! And at $231 per night? Sounded like a bargain (sounded...). I booked it... The kids and I ran around for an hour pulling ourselves together, finished packing the car and off we went...pulling out of our driveway at 2:22 p.m. on Tuesday afternoon...only an hour after we planned to depart for Quogue...or East Quogue...whatever... And the drive over The Tap and up the coast of Connecticut was simple...we chatted and sung along to a CD I found buried in the console...apparently one I made for a Christmastime dinner party with the DPs and Sobkowicz and Houldsworth and DeLeos back in '07...and it featured Bob Seger's version of "The Little Drummer Boy," which Will made us play over and over and over...that pa-rum-pa-pum-pum lulled Tim right to sleep as we passed Rowayton and he didn't stir again until Branford... Less than 3 hours after we left Wyckoff, the Garmin said we had 20 minutes to go...soon we exited and followed the road to the "Rhode Island Beaches"...along the way passing the pretty New England summer homes with hydrangea and Black Eyed Susans populating the lawns and window boxes... And as we approached the water, the Garmin told me to turn right onto Atlantic Avenue and arrive at destination on left. And I did...

Oh Chr*st!

As I slowed down to get a look the first thing I noticed about The Pleas ant View Inn was a giant fence around a decked in pool...and three floors of rooms and balconies overlooking said "pool" with beach towels thrown over the railings everywhere I looked. I think I even saw the Budweiser towel my sister Cathleen had back in '77 hanging down, drip-drying with a hundred others, probably covered in 34 years of sand and chlorine. I silently began to hyperventilate, trying not to let my inner medieval lord come out when Tim goes:

"This doesn't look like an Inn. This looks like a motel..."

Motel... The magic word that sets my heart into a panic and brings my inner elitist control freak to the surface. I was born this way...it is not learned or taught...my parents are decent and down-to-earth, but they birthed in me a complete and utter inability to function in less than 4-star accommodations...3-star if I am feeling adventurous. My father gave up trying to save a buck on family vacations by the time I was 7 when I cried through the night in some motor lodge in Pennsylvania. My idea of roughing it is The Westmoor Inn on Nantucket (RIP), where the floral wallpaper was a little sun-faded and the beach was across the sandy lane down a steep ropewalk. I am sure I have missed out on a lot of fun because of this problem...this is why backpacking through Europe was never something to consider...or road-tripping in college, I wouldn't dream of sleeping on the dorm room floors of all the East Coast universities my high school friends attended...or getting a shore house with 35 of my closest friends each 20-something summer...and mark my words, unless Elvis Presley rises from the grave and books a limited engagement at The Garden, you will never, EVER, catch me sleeping out for concert tickets. I wish I could do those things...but I can't... I will eat a greasy burrito and cheese fries in a joint off the highway...I will drink cheap beer at a tailgate before a Motley Crue/Slayer double bill of I have to (if I am invited...)...I will drive the Southern back roads looking for the best gas station/barbecue pit in the universe...I will go back to Graceland a million times over...I will take part in all kinds of simpler pursuits...but motels? Not on your life.

I tried to be positive...I don't want my kids to share in the real or imagined anxieties about lodging and all I could think was, maybe the rooms are quaint and pretty... I pulled into the super tiny circular drive by the front entrance, put on the hazards and approached the front desk. Ok, so it looked a little worn...and the paint was chipped...and maybe there was a mustiness...it might still be ok... I attempted positivity until I looked to the left -- Ah, look at that...not only can you see the pool and the cacophony of wet beach towels on display from the street, but there are floor-to-ceiling windows across from the reception desk from which you could watch the gaggle of 14 year old boys playing Marco Polo as well...and I could see the "ladies" sunbathing too. Oh yay! I saw Tim and Will staring out these windows in amazement as I approached the clerk and gave her my name...she went around the divider and got her colleague to deal with me...and so a chubby, non-made up gal in a t-shirt and a ponytail comes back around and says:

"Oh there are four of you?"

"Yes," I say (here comes the medieval lord...) "When I reserved the room, I was quite clear as to whom I was traveling with..."

"Well, you see, we only have one room available and there is no..."

"The recessed room? I know...that's the one I booked.." Why was I even arguing? I should have been running...

"Well, yes, but there is a problem with the one we initially offered you and it isn't available. The only room we have with two double beds is also a recessed room, but..." Wait for it....

"...it has no windows."

"No windows or no view?"

"No windows. Do you want to see it before you decide?"

Uh...

She hands me a key and describes some convoluted route I needed to take to find this windowless room in this beat up, scuzz pit, roach motel, when another patron sporting frizzy hair, a sweaty shine, denim cut-offs and a bikini top (in a VERY unsexy way, I might add) offered to show me how to get there since she "has been coming here since before she was born..." So we followed her like a mile through the place...across a bridge, around a bend, down an alleyway...and to a doorway, behind which, in a normal hotel you might find a janitor's closet or a stairway...at The Pleasant View Inn, we found emergency lighting and three guest room doors...one of which was ours. I opened the lock and the room was pitch black, so dark...like the inky black darkness of hell...and I fumbled for the switch and the lights popped on as we entered.

Holy Mother of J*sus, Lord...

The first thing I saw were the rickety double beds with mauve-ish bedspreads that probably hosted a number of STDs and viruses and probably served as the baby making platform for generations of trailer trash...and then I heard the dripping sound. I looked to my left and found that I was standing next to a huge plastic bin, which was catching the water leaking from the air conditioning unit jammed into the wall. Now we can add West Nile virus to the many circulating in this stagnant air.

Ellie: "Are we staying?"

Tim: "This place smells..."

Will, tears in eyes, hyperventilating: "I don't like it here at all...how far is it to LBI?"

I knew we weren't staying, but for good measure I raised all of our anxiety levels and envisioned a fire starting in the hallway and the four of us roasting to death because we had no alternate egress... Like the misguided mother I often am, I verbalized this to the kids...Ellie and Tim were speechless, Will sobbed.

"We aren't staying..." I said.

We somehow found our way back to the desk, almost knocking over this woman with a walker, on whom I am certain they modeled the Aunt Edna character from Vacation... Holy Hell...wait a second...Vacation...we were the f**king Griswolds, weren't we? Anyway...I told the front desk lady that my son was claustrophobic and it was impossible for us to stay in that room...she frantically offered another room with a rollaway cot...I glanced at the kids and Tim mouths: "Let's just get out of here!" I turn back to front desk clerk and shake my head "no"...she tried to apologize, but we are already bolting for the car...just like in Vacation when Clark Griswold steals cash from the Old West hotel...we couldn't get the hell out of there fast enough...

We were laughing hysterically as we pulled out onto Atlantic Avenue...but I took this as a teaching moment and said:

"Kids, let this be a lesson to you -- never stay in a place that allows you to hang your beach towels over the railings..."

I made an attempt to drive along the beach to see if we could find another place but all we saw were the "walkable" restaurants and the "family-friendly" entertainment at Misquamicut Beach, which it turned out was kind of a little like a mini-block-long-Seaside Heights. There was a busted up water park with one slide, an arcade, and that antique carousel -- more like a rusted-up merry-go-round... I kept apologizing and laughing as the kids mocked on my poor choice of lodging...we kept telling and re-telling the story to one another...everyone guffawing when we came to the part when she asked if we wanted a room with a roll-away cot instead.... It was so funny for some reason...bonding over what many people would have found a complete disaster...

At one point among our giddiness I hear Tim say to Will: "They should call that place The Un-Pleasant View Inn..." and Will goes: "or no...The No-View Inn...you know, no windows??" Hilarious!!!! Then Tim says, in mock exasperation: "If only your friend didn't have to have that family emergency we would be living large in The Hamptons right about now instead of sitting here parked in front of Benny's in sucky Rhode Island!" I looked in front of me and there was some giant place called Benny's across the street... Benny's... Then is struck me...bennies...the local Jersey Shore vernacular noting "clueless tourist." Damn straight, "Benny's" said it all!!!

As we came to a fork in the road Ellie says: "Let's just go back home, get up early in the morning and go to LBI for a day trip..." The same suggestion she made 5 hours earlier... The boys cheered and I agreed..and I was laughing so hard I was crying... I assured them that one day they would be road-tripping with their own children who would be b**ching about the long drive and they will be able to whip out this sick story and their children will all pee themselves laughing at how we drove 3 hours to the beach just to turn around and drive home again. I told them they could call it "The Road Trip From Hell..." And in response, without missing a beat, Ellie and Tim simultaneously bust out on the top of their lungs with: "I'm on the Highway to Hell..." And I am totally stunned for a second -- "How do you now that song?" I asked... "We love that song," Ellie said. "...It's on our iPods..." added Tim.

Move over "Little Drummer Boy"... this trip has a new theme song!

So I can't even begin to go into the stop we made in New London for dinner...on the waterfront that I expected to be picturesque and inviting, but instead housed rock clubs, tiki bars and tattoo shops...kind of like the badly-styled waterfront where Patch lived on Days of Our Lives back in '88... New London is a full story on its own... Suffice it to say we made it back to NJ safely and were in bed by 10 p.m. that very night...

We got up early on Wednesday, packed the car, picked up Ellie's go-to travel companion and bestie, Kathleen R....we were on the beach at Essex Street in Beach Haven by 10:30 where the kids played in the surf non-stop and Will mistakenly picked up a sand crab that he thought was a rock and I perfected my bright red sunburned nose... We hit Barry's Do-Me-A-Flavor for lunch and ice cream...had a refreshing dip in Allison and Kevin's pool on Glendola (thanks guys!!)...and went to the Holiday Snack Bar for dinner (which Will promptly threw right back up...again, a story for another time...)... I bought the kids LBI t-shirts at Breezin' Up, the girls in matching orange...then we hit the rides at Fantasy Island for a mere $100 in tokens...I even rode the Bumper Cars with them... And soon, it was time to go...but not until I spent another $30 on cheesy airbrushed

tattoos administered by a true Jersey Shore boardwalk goddess...

So after all, it hadn't been quite so necessary to make up for the change of plans by trying to create some fantasy jaunt for them... We had a perfectly fantastic day the humble, dependable Jersey Shore...me and my favorite people in the entire universe...the only three people who would still love me if I drove them 3 full hours to spend 15 minutes in a crappy beachside inn, only to turn around and drive right the hell back... And I just have to remind myself of that sometimes...that being around the ones you love, no matter where or in what circumstances, being able to laugh and sing out loud to Christmas songs in July...to collectively know just by looking at one another that you are cut from the same cloth and want the same things and that you were born to be a part of one another... That you don't need plans to make the days turn into precious and fun-filled memories...you just need to be around each other. Making that connection was the best part of the entire experience...and I would drive double that time and back if it meant having more ridiculous yet ordinary moments and a windowless room-full of laughs with each of my beloveds...

"Because getting there is half the fun. You know that..." Clark Griswold, 1983

xoxo S

Photos:

1. Oh it will make my YEAR if these yahoos are there when I finally get to Quogue!

2. My three...how can I deny those beautiful darlings a mid-week beachy vacay?

3. My (not so) alter ego... Ok, and maybe he's not exactly medieval, but he's got style, so there you go...

4. Misquamicut Beach on its best day...I think I see the tip of Long Island...just the tip...a little maybe? Nah....forget it...

5. Not The Un-Pleasant View Inn...but about as well-appointed....

6. Ah...pretty dresses and sport coats and a luxury resort...more my speed...

7. Actual photo of the actual windowless room full of viruses...just before we scrammed...

8. This Aunt Edna is far more gracious and appealing than the one we saw at The Un-Pleasant View....

9. Dinner in New London...Ellie's face just says it all...

10. Middle-schoolers and future Princeton swimmers in tattoos...far more elegant than a roach motel...

11. Wonderful moments with my three, this one on our last night in Bermuda this June...

...From Where It Is That I Come From...

2011-06-22T12:09:00.000-07:00

The Clap Out....

If you are from Wyckoff, you know what I mean.... and I don't know, even if you are not from here, you may still know...but I didn't know what a Clap Out was until last year at this time, when Ellie was a 4th grader...

Now she's a 5th grader...the oldest kids in the school...and Thursday afternoon Ellie and Washington School 5th grade Class of 2011 will exit their classrooms at 12:55 p.m., walk through the hallways passing every classroom along the way...they will pass the art room and the resource room and the media center and the gym and the main office until they come to the front door. During the walk, the rest of the students and all the teachers and staff will stand outside their rooms and offices, cheering and applauding the 5th graders as they walk out of Washington School for the very last time as a class...as students...as little kids. A Clap Out. And we parents will be waiting on the front circle clapping as they exit...though I don't know how I will do that because I am weeping just imagining this taking place...shaking a little as I write this down.

This is one of the traditions that reminds me why we are lucky to live in a small town...how we all know one another's kids and parents and dogs and we look out for each other....and we know each of those kids that will be Clapped Out Thursday afternoon...and the next day we will turn around and they will be graduating from College...just like that.

When it came time to have children and settle in a home of our own, we considered the entire New York metropolitan area...we thought maybe we would stay in Manhattan...but one thing of which we were certain was that we wanted more than one child, and that seemed difficult to impossible for the City living we envisioned. So we looked in Fairfield County for a while...and we drove around Garden City looking at Open Houses for a day too. The front-runner had been Northern Westchester for a while... But who was I kidding? I was lying the whole time...I had a different front-runner in mind. My family is here...it's where I am from...I knew I was coming back all along.

I always say that I from here...but truth is, I am not from Wyckoff, per se...I am from Franklin Lakes...the next town over... And you may not believe that these little towns that share a high school could possibly be anything but carbon copies, but as connected and

related as the two towns are...sister towns, even...they are different...and the people they breed are different from each other too. When we settled in Wyckoff, much to my own surprise, I

was kind of a stranger to the way of life....I mean, we had just left The City, where I am pretty sure we said hello to our next door neighbor only once in 4 years...and that was when we found him making out with some girl in our doorway... And you know, I expected this place to be just like my hometown less than a mile down Franklin Avenue... See, growing up in Franklin Lakes our social scene had revolved around seeing our neighborhood friends at The Indian Trail Club and 11:15 Mass at Most Blessed Sacrament...we had tennis lessons and swim team and cookouts in The Club's "Grove" every Friday in the summertime. But we lived on properties that distanced you from your closest neighbors...and we didn't play in the street or the front lawn very much...it was backyard living all the way. And Franklin Lakes was a fantastic place to grow up...it still is... But I was unprepared when I moved here, and frankly, not all that comfortable with my Wyckoff neighbors out mowing their lawns wanting to talk to me and comment on the color of my front door or the fence we put in

or the tree that was creaking near the swing set. I was surprised on Labor Day that first year when people parked all up and down our street so they could easily walk to the fireworks at Memorial Field... I was confused when

the whole town lined Wyckoff Avenue to watch the kids walk in the Memorial Day parade together... And there were block parties and

playground visits and fishing derbies and Friday nights at Brookside...all these picture-perfect, small town moments for our family to become a part of...

Soon I got used to it here and I immersed myself in the scene... I began inviting neighbors for a Labor Day barbecue and letting the kids walk in the parade and making appetizers for the block party and planning my day around the playground and talking to the neighbors about my new fence and paint colors and the creaky trees....

And my kids grew and I volunteered and hosted parties and made very dear friends...and in the

blink of an eye, we arrived at this year and I became PTO President. And even then...with all that "immersion," I found, truthfully, that fish-out-of-water feeling comes back sometimes. As much as I love being involved, sometimes being a part of all that overwhelmed me...sometimes I felt...I still feel...like it can be hard to hide...that everyone knew my business...that we shared our lives so openly with so many people here... It can be a difficult balance to strike...I want to be a part of the community...I want to have an impact and for people to know our kids and my parents and the dog and I want people to look out for us...but I want to be alone sometimes too. I don't know...was it possible all along I was meant to be somewhere else? I began to wonder when, if ever, I would...or could...retreat...

Then late this Spring the town, and the school, suffered a tragedy...a heartbreaking loss that shook us all....and it was then that I was again reminded of the beauty of being from a small town... Being surrounded by people, even those who aren't in your social circle, who will step up to help you...to support your family...to band together...without a second thought. I know this phenomena often occurs surrounding tragedy...but being in a position now where people came to me for direction, I saw the overwhelming outreach that was offered firsthand...and to say I was beyond moved is an understatement...

And I remembered why I wanted my family rooted here in the first place...because we are the kind of people who stand outside the elementary schools and clap as loud as we can for our kids...because most of these 5th graders have been here since they were babies...and they are a part of all of us...the future moms and dads who will carry on these close-knit traditions and love for what makes us the community of families that we are...

And so...the Clap Out...

Maybe our Principal said it best the night of the 5th grade musical...his words straightforward, but filled with meaning...we all knew, even as he commended the kids and their terrific performance of, fittingly, The Wizard of Oz...we knew that he was referring to the outpouring of heart and passion that had flowed this Spring...and I can't think of a better way to express how I am feeling...what I want these kids to remember when they look back upon this moment in time...when we turn around in a second and they are graduating from College...

"There's no place like home..."

Photos:

1. Kindergarten Ellie...2005

2. 5th grade Ellie, with great pal, Alysse...2011

3. The Wyckoff train stop...where I have never seen a train stop...

4. At the Labor Day fireworks, my boys and Matthew...2010

5. Will's first Wyckoff Memorial Day parade...2011

6. Some friends from town commonly known as The Sistas...2010

7. My three...enjoying a summer afternoon at Indian Trail Club...just like I had before them...

Rains, Pains & Fashion Migraines...

2011-05-05T13:33:00.000-07:00

"It was like a high school party, only with adults...." Colleen S., April, 2011

More on that later....

HI my long lost, beloved friends....I know, it's been well over a month, almost two...the many distractions and expended energies that filled those days are behind us...the sun is beginning to shine and summer is coming... and, well, I missed you, so thus it continues...

So, the night before the Royal Wedding, my pop culture soulmate, Lisa A. posted a greeting from someecards.com on my Facebook page... It said: "Remember to pretend you're hungover instead of tired from being up since 4 a.m. watching the Royal Wedding..." Haha...loved it (and "liked" it)...I giggled and chuckled and maybe even chortled a bit, and then moved on. I already told you that I had been distracted and expending energies all month, so surprisingly, I was sort of only half paying attention to the Royal build-up...I wasn't really caring who the hell designed the dress and I didn't totally tune in every morning on Today when Natalie Morales would give us some tidbit of the day about Kate's shopping trips or Wills' bachelor party... In fact, I am one of the few people on the planet who is more interested in the Prince of Wales than in his sons (love him!)...although, let's be honest, almost all of us, including most of you guys out there, would totally give Harry a little sweet stuff if we had a shot...admit it...he's the bad boy ginger prince...who wouldn't? But I digress...all I am saying is that as a girl...as someone who has a sensitive soul and a romantic bone buried somewhere beneath all of this snark, I was absolutely planning to TiVo the wedding...but damned if I was going to haul my bum out from under the covers at 4 a.m. for the pre-game show... So there would be no need whatsoever to pretend I was hungover...because I had grand plans to sleep until 6:30, g**dammit!

God was laughing because my plan got derailed somewhere around 3:30 a.m. when I found myself in bed -- alert and staring wide-eyed in the dark at the ceiling, mind racing, Will's feet firmly lodged into my left kidney... And then spending the next two hours willing myself unsuccessfully back to sleep...then moving all over that bed trying to find a comfy spot...then clearing my brain...then watching The Real Housewives of New York City....then accepting my fate...it was 5:45 a.m...I turned on the Royal Wedding.

Of course we all know what happens when you decide to stay up now that you have wasted two precious hours trying to sleep...well naturally I started to feel groggy and headachey and dizzy...and dammitall, I had no choice but to power through, because I had to get my kids out and go to the office....which I did... Frankly, I don't recall showering or dressing, though clearly, I did....because when I finally had a moment of clarity at about 11 a.m., I found that Lisa A.'s someecard prediction was becoming a reality...I might as well have been hungover, because I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered who the hell that blind homeless lady who dressed herself so abominably was that was staring back at me from the bathroom mirror...

But it was me...I had become victim to that notorious karmic slap in the face -- the F***ed Up Hangover Outfit. Cr*p!!!!!!

Now don't tell me you haven't been there...at least you women...because we all have. You enjoyed Thursday night Happy Hour so much so that you ended up at the diner til 2 a.m. eating Disco Fries even though you had to be in the office at 8:30 for the Friday conference call. And when you woke up with that stabbing pain behind your eyes and the sand-papery throat and the gurgling somewhere in your stomach, you somehow get yourself ready for work...and for whatever insane reason, you think charcoal grey J.Crew stretch twill minnie pants, a navy blue Vineyard Vines t-shirt with a boat anchor adorning your chest, a cornflower blue ribbon-belt, a sky-blue J.Crew "Jackie" cardigan and your silver Tory Burch "Thora" sandals is the ensemble that will give you the strength to take on the day. Yes, my friends...I actually went out of the house with those fine items -- lovely on their own but beyond craptastic in an outfit -- all to gether on my body at one time. Not one of the shades of blue were complementary to one another...and the sandals and the fun, casual, coastal-themed t-shirt paired with the dark, maudlin grey minnie pants almost made me look as if I was dressed for casual cocktails on the water when I dropped a margarita on my white pants and had to substitute with whatever was laying on the floor of the closet...I looked like an a**. I am not sure if the stabbing pain behind your eyes actually color-blinds you, or if the alcohol withdrawal saps your brain of all your fashion sense, but this phenomena is real and it is frightening! And I wasn't even hungover!!! I didn't even get to hit the diner at 2 a.m. for Disco Fries...I was in bed by 11...but still, I was rewarded for a night of no sleep with a non -alcoholic hangover and a truly legendary f***ed up hangover outfit... I didn't even have to pretend.

But on the brighter side....thank G*d I didn't have to work the day after Sam's birthday celebration two weeks ago...because I am sure that outfit would have topped even the non-hangover Royal Wedding look. And I would have been limping to boot...

Ok...so remember back to the very beginning and my dear Colleen's perfectly spot-on quote? Sam' s birthday most definitely was like a high school party with adults...we had The. Best. Time. Forget the Skinny Girl margaritas and the cannoli cake and the artichoke dip and the absolutely gorgeous, fabulous group of women that are our friends ....all fantastic, of course...but instead, think back to that Saturday of soaking, torrential, monsoon-like rains...that was the night we celebrated, and honestly, I think that added to the fun. People always think rain will ruin a party...but I have not found that...we all know my history with Nor'easters on wedding days and communion parties and in the middle of PTO speeches... I have always found that the crazy bad weather somehow creates a deeper bond among the people who are celebrating together...and the party is exponentially more festive and fun...everyone is thrilled to be together, dry and happy, cocktailing away...

And that was exactly how the night developed at Sam's...

So, the high school party broke out in the middle of the grown up cocktail party shortly after the cake was served...someone turned the music louder and on came "F*** You" by Cee-Lo ("and though there's pain in my chest, I still wish you the best....")....and so me and TJ and ADP and Lisa and Joan and Sam started to dance and sing ("F*** you and f*** her too!")....I saw our friends in the other room checking us out, secretly longing to join the fun but needing another cocktail to make that happen...and then Sam pressed her lips on the French doors leading to the bar area, and Colleen pressed hers back on the other side...the party was on!! Colleen busted through that door and, as is her style, ramped up the energy with her flexible, bendable body and wild dance moves... Next thing I know, Suse and Danielle and Christine and Janine joined in....and that's when Sam and Colleen picked up the dining room table...food s till on it...and hastily moved it up against the wall... And then Christine did "The Worm" across the open floor.... That's right...The Worm.

Totally awesome...

So of course now that there was no table, everyone was smacking their head on the chandelier...especially the guys, who joined in around the time Nancy and Katie and Mary hit the floor... And I am not sure

which Joe it was who grabbed the broom handle, but the next thing I knew, my friends and their husbands were doing "The Limbo." And it was all of them...no one was shy...even

the most pulled-together party-goers (talking to you, CDP...you too, Tim H...)...everyone was bending and twisting and falling flat on their 40 year old (and beyond) backs...and then Joan grabs my arm and is like: "Let's limbo together!" And I am gripped with fear as she grabs me...all I can think is that I have a little pleated skirt on, 4-inch high red patent leather slingbacks...and that limbo pole is pretty damn low...there was no way in hell the entire party wouldn't be treated to some kind of show if I went through with it....so I panic and screech, louder than I should have:

"Joan! I can't limbo! I am wearing a thong!"

And, not risking any extra exposure limboing away in her cute pants she says: "No big deal, so am I..." I told you we were a fabulous group of women...

So it went on like that...and we kept dancing...and we kept singing...and Scott played DJ...and we threw the obligatory arms around one another, telling each other how much fun we were having and how much we loved each other and how happy we were to have spent this pissy, rainy night at this most amazing party of the season...

And you know, we are lucky to have one another...to even have friends who love us, though they really don't have to, but they still do.

I left at 1:15 and there were still 20 people left behind... And the next morning I felt pretty good other than having a broken knee and no feeling in my toes... Still, no f***ed up hangover outfit in sight, though that's probably because I stayed in my sleeping tank top and shorts til the afternoon. I was one of the lucky ones...some of us ended up in bed for

two days...and bruised all over...and carrying their husband or wife home through the rain...all of which are always a sign of a great time, I think...

Well, that and sporting a totally F***ed Up Hangover Outfit the next morning...

xoxo

PS A late Happy Birthday to my BFFL, Allison...love you forever!!!

Photos:

1. (clockwise) Susan, Joe C., Danielle, Colleen, me and Scott...sweaty, breathless and flipping the bird...clearly the end of the evening was upon us...
2. Which one is the boring Prince???
3. Lisa A. is so sweet to remind me I should plan my lies well in advance...
4. (back row, left to right) Katie, Sam, Me, Lisa A., TJ; (front) ADP and Joan...still ladylike and pulled together...no one knows what we have on underneath our clothes quite yet...
5. Me, Lisa A. and Gwen...I feel we look secretly guilty and I wish I could remember why...hmmmm....
6. Colleen and Suse...I mean, come now...this just speaks for itself...
7. Some gorgeous and fabulous women who make up our friends...and no, that's not George Hamilton on the left there...Mary is much tanner than he is!
8. Christine and Scott...post-Worm, maybe? Scott looks impressed either way...
9. Colleen and Sam...I think Colleen is demo-ing what "Wyckoff-sized" is exactly...
10. Lisa A. and Joan getting down...with me as random sidekick...
11. Sam, Colleen and Me...being upstaged by Suse and Scott...
12. Sam, Me, Katie, Mary, ADP and Suse...a kickline? Really? Gorgeous and fabulous, nonetheless...

So Raise Your Glass...For Me...

2011-03-07T08:36:00.000-08:00

Imagine that...my birthday and the kickoff to Lent falling within the same week... I mean, we all know I am going to do everything I am not supposed to do on my birthday anyway...and there you go, like a kiss from Baby Jesus himself, the anniversary of my birth falls one day short of those dreadful 40 days of (fake...nonexistent...) abstaining (again this year I am adopting a Sheen-like disregard for sacrificing...in fact, am adding some new bad behaviors for good measure...) and lands right on top of the world's greatest celebration of sin and debauchery, Fat Tuesday!!!! How apropos!

So...never being one to hold back from celebrating the blessings I enjoy -- that I am still here...that I love and am loved...that there is endless potential in the future...that I just know we have so many happy moments ahead of us -- I decided I would spend the birthday/Fat Tuesday lead-in by indulging my whims...well, more so than I normally do, though probably not the ways in which a tiger-blooded warlock might...

First, I decided it was my prerogative to go all badass and bought myself a pair of mirrored-lens aviator glasses while shopping with Ellie on the Lower East Side....and since they make me look like I am paying homage to Erik Estrada in CHiPs, I am thinking I need one of those naughty cop costumes they sell at Party Fair to go along with the shades.... You know, I'll wear it to the next PTO meeting or something...

And that was just the beginning...

Friday night Marisa and I agreed to accompany one another to a parents' social for our boys' swim team...and we showed up with a bottle of champagne and party girl enthusiasm... And this is kind of a side note, but we were greeted with suspicion by the women and thinly veiled curiosity from the men. I guess I can understand -- two women without husbands in tow, 10 years younger than the rest of the guests, wearing skinny jeans and carrying champagne. As I popped the cork and Marisa chatted up our sweet and gracious hostess, I caught two women about three feet away from us whispering to one another, and I see one snappily say "I have no idea who she is..." as she sneaks a glance at me....and I catch her eye, hold her gaze and raise my eyebrow at her...she turned purple and looked away. She spent the rest of the night hovering around us awkwardly. It's my birthday week...I am taking sh*t from nobody. Maybe I am a tiger-blooded warlock after all...

So, anyway...after about an hour, Marisa and I skip out and show up by surprise at TJ's door...she was already in pj's, but in we went for some Cabernet as she scoured the kitchen for some snacks, which were unnecessary considering this was a guerrilla attack cocktail party...but somehow she compiled a bizarre selection that we scarfed anyway -- Tostitos, brownies, BabyBel "lite" cheeses and Milk Duds...went well with the Cabernet... Winning!

So then early Saturday morning, Ellie happened to crawl into bed with me, waking me...and at that pre-dawn moment, I said: "Let's go shoe shopping today..." And like a good enabling daughter, she heartily agreed just before dozing off, snuggled up next to me. Later on, at Nordstrom, I bought her a pair of rainbow colored Converse sneakers and a pair of 5-inch high, platform-toed Joan & David sparkly platinum pumps for me ...What? they are very practical... Then we shared Crunchburgers and coffee ice cream shakes at Bobby's Burger Palace, totally snagging the last two empty seats before we even ordered our feast... And putting the "fat" in Fat Tuesday, I ate the juicy deliciousness with Ellie knowing full well that Rhonda and I are going back to BBP for a birthday lunch on Tuesday afternoon... Again, winning!

I wore my new 5-inch high, platform toed, sparkly platinum Joan & Davids on Saturday evening when the hometown posse gathered for the 2nd Annual Escape The Winter Doldrums party at The Brick House...and during dinner I sat with Pina, Colleen and the Pauls and we spoke of Pina and Paul's visit to Vegas a few weeks back, which inevitably brought us to settle on the subject of lap dances...how they differ when administered to a woman as opposed to a man...and we wondered what really goes on in the Champagne Room for the starting price of $250...pretty sure the champagne is not what is being ingested, but maybe I am wrong. So this all brought us to land on the fascinating discussion of br**sts...big, small, real and fake. The conversation was peppered with hysterical laughter from we ladies and wide-eyed amazement/suppressed delight from the Pauls. Sandy stopped by to give us some good-natured ribbing on our decibel level and Pina's Paul told him that while the female anatomy conversation started on the highbrow and quickly devolved to lowbrow, it was still damn good throughout... We're here to please! Stupidly, I didn't eat a bite at the party...still afraid of seafood cross-contamination...but I am pretty certain, in a room full of 50 people, I polished off most of the Prosecco on the bar by myself....my homage to the Champagne Room, I guess. The waiters eventually just handed me the bottle and walked away. Hey...it's my own personal Mardi Gras, remember???

So here I sit, the week not even officially kicked off and I am already spent...and I have all kinds of things to get to still in this celebration of life -- Sundaes at Bischoff's...Mojito Monday at Sabor (and no, that isn't an official promotion, that's just how I am spending Monday night...)... BBP Part Deux... There will be birthday cake with the kids...homemade birthday cards and love notes...birthday cocktails with the inner circle at Endless Vine...manicure-pedicure and more shoe shopping...a month full of dinner dates...looking ahead to my annual trip to Longboat Key with Susan, Mary and Sam...

And even if all of that gets canceled and postponed or whatever...even then, I will feel completely fulfilled and blissful this birthday season, because I am still here...I love and am loved...there is endless potential in the future...and I just know we have so many happy moments ahead of us.

Blessed and lucky....

Thank you all for being so incredibly special to me these past 34 years (stop laughing)....and may we enjoy many moments together in the decades ahead... Here's to a debaucherous Fat Tuesday and the Lenten experience you so desire... I will see you on Holy Thursday for a dive-barring celebration of the end of your abstinence...

Kisses and hugs from the Champagne Room...
xoxo, Suz

P.S. Super Happy Birthday and lots of love to Nance and ADP, who share this week with me, and whom I assure you, are much older than me.

Photos:

1. Cute little 7 year old Suz in a Dorothy Hamill haircut, March of 1977. To me this looks exactly like my Tim in a bowl cut wig and a dress...

2. Badass in my mirrored cop shades...just pretend I am not wearing the decidedly unthreatening tweed jacket and magenta scarf along with...

3. Motley cocktail party fare...what bar would be complete without Milk Duds???

4. My feet in the new sparkly platinum 5-inchers...beauty is pain...

5. The first Crunchburger of the week...

6. Hometown posse escaping Winter Doldrums...my champagne and Pina's cleavage taking center stage, of course...

7. We must have been taking the lap dance/Champagne Room talk on tour because these guys look extra happy...

8. Gramatically incorrect, but yummy, heartfelt love note from my sweet little darling Will...one of the three best gifts I have ever been given...

I Got All My Sisters With Me...

2011-01-20T08:15:00.000-08:00

So last Wednesday morning, I awoke fully expecting the snow to have piled up over the garage doors, barely allowing me to peek from my bedroom windows. They had cancelled school the night prior and every report predicted another Snowpocalypse 2011… Well maybe for you poor dears in Boston…and even my Long Island and Connecticut posse got kind of slammed…but here in The BC (don’t even pretend you don’t know that means Bergen County…)…here in The BC there was no Snowpocalypse that day…in fact, this storm didn’t even qualify as Snowtorious B.I.G. (trademark: Brett B…)…when I woke, the driveway had been plowed and the roads were wet, but clear. Yeah baby!!

So…what else was I to do with no school and a fridge full of healthful and fresh ingredients I misguidedly bought thinking I would be inside all day making Julia’s potage parmentier and my own perfect roast chicken… You know, just an aside…I think we can agree that preparing for a blizzard has little to do with milk, bread and rock salt…it’s all about the junk food and trashy magazines… Case in point, take note of this photo of my shopping cart from my blizzard planning trip to Stop & Shop before Snowmageddon 2010 last winter….THAT’s how a Rittereiser prepares for a storm… Don't worry, though fiscally irresponsible, most of that cr*p never made it to our plates and was tossed out a month later when I needed to make room in the freezer... This time, though, I restrained myself…it was all about leeks and potatoes and baguette and Abma’s free range chicken…ok and some Breyer’s for the ice cream shake making… Anyway, I digress…that all sat in the fridge an extra day (though the potage made a lovely lunch for Sam and I that Friday…), because I pulled Ellie aside, out of the boys’ earshot, and she and I made a secret plan to hit the first showing of the day at AMC Garden State (the same place Sam and I saw the soft core masterpiece Black Swan interrupted by the mid-flick fire alarm…).

After a debate over what to see, we called it a draw…I would see The Fighter and she would see Little Fockers…and girl, don’t! with any judginess that I willingly sent her into a screening room alone…Allison and I were fully trying on lipsticks and feather earrings at Wayne Hills Mall by the time we were ten and we turned out perfectly fine…well, she did, at least. So, of course I wanted to see The Fighter...I make no secret of my love affair with Mark Wahlberg (just don't tell Russell Crowe...)...and who wouldn't want to spend two hours marveling at a scrawny, sweaty, cracked-out Christian Bale rocking the most deliciously low-class version of the trademark Boston accent... But...it was the trashy mom sporting a wardrobe comprised of circa '90 rejects they must have unearthed from a Dumpster behind Boland Hall at Stonehill...and the gaggle of scrappy, loudmouth sisters that completely made the film for me...

Those. Broads. Ruled! The mom is in a league of all by herself...and the sisters, well they captivated me completely with their proud inactivity and endless undermining and misguided direction. Oh of course, the story of family ties, sibling rivalry, loyalty, love, hurt, loss and redemption was good too...it was great, actually...I loved it. But those women....they were such true to life characters in my opinion -- bad fashion sense, a decade behind the times, high-hair, scrunchies and cans of beer...the men around them rendered b*ll-less...while they are filled with fear and suspicion, yet always out there with their thoughts...like they couldn't help themselves, they had to weigh in and opine on subjects and issues of no consequence, yet were blind to -- or perhaps just content in -- the f***ed-uppedness all around them. I found myself a little envious -- ignorance truly is bliss!

So this is all well and good...uneventful...Ellie and I met up in the theater lobby afterwards and went to lunch at Johnny Rockets (talk about trashy...)...and I put the Marky Mark Sisters out of my head as we grilled the waitress on whether the cooks made the fries in the same fryer as the clam strips...

And then, as the week progressed it was like the Marky Mark Sisters were following me...I was tripping over them! I swear, everywhere I went, I encountered loud, angry women with questionable fashion sense, high bangs in a color I don't believe exists naturally, and an impatient glare...all that was missing was the beer, cigarettes and a herd of similarly dressed women surrounding her... Have these women always been backing up lines, talking to themselves, demanding the authorities be called and verbally abusing shop clerks all over Franklin Lakes and Wyckoff for years and I am just noticing them now?

There was the Marky Mark Sister on line at Dunkin' Donuts who began speaking to me when the 50-ish Hispanic clerk had the nerve to ask his manager the proper way to ring up her order with her discount card:

Her: "I mean...what country are we in, right? I mean...he doesn't understand me...he can't read...he can't speak English...isn't that the worst? I hate that. Don't you hate that?"

Me: Hummana hummana hummana...sheepish giggle...catch the clerk's eyes, which he rolls...I see him everyday...he speaks English just fine...

Her: "I mean it really p**ses me off that he can't read the coupon...I should get behind the counter and ring it up myself...I used to work at a Dunkin' Donuts, you know..."

Me: Uncomfortable smile...frantic fake texting to avoid awkwardness...

Her: "You really should get one of these Ramapo High School Boosters discount cards...they're great!"

Me: (to myself) I'll pass...

Then there was the Marky Mark Sister/Usherette at the Helen Hayes Theater on 44th Street...Trish C. and I were there to see Colin Quinn in his (hilarious!!) one-man show, Long Story Short....and first the Marky Mark Sister snapped at Trish, saying she wasn't allowed to lean on the steps while we waited to enter the theater...and then she wanted to throw down with us when Trish placed her Playbill on the ledge in the front mezzanine... Later Colin covered the historically great fight-starting skills of the Irish and for a minute, he was kind of resembling a Marky Mark Sister too...

Then somehow Ellie talked me into hitting Garden State Plaza on Saturday afternoon, which is against my religion and a rule I had not broken in at least 15 years. So there were countless Marky Mark Sisters entering Hot Topic (none in Abercrombie though...), but the one we encountered who was my favorite was on line at the pre-teen hellhole, Justice....she wore a bedazzled Steelers jersey (sorry Scott!) and spent no less than 15 minutes yelling at the 18 year old shopgirl because she was sent two discount cards and could not combine the offers on one sale. What is it with these b**ches and the discount cards!?!

And then this Tuesday morning, I braved the icy mix and headed back to the famous DDs for my morning iced latte...and as I walk toward the door I hear sirens blaring...and a policeman in a SUV peals around the corner and parks facing the wrong way in a spot parallel to the curb....I figure he's on an emergency doughnut run for the guys at the station, so I ignore him...you know, gotta get my latte... I enter the shop and immediately notice a woman sitting next to the pick up area of the counter...sitting in a chair as if it is exhausting to wait 30 seconds for a coffee and a nasty, microwaved egg and cheese croissant... And she's wearing an office gal outfit circa '94 with kitten-heeled ankle boots and a busted version of the Nicole Kidman ringlets from Far and Away, only not ethereal at all....and again I thought: "Marky Mark's sisters from The Fighter are all over the place this week..."

Next the cops come through the door and the manager points to Marky Mark's Sister at the end of the counter...and the officer approaches, pulls out his pad and inquires on the problem...

Her: "I slipped on the ice...."

Cop: "Ok, are you hurt? Did you hit your head?"

Her: "No. I fell on my butt...and I want to file a police report..."

Cop: "Uh....ok...there's an ambulance on the way too..."

Her: "Oh, I don't want one...I have to get to work, I just want to file my report and go..."

WTF??????? I almost broke my kneecap last week in the parking lot of Pediatric Dentistry, but I got back up and skipped into the office like nothing was wrong so no one would laugh at me...

Could this chick have been looking for a payday on a simple butt bruise? Wearing her slippery kitten heels on the one day that every meteorologist on the East Coast had warned would be slick and icy? The cops were nice and accommodating to The Sister though...and the concerned landlord, owner of the fancy clothing store adjacent who happens to be named Suzanne too, showed up in her $1,600 Prada riding boots and mink vest...and a bucket of rock salt. That was actually the best part of the whole exchange, watching chic Suzanne spread salt on the sidewalk while the cops took The Sister's statement...

Aside from the other Suzanne's stylish yet inappropriate snow shoveling ensemble, this whole scene was pretty out of the ordinary in sleepy, pristine Wyckoff...but leave it to our police department to send four officers and an ambulance crew to cover one litigious fashion nightmare with a butt bruise... I was almost expecting a movie scene to break out right there...for Micky and Dickey to show up with the gaggle of sisters in tow to rough up the cops and make a mess of the well-maintained situation. So...I took my exit...marveling yet again at how the Marky Mark Sisters barely have to lift a finger (or a butt, in this case...) or brush their hair or put on makeup or be polite or act rationally...and still they always end up rendering the entire room b*ll-less...

Told you those broads ruled...

Photos:

1. All the food groups are represented...see, there are Strawberry Pop Tarts...that's fruit!

2. Funny how the sweaty look can be so off-putting on one and so deliciously enticing on the other...

3. Obviously not models for The Sisters...my high school friends in 1988...none of these sexy ensembles ended up in any dormitory Dumpsters...

4. The Sisters looking lovely for their close up...

5. ...And sporting some hot threads...

6. ...And sitting on their butts waiting for the cops to take their statements...

7. The Other Suzanne...as portrayed by Rachel Zoe...fur and thousands of dollars of luxury leather goods...that's just an average snowsuit here in The BC...

She Was Sent To Rescue Me...

2010-12-30T18:09:00.000-08:00

So Tuesday morning I finally crawled out from under the post-Christmas gift-and-food hangover/holiday malaise/Snow-ma-f*%#ing-geddon...and though the cookie bloat and champagne brain freeze still gripped me a little bit, Sam and I rustled up the energy to hit a noon showing of Black Swan at AMC Garden State Plaza... Yes, that's right, we actually drove our a**es to the world's most widely visited mall along with every other bonehead in the tri-state area the day after a huge snowstorm closed said mall for an entire extra day post-Christmas, just so we could watch Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis in some sadistic, soft-core ballet torture fantasy. And if that wasn't enough insanity for the day, right in the middle of some s**ually tense scene on the ballet studio floor, the film was cut off, screen going black...and lights began to flash in the theater...and there was a loud honking sound...and over the loudspeaker a recorded female robot voice said: "A fire emergency has been detected in this part of the building, please walk to the nearest exit and depart the building immediately." And I am kind of dumbfounded for a second, like "is this part of Natalie Portman's scary f***ked up fantasy or are we really being evac'd?..." Sam and I look at one another and the announcement comes on again...everyone stands up and we all walk out...into a sea of other confused movie-goers exiting the other 15 theaters...and we are all ushered out the door and told to wait in the mall until the theater is checked and secured. This was not the relaxing afternoon alone in the dark with my own secret thoughts that I had in mind...

I stood in front of the Roxy store among the expelled movie-goers and texted Rob to report the fire emergency/evac developments and to let him know I might be late getting the boys...and his initial response -- "OMG!" -- was followed by a second that said: "This is from Ellie: Mommy r u ok?" My heart pinched...how sweet she is....I hadn't thought anyone would be worrying about my safety in this setting...likely an electronic glitch related to snow melting on the roof of the theater and knocking out wires or something. Still, I tend to forget about the fear that grips a child with any possible inkling that his or her parent may be in danger...or hurt or sad or pressured or frustrated.

I am straight with my three always, very likely to a fault...any question, I answer, no matter the sensitivity...and by now I guess I figured they would have built up a wall, almost jaded with knowledge of issues and subjects that might be morally ambiguous or confusing or hard to process...but somehow, even with this openness, Ellie has maintained an innocence about her as well, so what did I expect from her anyway...

like: "oh Mom's just stuck in a fire emergency, not to worry!" Never...not Ellie...she astounds me daily with her unabashed and natural instinct to put others before herself...she is a truly thoughtful person...buying gifts

for the neighbors at the school's Holiday Store...drawing pictures for her teachers...throwing her arms around my parents and telling them "I love you!" at the top of her voice no matter who hears...picking flowers for her cousin...throwing a surprise party for a friend and insisting we make blue-frosted cupcakes because that is her friend's favorite color...always looking out for her brothers, wanting their safety and happiness...and even comforting me when her young mind and open heart are instinctively aware that her mother is hurt or sad or pressured or frustrated... She is a genuinely kind being....and somehow, she is mine...

This New Year's Day marks Ellie's 11th birthday...you all know...you all remember she is the Y2K Baby, so I will skip that part this time. I just wanted to write about her again this year because she's turning into a pre-teen for real now, and I am pretty certain that I don't tell her enough how perfectly awesome I think she is... Ellie is my first....my truest love, whose birth transformed me. Earlier this year, Will and she were talking at the breakfast table and he said: "Ellie, you are a very special child...you are the one who made Mommy and Daddy parents..." Too sweet...so true...that firstborn is so very special to all of us...and she is my only girl, and that has been even more special for me...I always thought I would have more daughters, that she would be the greatest big sister to another little girl...but instead, she and I have only one another.

I talk about my three all the time, so you know so much about what they say and where they go and what they do...but there are a few things I love about Ellie that only those of us who share her life really know...and in the spirit of this New Year, let's visit those in a tidy Top 10...or no, Top 11 ("Well it's one louder, isn't it? It's not ten..." Bonus points if you identify the source of that quote!...) countdown....

11. Look very closely at Ellie's strawberry blond hair and you will see that it is comprised of single strands of different alternating colors: red, orange, golden blond and platinum blond.

10. When Ellie was a baby, I used to rock her to sleep at night by lightly running my nails up and down her back...and still today she can barely fall asleep without me running my nails down her back...

9. Ellie was born at 5:56 p.m. on January 1, 2000...her brother, Tim, was born 19 months later at 5:56 a.m....and her youngest brother, Will, was born 23 months after that at 1:56 p.m...

8. My daughter is an unapologetic carnivore...and could quite possibly be bribed with a piece of rare prime rib...

7. Ellie actually prefers to be called "Elizabeth"...

6. She is a bit of a thrill seeker...roller coasters, air turbulence and free falls are favorites...

5. Ellie loves the dangerous type...the bad boys...(hmmm...does that run in the family maybe? just a little bit...)...Billy the Exterminator and Edward Cullen are both on her list of dream dates...I better keep Russell Crowe (aka my boyfriend) the hell off her radar...

4. She developed a very sweet Southern accent when at camp this summer, and when she tells the story of falling off her horse in competition, it comes back...

3. She cries when she hears the song "Lean On Me," watches Teen Mom and when I get mad at the dog...

2. Ellie wants to adopt a child when she grows up...

1. Ellie is a specific and unique variety of Rittereiser...her kindred spirits include my beloved Gramps, Aunt Liz, Cousin Deb and sister, Trish...she adores and is happiest around dogs and horses and is great with little kids... Along with that comes a sharp wit and grasp of comic irony, which is natural, unrehearsed and proves to me that she really is mine...

And that takes my breath away...

Happy, happy New Year to all...enjoy, have fun, be safe... Am hoping that each of us gets everything we want in 2011...

Love always....

Photos:

1. The Black Swan and her audience....no fire drill that night...

2 - 9. Ellie at various stages in life and with people who love her...

Get Back To Where You Once Belonged...!

2010-12-14T14:06:00.000-08:00

"Suz, did you by any chance cut me off of your blog distribution?" Laughing, she added: "I thought maybe I was missing something...maybe we were in a fight and I didn't remember..."

Susan McG., November 2010

As if!!!!

I know...it has been a while. I can explain...

You all know me...I have been writing something -- notes, letters, diaries, short stories, secret musings -- at least once a week since I was six. And then, this Fall, I just stopped...for much longer than a week... Hmmm...odd, yes...but it was easy to push aside, what with all the happenings and holidays...the post-game Avon Walk and Priscilla Presley at the big Halloween bash and the Harvest Ball honoring Mike McG.... and then there was Parents' Night Out with the 50% posse at Indian Trail Club and dancing non-stop in 4-inch heels (the fuchsia-bowed, of course...) at the K3 Christmas party...and Thanksgiving -- Thanksgiving! my favorite day of the year came and went without a written word from me...wow. I had unconsciously talked myself into ignoring the issue, but it was then, in that moment with Susan, that I acknowledged it to myself....

I had Writer's Block.

Cr*p. I told myself it would go away, but I just could not reset my brain... I mean, writing isn't just something I "do"...at this point, it is part of the fabric of my being....I felt the void. So I pushed myself, and forced out some paragraphs...but I didn't think they sounded like me....my voice was buried in there somewhere, but it sounded like someone else was writing "in the style of Suz." I was not going to have that, so I stopped trying...closed the diary, capped the pen. And I was sad...but I figured the rest of you would just get used to me being gone...you would soon find something else to briefly divert your attentions while you sipped your morning latte...and it would be OK eventually. Even if it wasn't really OK with me... So I told myself -- just like Peter Cetera said -- everybody needs a little time away....

Then last week I opened Facebook and there was Gwen's status on my news feed: "Waiting patiently for thus-it-continues...." Like an encouraging little tap on the shoulder...someone out there remembered. So did I. Mostly I remembered how much fun I had with it...but could I shake the Block just because I wanted to reconnect? I terribly missed sharing...and I missed writing...but it was like a friend I hadn't hung out with in a while but thought of often...should I reach out? I wasn't sure. Still...of one thing, I was certain -- I would never choose to give up anything that means so very much to me...

And since when do I craft my choices based on the philosophy of Peter f*%!ing Cetera??? I don't. I do what I want to do...so...

It's Christmastime, for crissakes...I am going to rely on the scrappy passion of Band-Aid for inspiration: "He re's to you! raise a glass for everyone!" Yes! raise a glass!...that's exactly how I want to feel -- celebratory. 'Tis the season...and to me that means we need celebrate all around...to be thankful and languish in the many different loves that surround us...to welcome the secret joys that life brings us...to be grateful that we have another year ahead to achieve the lives we want for ourselves...and to learn to embrace the gifts we are given, even if we sometimes don't know how to fit them in our lives. One of the gifts I have been blessed with is my ability to connect...so that is what I want to do...I want to find my way back to you.

Bye-bye, Writer's Block.....

And so...since we're talking about the goings-on inside my brain, I think this end of year return offers the perfect opportunity to review...

Random Favorites by Suz!!! -- 2010 Edition.

A ride through the little pleasures I enjoyed this year... Kind of like People's "Best Of" issue with a dab of Oprah's "Favorite Things" mixed with The Soup's "Clipdown"...only not quite as awesome....nobody is getting an Apple iPad or a pair of Classic Sparkle UGG boots or anything...and I won't be linking to any Kardashian-related hijinks (sorry boys!)....

Anyway, shall we?....Let's...

5. XM 80's On Eight

Ok so, even with my abhorrence of radio commercials ("1-877-KARS4Kids..."...I swear, if I hear that cr*p one more time to start my day, I may rip the radio from its socket...), I am a latecomer to the whole satellite radio concept. I knew about it, but my late great little blue Jag didn't have it, so I stuck to old school methods, you know...I made mixed CDs filled with the sing-along classics of The Backstreet Boys and George Michael and .38 Special and Pink and The Mamas and the Papas (I have eclectic taste...obv...). But now....I have the luxuriously fabulous Chevy Equinox and she came all wired up to XM radio....60 billion entertaining channels to choose from! The first station I found was mellow, folk-y, coffeehouse channel, The Bridge, which happened to be playing my favorite old Rod Stewart classic, "I Don't Wanna Talk About It" ("...how you broke my heart...")... So I would just stick on that station...until the heavy rotation of James Taylor's entire catalog (entire...) and a few too many plays of Janis Ian's "At Seventeen," nearly caused me to drive into a tree and end it all... I desperately flipped to '80's on Eight, and "Walking On Sunshine" was playing...my heart immediately leaped in memory of all my innocent youthful crushes and beyond...and I have been a loyal convert ever since.

What a decade! Talk about eclectic...ok., we all know that Journey and Styx and REO Speedwagon totally rule...but pepper that in with a little Culture Club ("If it's love you want from me, then take it away...") and some classic Toto ("Hurry boy, she's waiting there for you!"), and that craptastic 80's-centric collaboration between Barbra Streisand and Barry Gibb ("It ought to be illegal...") followed by Howard Jones ("And do you feel scared? I do!..."), all topped with a little sprinkle of Jeffrey Osborne ("Flying high upon the wings of loooooovvveee!!!...)... and that's all before I get the kids to drop off!! It's like a bipolar ride through my grammar school and high school years all wrapped up in one easy little electronic push of a button...and I don't know about you, but I miss those days. Even the hairsprayed bangs could use a comeback....

4. Iron Chef Michael Symon

Tyler Florence? So yesterday...

This year felt like the right time for me to anoint a new personal hero on the celeb chef scene, I guess, because Michael Symon rode the "Dude Food" movement right into my heart. You know...the Dude Food posse -- Guy Fieri and Duff Goldman and Chris Cosentino and Michael Psilakis and token gal, Anne Burrell -- a highly credentialed group, professionals and top of their game...yet lovers of the down and dirty approach to great, real food... Tyler Florence may be the alpha-dreamboat prom king, but these are the kids who throw the best after-party, you know? And Michael Symon is the jewel in the Dude Food crown with his bald head and his technically-d**chey-but-somehow-ok-on-him soul patch and the hearty laugh and successful restaurant empire and creative genius as Iron Chef...he's like the mysterious guy you didn't notice much til Senior Year, even though he's on the rugby team and can also fix your car and sing every word of "Wonderful Tonight"... And when Chef Symon introduced the world to duck-fat-fried Gravy Frites via The Best Thing I Ever Ate, well....he had my heart.

3. Modern Family

If you are not watching this show, you need to start right now...I mean, seriously, feel free to walk away from the computer now so that you can add it to your TiVo's Season Pass....I'll wait... My sister Cathleen rarely steers me in the wrong direction when it comes to pop culture...and all this year she was onto espousing the virtues of Modern Family..."it's irreverent but totally genuine..." Well-said...and completely accurate.

Modern Family is about a family...a normal, 21st Century family. There's guy-friendly Ed O'Neill as the awesomely nuanced, yet stereotypically macho 60-ish dad with the hot Latina trophy wife...and the gay brother with the overly emotional chubby husband and their adopted Asian baby girl...and the nutty, spazzy brother-in-law married to the anal sister and the weird kids and...it just goes on and on. And each character drops lines that are pithy and twisted ("Adolf Hitler, Charles Manson...shall we go on?...Naomi Campbell...") and extra brave (they also make excellent dueling Facebook statuses with my pop culture soulmate, Lisa A....)...and these writers don't miss a target, and take no prisoners. But somehow it is amazingly relateable...all done with a peek into the ridiculousness of family life today...and a nod to what truly makes a family... I see myself in all of them...

2. Internet Sensations

I suppose it's the "new normal," this world where it is totally acceptable to post videos of oneself and friends engaging in mundane (or not so mundane...) activities...and most of the time no one beyond your inner circle even sees them. But then there are these random events or home videos that take on a life of their own, making their way to "most viewed" on youtube and then getting reposted on Dlisted... And then everyone and their brother on Facebook and Twitter are posting links and sharing these video moments...and stars...or great midday diversions, if nothing else...are born. This is nothing new, I know...but this year in particular, there were three bits I watched over and over and over on youtube...and no matter how I felt...how stressed or p**sed or sad or angry or frustrated...no matter what, these just cracked me up every time...

Antoine Dodson aka "The Bed Intruder" -- Red-bandanna-ed brother saves sister from a nighttime intruder...and his classic TV interview following the attack is hilarious enough ("Run and tell THAT, homeboy!")...but then some genius created a mash-up that is so catchy I was kind of wishing I could buy it on iTunes...even my kids can sing it... You probably have seen it a million times...still, it's a must watch.

The Tree -- Some nutty actor guy from The South Shore or Essex County or something puts on a bargain basement auburn ladies wig out of the Jill St. John collection and giant Sofia Loren-brand sunglasses, then stars solo as this middle-aged woman talking to some person off-camera over the lifespan of the Christmas Tree... And this may sound like it is not worth your time, but 'tis the season to p** your pants...so go for it...

Total Eclipse of the Heart -- Literal version -- You remember that psychedelic dream sequence mess that was the video for the Bonnie Tyler classic, right? Well you have never seen it like this before... Please enjoy...

1. Road Tripping with My Kids

I thought a lot about the things I loved best this year...there were tons of news stories and national events and new products to choose from...not to mention parties and good times and great friends...but, truth is, it always came back to the kids...being with my kids. I was all over the map this year -- LA, North Carolina, the Gulf Coast, New England -- and my three little darlings were almost always riding shotgun. Most people don't look to spending the day driving around with three children alternating between beating the cr*p out of one another, pulling each other's hair, asking me if they can say the "c" word (they mean cr*p you dirty animals!...) and giggling with wild abandon...but it is my favorite thing...when we are all together, on our way to somewhere new or fun or exciting or warm or...just different.

I guess I love that no matter where I go, it is the three of them I want by my side. Not that this is a fascinating revelation on my part...I am their mother, they are an extension of my heart...and their love will always stay. I suppose what fascinates me is that they still want to be with me too....that they still throw their arms around me after school and my heart swells. As hard as being a mother of three can be, the rewards are truly endless...and being able to pick up and go anywhere with your three little appendages in tow....that's the best gift of all.... Blows the doors off finding a cure for your Writer's Block...

So...it's good to be back. Happy Christmas to all of my favorites out there, random or not...

Missed you.

xoxo

Photos:

1. (left to right): Flapper; Priscilla Presley; Wonder Woman; Yoko Ono; Geisha/Thai h**ker (just kidding, Kath!) and Lily Munster... Halloween or Fantasy Fetish Ball? You be the judge...

2. (left to right): Kath, Dana, Me, Wendy, Teri and Suse at the K3 Christmas Bash...notice Dana holding me up after 4 hours dancing in the fuchsia-bowed beauties...

3. 80's (not so) dreamboat and love philosopher, Peter Cetera...

4. Raising a glass with Gwen...

5. I love metallic shoes...but really, must we? That said, you know I am dying for a pair...

6. Culture Club circa '83...bet you don't know which one of the down-low bandmates was George's boy...and now has a wife and kids... Google it.

7. Murph, Me and The Donut...Senior Prom, 1988...totally rocking our big bangs out to Barry and Barbra...

8. Iron Chef Michael Symon...earnest, talented, funny, probably rides a hog, is nice to his mom and he can cook...dream date!

9. "She bit me! Ow! she did it again! It's like Twilight back here!..." -- Cam...with vampiress Lily

10. "Hide yo' husbands!"

11. "Make it nice by the tree...c'mon, make it niiiicccee....!!"

12. Who wouldn't let these little darlings say the "c" word whenever they asked...???

Glad You're Going My Way...

2010-10-21T10:15:00.000-07:00

Ok so...when I left off last time Suse, Helen, Mary and I were at Downtown Galway Hooker and we had "staked out our seats by the window"...which isn't 100% how it went down... Oh, we were at Galway Hooker...but the seating situation was far more time consuming and strife-producing than anyone might have imagined. The bar was empty...not one stool was occupied...the staff was plentiful and welcoming...and there were four of us onsite. So...initially we sat at one of those bar tables with the high chairs on the side of the bar...and our peaches and cream-skinned waitress with the bouncy auburn ponytail and the pinched brow, whom I think may have actually been too young to serve us alcohol, was initially pleasant but then all confused when we told her we planned to eat and drink and we expected more people to join us...

Then, when she was off filling our drink order, we decided to move to the window-front tables in a teeny alcove...more light, more tables, more space...we told her we were moving and she seemed ok with that, but then turned on her heels and ran off to her 22 year old manager with the kind of meth-faced pallor...and we saw her whining and pointing at us and shrugging as he attempted to calm her nerves...and we are still unclear as to her maladjustment, but honestly I think she was just scared of having to direct us...afraid of a bunch of moms all dressed in pink exercise clothes (well, I am sometimes mean and scary, but my friends aren't...).... I can't even remember what Meth-Face said when he came

over to us with Peaches&Cream sulkily trailing him...he just wanted to make sure we were comfortable, he claimed...and to make sure we understood it was table service at the tables (really...at the tables there is table service??...as if we are a bunch of co-eds!!)...but after we debated another move to the upstairs section, they both went away and we settled in. Let me remind you, we were the only four people in the joint...

It was about then that my smoky violet Blackberry Curve began buzzing...It's ADP! I exclaimed...and I read aloud to the girls: "Where are u guys right now? We're in The Village." I texted back our whereabouts...and seconds later, a giant black Denali XL pulled up right in front of the big windows...and in the driver's seat we saw Colleen, swathed in pink...and we knew she had Sam with her too...and of course we began to squeal and they snagged that spot right in front...and then right behind her pulled in The DPs -- CDP, ADP and their three young DP girls...and every one of them was in pink....well, not CDP. And we all jumped and hugged one another and snapped pictures and grabbed drinks. The DPs carried Jughead Team signs that ADP secured right to the front window of the bar (just wait til Meth-Face sees that!). We caught the group up on our Walk weekend thus far...how we were making great time and how good we felt and how much fun we were having. Soon Suse began to receive texts from Kathy, who was with Wendy, Teri, Kerri, PJ and Chris...and they were almost at Mile 14...almost there to join us. The excitement was building...

This was about the time that Peaches&Cream began lurking over my shoulder (somehow

I always end up being the cocktail waitress/bartender's point person...)...her brow was pinched permanently now, and she reminded us that we had table-service (just as Sam ordered a gimlet from the bartender...haha! loved it!...)...and then she took a food order that we randomly spewed at her...there were burgers and veggie burgers and mac & cheese and a hummus plate and soup and some pink drink for Colleen (going with the theme, the girl goes b*lls to the wall in all things...) and god knows what else...then, I gave Peaches&Cream my seafood allergic/anaphylaxis speech and that just about put her over the edge. This was the one time I loved giving that speech....though it may have been worth it to take an Epipen in the upper thigh just to see the little ball of nerves lose her sh*t...

Soon the DPs had to split, so amid hugs and kisses, they hopped in the gold minivan and off they went... And for a moment, it was quiet at the Downtown Galway Hooker as we sipped and snacked and chit-chatted... But in no time at all, we were on our feet again cheering and hugging one another as our team leader and inspiration, Kathy, along with the friends from whom we were separated back on Amsterdam and the Magnolia cupcake detour, came through the door...all in pink, carrying bags from Billy's Bakery in Chelsea....(maybe this was the Cupcake Tour of NYC after all...)... And then right behind them, Nancy and Gwen arrived, fresh from the PATH train, a giant poster board in hand exclaiming: Jughead Pit Crew...only the "P" in "pit" was crossed out and replaced with a "T"...haha!! extra creative friends I have... Soon Pina and Linda and Melissa arrived after a "browsing" detour up 7th Avenue, where they saw a display case filled with unidentifiable stainless steel objects!...huh??... And with their entrance more celebrations were had (no stainless objects involved though...sorry boys!)... We laughed and hugged and settled up with Peaches&Cream and turned our attentions to the puffy-faced bartender, who snapped a picture of us as we toasted.

Soon the bar began to fill up around us...young 20-somethings and NYU students showing up for the afternoon games...USC seemed the popular choice...and we held our spot at the bar alonngside. For a few moments I listened to the music flow through the bar...classics from the Stones, U2, Fleetwood Mac, Elton John, and my boyfriend John Mellencamp...and PJ was hanging by the corner of the bar and told me she thought this was just perfect...that this Downtown Galway Hooker was just the right place for us to meet and enjoy one another and remember where we were last year at this time. I thought back to our walk down Bleecker Street last year, when PJ's sister, Margaret, and her wife, Jill, convinced the pizza guy to hang a Jughead sign in his front window...how special they were to our experience last year.

And only seconds after I asked if Margaret and Jill were coming this year and PJ answered a disappointed "no"...... THEY WALKED IN THE DOOR!!...surprising us all..."Jugheads" written in lipstick across their foreheads. There were cheers again...and tears...our Jughead big sisters had arrived to support us yet again. It turns out they had staked out a spot near the Brooklyn Bridge and had convinced some street performers to perform a Jughead song and dance number...and while we laughed, we were sad to have missed it...but at least they had found us. Soon Jill and Margaret circled the crowd passing out shot glasses with (please no vodka!) some pink drink inside...pink! And Margaret toasted Kathy and the women who made up our team, past and present...our friends. And she said that we were blessed by our strength and unity and friendship. And as Margaret closed her toast and we gathered for a group shot, "Waiting on a Friend" by the Stones came over the speakers...truly poetic.

And amidst all the excitement, I stood back for a second and watched our friends all coming together in celebration right there at the Downtown Galway Hooker...there was Kath, the reason we united as a team in the first place...and she was right there again this year...and Jugheads past and present were supporting one another here...and there...near and far and in any way we could. Many of our teammates from last year were unable to do the Walk again this year, but were cheering us on...and we had a whole group of friends new to the team this year that we were rooting for -- Jen and Ann and LDL and Tina and Laura and Kathleen and Samara -- and they were trudging through the route, passing Galway Hooker by so that they could make it all the way, just like we did...

And the rest of us were here still...time ticking by...and none of us wanted to give up the moment...because it was such a different experience for Team Jughead this year compared to last....this year full of changes and growth for all of us.

Most importantly, over this past year we watched Kathy grow stronger every day...and this year -- today, right now -- she is a survivor.

A survivor!

That is all we could have asked for last year when we were on the Manhattan Bridge, getting killer blisters and broken knees and dehydration and hallucinations and running those last two miles up the East Side...all we could ever have asked for was what we had here -- we were together again...and Kathy was with us.

And that was what the Walk was about for us this year, I think, even more so than the accomplishment...it was the cause, the bonding, the togetherness and the survival of our friends...it was about our sisterhood.

So we stayed there together...

Well...until we all piled into Colleen's Denali to race uptown....together. We had 13 more miles to walk....

Photos:

1. Mary, Suse, Me and Helen...on the road to begin our Galway Hooking...

2. Marking our territory with the DP girls' artwork, illegally displayed on Galway Hooker's front window...

3. Greeting our fans from across the bridge, (left to right) ADP, Mary, Suse, GDP, Helen, Me, Colleen and Sam...

4. Kath, me and Sam...totally buyng gimlets from the bartender and drinking them at the table...

5. Mary, Suse, Me and Pina...getting the lowdown on Pina's enlightening shopping spree...

6. Mary, Melissa and Helen already cracking into the coffee an hour in...'twas Irish coffee though, make no mistake...

7. Jugheads aplenty...and our "Pit/T*t Crew"...so happy to be bar-side...

8. A few rounds in...convening over classic rock (left to right) Wendy, Me, Chris, Teri, Suse, Colleen and Nance...I think this was about the time Suse told me to stop straddling Wendy for the shot...

9. Jughead sisters and real sisters, (left to right) Kerri, Jill, PJ, Margaret and Kath...

10. Pink shots of unknown ingredients and a toast from Margaret...my hand with the Pepto-Bismal nail color and pink shot visible out front...

11. Team Jughead...Sisters to the core...well on the way to being "overserved"...

So Don't Just Stand There, Bust A Move...

2010-10-19T13:29:00.000-07:00

Avon Walk Weekend....I think the biggest shocker of all is that Suse didn't have to break out her sewing kit so Mary could perform surgery on our battered toes and tootsies...and she didn't have to break out her ice packs and foot baths and Epsom salt...and we didn't limp to a cab after the night came to a close -- in fact we walked back to our hotel...and we didn't drift to a restless sleep fully expecting that we would have to be rescued the next morning by FDNY and a slew of EMT's because we couldn't get out of bed. None of that...instead, we are healthy and filled with joy and there is a spring in our (kind of creaky and sore) step... What was not a surprise at all this time around, was that we were inspired and uplifted and thrilled to be together, thrilled as a team and as friends -- all of the Jugheads, past and present, led by Kath -- thrilled to be united in this effort...and to celebrate it with one another...as I always say, we are truly blessed and lucky...and thankful.

But I am getting ahead of myself...of course, the weekend was not without its moments -- silly and confusing and odd and confounding and embarrassing...but mostly just memorable. So Suse and Mary and Helen and I were roomies at that Marriott over by Smith & Wollensky and after check-in, where we tried to scare one another with fake bedbug sightings...and after we hit the Avon registration site at that Sheraton on 7th Avenue, where my Blackberry kept buzzing and telling me I was receiving more donations by the second -- the final from a Tim Driscoll, who I could not place as a friend or acquaintance and in a panic I started texting my sisters and college and high school friends asking if I was blanking on someone that I should know...the name was familiar enough...who was this Tim Driscoll and his last minute $100 donation?? Turns out Sandy had placed my link on his Facebook page and Tim was a grammar school pal of his...a grammar school pal of Sandy's just gave me $100...a guy he hadn't seen in a few years...how amazing and so generous and I was beyond touched...so thanks, Timmy D....I should make you dinner...

So after all that, and after a detour to Helen's parents' pad with the most flawless view of St. Patrick's Cathedral and Rock Center and The Empire State Building and the cleaning lady who didn't understand our attempts to communicate in her native Spanish, we girls refreshed and spruced up and headed to dinner at Tao. So, if I am being honest, I think Tao is kind of like some cosmopolitan P.F. Chang's...all theme-y and family-friendly. Despite its once chic past, the joint was jamming with city families with young children and grannies...and we sat among them with the little buzzer the hostess gave us in hand and ordered our pseudo exotic Asian-themed drinks -- a Saketini (Mary), a Ruby Red Dragon (Suse), a Tiger Lily (Helen) and a TAO-jito (moi...). My choice of beverage was made based on my inability to metabolize the ubiquitous vodka without turning into the b**tard love child of Lindsay Lohan and Cruella DeVil's meaner sister...and also the by-the-glass price of the Moet rose champagne, which I prefer and can pound and might have put me in the poor house at $21 per flute...

So...after drinks in the bar, paid for with a generous gift from our Lisa, the other Beard Sister...our absent Jughead sister...and my SisterG....then we hit the loud and dimly-lit dining room. We reviewed the menu and chose the delicacies we wanted to sample...pork potstickers and dragontail spare ribs and chicken satay and fried rice and orange chicken...and I gave my seafood-allergic/anaphylaxis speech to the server, a little lovely pixie named Jenni or Traci or Kelli with a shaggier version of that Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby haircut...and Jenni/Traci/Kelli assured me that I would be fine with all our selections, but she'd double-check with the chef. Not 90 seconds later, Jenni/Traci/Kelli reappeared and informed me that absolutely every dish we ordered other than the dragontail spare ribs contained some form of seafood in its ingredients...and then she told me that on the entire menu, only the grilled filet mignon and soba noodles had no seafood included or were not prepared in direct contact. So my friends were taking note of the discussion and concern grew around me and I was mortified again and politely brushed the pixie away and asked her to bring me whatever they had...and THEN the manager appeared and corrected their assertions once again -- only the soba noodles were safe. Chr*st! what a buzzkill! I wanted to crawl under the table...Ok, whatever...I am happy with the TAO-jitos all by themselves, quite frankly... The food came, I picked at some ho-hum noodles and sucked back another TAO-jito while the girls sampled the various deliciousness...and we finished up just as we received a text from Kathy, who was with Teri and Wendy and PJ...they had checked-in and were hanging at P.J. Clarke's Sidecar...much more our scene, right?... We paid and thanked Jenni/Traci/Kelli, ditched Tao and headed over to meet our girls... And together we toasted and laughed and closed the night, excited for the early morning kick-off...

So let me just backtrack again for a minute and admit that for weeks Suse and I had been strategizing our approach to the Walk this year...we planned to position ourselves so that we would start at the head of the masses, and agreed that we would bust through every pit stop and bathroom break until we absolutely had to stop, not even to grab one of those graham cracker peanut butter snacky things...ok, well maybe for a picture with the team, GWB in back...but that's it. So...when we arrived at the 12th Avenue start line a little late and the opening ceremonies were already in progress, we took the opportunity to skip right in there at the head of the crowd...and that is where we were when the starting bell rang...and we were off. Sticking to the plan, we were cooking all the way...Mary setting the (mighty quick) pace...the Jughead posse surrounding us, all of us chatting and sharing stories about our children and families and our secrets and dreams and enjoying the gorgeous morning air on the River and the beautiful pink sky of sunrise, pink just for us...and the beautiful vistas of this amazing City...bridge and brownstone and foliage and points of interest.

And we walked this way together until the eighth mile where Helen and I broke off and grabbed an iced latte from Starbucks...catching up with Suse again at 9.6...the lunch stop...it was 10:00 a.m...way ahead of schedule. Still, no lunch for us....just like we planned. We kept going but stopped a few blocks later and grabbed cupcakes at Magnolia Bakery (maybe we were a little hungry after all...or maybe we can't resist a cupcake tour of the big city...), which is where Mary found us after having jogged ahead of Kath, Teri, Wendy, Kerri and PJ, whom we then lost again in the shuffle along Amsterdam. Soon we were off again...the four of us, roommates and Jughead besties, walking together all the way from Natural History to Lincoln Center (where Mary donated our extra Magnolia cupcake to a homeless dude with a prosthetic leg lying next to him) to Hell's Kitchen to Chelsea (where I spotted, not only a bona fide celeb in Matthew Modine, but an old neighbor of ours from Morton Street whom I haven't seen in 11 years...)...through Meatpacking to Greenwich Village, my old neighborhood...and lump in my throat as we arrived... And it was there, down Bleecker Street that we came to Mile 14...the point along the route where, days ago, we planned to stop and meet the extended Jughead sisterhood for a mid-Walk toast at the Downtown Galway Hooker. It was 11:40 a.m....we were the first Jugheads to hit the midway point.

So we walked off course to 7th Avenue...we entered the joint, which was empty...the staff was just getting ready for the afternoon service...we staked out tables by the windows looking out on 7th Avenue and the passersby and across to the folks being seated outdoors at Agave and the guys picking up flowers at the Korean market...and we ordered a couple of Corona Lights and waited for the others to roll in...

And that comes next...

Photos:

1. Jugheads 2010 on a sanctioned 20 second pit stop...GWB and our homes off in the near distance...

2. Marriott roomies and bedbug-phobics (clockwise), me, Mary, Helen and Suse...

3. In the foyer at Helen's family pad...Mary and Suse devising a plan to stay there night for the instead...cleaning lady underfoot...

4. Me and Helen hanging in the family-filled bar, taking Tao by storm with our seafood allergies and signature cocktails...

5. More Jugheads congregate at P.J. Clarke's Sidecar on Avon Walk-Eve...(left to right), Me, Mary, Wendy, PJ, Kathy, Teri, Suse and Helen...

6. Mary and Helen against the pink sky just past Mile 1....

7. Helen, Me, Mary and Suse...no sweat...no pain...no problems at all at Mile 11...

I'll Meet You Halfway...

2010-10-13T15:35:00.000-07:00

I have barely had a second to focus this week...all the activity and happenings and preparations and autumn fun and games...there was the Harvest Festival and the apple picking and meetings and more meetings and the hilarious exercise of seeking out faux rabbit fur coats to borrow (which were surprisingly available in this preppy town...thanks Amy!) and vintage jewels and fem-bot dresses and very high heels and a $65 dollar wig and consulting my makeup artist for the intricate, yet probably indecipherable Halloween costume I will be sporting for the kegger/freak fest that spooky weekend of festivity always brings...and you will have to wait to see the pictures because I am not telling!!!

And then...there is this weekend...you know all about it...Avon Walk weekend is upon us...here and now finally...and thank you, my dear friends for supporting, donating, cheering on Team Jughead again this year...

We are spending the week digging out every piece of pink clothing and accessory and packing our pink water bottles and pink Jughead team shirts and pink lip gloss and pink nail polish and pink sports bras and pink Hanky Panky's and all that so we can check into some Marriott on the East Side across from Smith & Wollensky (Wolly's???)...and so we can eat a kick off dinner and sip some kick off cocktails on Friday and snuggle two to a bed, praying that the vintage NYC bedbugs don't bite...ick... Well, at least I will be bitten with my dearest and very besties...

So...what I am really here to tell you this week is that, this year, Team Jughead is not waiting until the hallucinations set in on the Manhattan Bridge before we think to replenish with a Corona or two... No, instead this year we are planning ahead of time to replenish with a Corona or two...or three...and maybe a burger and some fries and some nachos and maybe a few more beers with the Euros who stop by for some soccer or rugby or cricket game on the satellite dish...and maybe at that point a few PBR's and some long-winded conversations of how much we love one another will also be introduced and enjoyed....all together, Jugheads and Friends...at the 13.6 mile mark, this Saturday, October 16th...

So... I am almost 100% certain this will be the first ever organized mid-Walk Jughead beer fest...the first ever that we are inviting you along to experience with us. Because, my friends...I know you are Jugheads at heart and will be there with us in spirit...so even if you planned on chilling on the couch or at the club or the football field or the mall...you can grab your buddies, hop the train and chill with the Jughead Sisterhood instead...we would love to celebrate with you...and we promise we Jugheads will do our best after 13.6 miles on hard pavement to look as festive and delicious and inviting as we do in these photos up and down this page.

Come one...come all...bring your friends and neighbors and office buddies and tennis partners and (adult) kids and nephews and parents and drunk uncles and all that... Saturday, October 16th, around 1:30 p.m. until....whenever!! At The Downtown Galway Hooker, 133 Seventh Avenue South, between Charles and West 10th Streets, in Greenwich Village...

See you Halfway there...!

xoxo.....Suz & Team Jughead

I'd Walk To You If I Had No Other Way...

2010-10-01T06:12:00.000-07:00

The other day at school pick up, as I glided through the crowds filled with friends, neighbors and fellow moms, my shades in place so that I could avoid eye contact (a trick I learned from that national treasure, The Situation...and let's face it, PTO prez=local C-list celeb...ha! More on that later...), when the cheery, bright face of my dear Helen caught my eye...she was waving to me and saying:

"Have you

started training?"

And I stood there for a moment unsure of her meaning -- training? Beg your pardon? Maybe she thought I had taken the plunge like the rest of our friends who willingly allow Mary to beat their a**es at her widely popular morning boot camp classes (aka torture sessions). Maybe my form looked extra tight and curve-free that day? But I had just come from lunch with Sam and we scarfed BLTs...I was living life. Just one look at my manicure and you know that I have not been blistering up with weight lifting and push-upping...no chance I had cultivated a hard bod in the last 20 minutes...and anyway, you guys prefer me juicy and delicious (as we say in Jersey...)... Still...training? Did she mean on the giant industrial strength photocopier at the Board of Ed offices that you need a tutorial just to turn on? Or was there some kind of professional or medical or educational thing that I don't remember I was supposed to do? I stared inquisitively back at Helen and her adorable Baby Spice mini ponytails and said:

"Training?"

She answered:

"Yes...for the Avon Walk!"

Ohhhhhhh....right, right...that little old 39 mile walk we are doing in a few weeks. Training? uh, no...no

training quite yet...in fact, I had been so focused on making sure we coordinated hotel rooms and reviewed a list of dining and cocktailing options for Avon weekend, I forgot that my sweet little tootsies will soon be the victim of 48 hours of sadomasochistic abuse...and damn! forget training! I better start fundraising (click here to help!...haha...no really, please do...)!!! How could I forget the main reason a bunch of us Jugheads were doing the Walk again...well aside from 3 days in the City with girlfriends...no, it was all for the cause...to support the women in our lives...our sisters...

Still...I lost focus...but you can't blame me...we had a lot going on these past few weeks, right.... You know...there was the new school year...and for me, PTO prez, that meant writing and giving speeches to anyone who would listen -- kindergarten families...newcomers...Back to School Night...two

Back to School Nights...the first PTO meeting...and the inevitable first controversy. We started Tim's swim team practices (including dryland!) four nights a week...Ellie's first year cheering for Wyckoff football...and Will, his first year away from me for a full day....my sweet little darling, still clinging to me at drop off each morning, not letting me go without an extra kiss, burying his head in my abdomen and grasping the back of my thighs in goodbye...and then running to me at pick up every afternoon, not caring who sees him, throwing his arms around me and telling me he missed me...my heart pinches everyday at 8:40 and 3:10...

And then we had the St. Elizabeth's 1st Annual Church Luau to attend...yes, I said Luau...a New Jersey Luau...which I might add, was planned by a host of my good friends, RJP and Sandy and Kathy...yes, that Kathy...the leader of the Jugheads...so maybe I wasn't the only distracted Jughead. Anyway, I was busy getting myself a big giant fuchsia flower to wear behind my ear and choosing what flat shoes to sport in thegrass...and we had keg beer to drink and leis to wear and dancing to awesome Jersey Shore/Spring Lake/Parker House bar bands

covering Bruce and...well, mostly Bruce...and some Southside Johnny and a little Lynryd Skynyrd (getting our churchy little redneck on!)... And we luau-ed out with Roger's catered delights...some glazey ribs and flank steak on garlic knots and all kinds of meat on a stick...and of course there was pineapple and mangoes to set the scene. And we danced all night with the most festive bunch of Catholics since the g**damned Tudor era. We Catholics do like to party...I mean, if I have learned one thing in life, it is that this must be how they kept people coming back for 2,000 years. In any case...Catholic party animals, new racing suits and prescription swim goggles, pom-poms, 1st grade jitters and Back to School speaking

tours aside, I had an unusually full plate these past few weeks...

And so, it is true...I was forgetting to remember...

And how could I forget how important this Avon Walk commitment was to me and to my friends and...to the world, I suppose too. I mean, I am sure some of you remember that it took me three separate posts to tell you all about it last year...about the kick-off on Friday night at BLT Steak...and staying in the double Queen suite at The Shoreham...and the peanut butter and jelly graham cracker snacks...and sharing each leg of the Walk with another dear friend...and the last 13 miles on Day 1...the Manhattan Bridge hallucinations...the blisters...Jill and Margaret cheering us on at every pit stop...and the Coronas at 12th Street Ale House...and our turn down East 84th Street, where my father grew up...where his mother, herself lost to us by breast cancer, lived too, and how her spirit buoyed my friends and I on that last

mile...how the breeze pushed us over the Randall's Island Bridge as if she guided us with her own hands....even when we took a break to sing "D*** in a Box" on the East River boardwalk....and how we crossed the finish line with Kathy, who is recovering and fantastic and healthy and as cool and amazing as ever...and how we all hugged and cheered together.

That is why I am walking again...for my sisters and my friends...for the memories and the accomplishment...

So, I forgot to train...not tragic.... So my juicy and delicious (ha!) body will be broken and my feet will have blisters and I may have hallucinations on the Manhattan Bridge yet again (well then I will just need to pound another beer at mile 17...)...but

none of those ailments or drawbacks require me to have chemo or experience hair loss and rapid weight loss and loss in general.... And since I brought it up...none of these daily distractions and minor issues and

major controversies and full schedules and canceled plans and bumps in the road that have been distracting me require chemo either....

So now I am remembering to remember...and reminding you too.

Go Jugheads!!

xoxo, Suz

Photos:

1. A bevy of local celebs pawing at my juicy-deliciousness...clockwise from top: Karen, Kath, Suse, ADP, me, Ann and TJ...and some guy...

2. Jugheads 2009 on the Upper West Side...

3. Tim, Ellie and Will...my main distractions...on the first day of school...

4. TJ, Me and my giant fuchsia flower barrette thing...drinking, dancing and singing "Sweet Home Alabama" with the other Catholics...

5. Me and Kath...remembering here to embrace life...and one another...

6. Jugheads 2009 at the 12th Street Ale House...I stand by my assertion, this still ranks in the Top 5 of my most memorable beer moments...

7. A selection of original Jugheads...many of us on the way back for more in a few weeks...we will miss the rest of you!!

And Nothing Left to Lose...

2010-09-08T16:07:00.000-07:00

"Since when has forgiveness become a more honorable quality than loyalty?"

Roger Sterling, Senior Partner, Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce and 1960's American philosopher

Summer's end...this year, like every other year, it's a bit sad to wave goodbye to the sand and the sun and country club snack bars and beach vacations and the barbecues and cocktails on the patio and the sunsets over the water and lazy mornings with the kids. But I love this time of year...it is gorgeous and happy and filled with the impending excitement of what is to come...the kids in their new sneakers...picking out clothes and testing hairstyles for the first day...catching up with their classmates at the town fireworks and in the bouncy houses scattered all over The Knolls while the Moms

chat and the Dads play corn-hole (sounds obscene...it isn't...)... And among my group of friends, a sure sign that it is September comes at Wendy and Roger's annual backyard bash. Every year they outdo themselves and show our friends the most gracious good time..always a surprise in store...always great

music...always beyond festive and fun and joyful. Wendy and Roger's party sets the tone for the season...it is how we say goodbye to the summer...how we welcome the return of the daily grind...congregating

among friends on this beautiful weekend, having the chance to eat, drink, be merry and dance all night long with the people who surround us, whom we depend on and whom we cross paths with in our daily lives... And it is really a great way to welcome such a lovely time of year...

Still, I would be lying if I didn't note that amidst all the Labor Day long weekending and Back to School activity, it occurs to me what else this week brings....nine years ago this weekend...like the blink of an eye...or was it a lifetime ago? Every year I feel like I can't let it pass without acknowledging the moment...because I was blessed to have those I love return to me that Tuesday...and because others that I love were not so lucky....

A few weeks ago, during a lunchtime break from the beach, Ellie asked what all this talk was on the TV about some new building near Ground Zero. She had heard that our president had made a statement...and she didn't understand why people were angry...why people on TV were mad at the president...why were they saying that someone might actually build something on that site. My children are sensitive to talk of September 11th...they know their grandfather was there...and they know that we waited all day for him as I sat, only days away from giving birth to Tim.

I have strong opinions on the mosque issue, you might imagine...not only because someone I dearly love was a firsthand witness to the mayhem...but also because others I love lost those close to them and still feel the pinch on a daily basis...and it is their feelings and opinions that mean most to me in forming my own. So when I explained the newest developments to my kids that afternoon on the Gulfside veranda, I was certain to make clear my belief in the freedom of religion, and the basic right to worship as you choose...because I want them to understand how strongly I hold that belief, regardless of my personal feelings and reactions to this whole mess. I told them that we can all lose sight of basic human rights sometimes...that I too felt that blanket hatred in the months after the attacks. I told them about the time three weeks after 9/11, at Tim's two week check up with the pediatrician, when I told a woman in a Muslim headdress not to sit near me...in fact, I said: "You stay away from us." I still see her face...eyes hidden behind rimless aviator-type sunglasses, a faint wry smile on her lips as she walked away. Shameful on my part, yes...but it was so fresh and I wasn't ready to differentiate regular everyday people from the attackers quite yet (and let's be honest, I was probably emboldened by some postpartum emotion...). I explained to the kids that those feelings are still raw and very real for many people today. They intently took in my words...and it was Ellie who spoke first:

"Well, I guess I understand why they are allowed to build the church (mosque) wherever they want to....but I think it is mean if they do. Why do they want to be so mean and make the people's families sad? It seems wrong to me."

Later Will asked me, eyes wide: "Ellie said Papa might be sad if they build that church (mosque)...do you think he will be sad?"

And then he added, almost to himself: "I don't want him to be sad."

The tears pricked the back of my eyelids. Children...so intuitive...even they know how difficult this subject is for the adults...even they sense the pain and the mixed emotions, still today. And I thought, well, sh*t...if my kids can comprehend the simple moral dilemma behind this controversy, then I think it is apparent what is in fact the right course of action. Forgiveness in time...but for now, showing our trademarked American loyalty to those directly affected has to be our number one priority.

Never Forget. That's what we said...

Still...all of us are in the here and now and I want to remember to always embrace that. Like the big weekend parties and the coming Fall festivities and holidays and vacations and inquisitive children and life's moments that lie ahead -- little and big -- I want to celebrate that we will continue to experience them with one another. If that dark moment in history taught us anything, it is that our biggest blessing of all is to have one another...to cherish one another...

And so....all my love to every one of you...today, this week, this year, now and always...I thank God everyday that each of you are in my life...

xoxo

Photos:

1. Helen and me grappling over a delicious "Fist Pump" cocktail at Chez Wendy this past weekend...

2. Jeff, Scott, Suse, SisterG and Robyn dancing wildly...long before Someone was nudged into the pool, resulting in the demise of his prized Crackberry...

3. Nance and me and Joe peeking in, celebrating the end of summer to the sounds of The Amish Outlaws...

4. The kids on our veranda overlooking the Gulf, Longboat Key, FL...lunchtime talks, a benefit of the kid-full summertime...

5. Ellie, Tim and Will with my Dad...keeping him happy, as always...at the White Horse, St. George, Bermuda, this June...

6. Some of the many of you whom I am blessed to have in my life...

The "Blue" Traveler: Drink It And Always Be Full...

2010-08-11T10:16:00.000-07:00

I was on the phone with Gwen as we pulled up the long and winding road at The Asheville School, home of Camp Hollymont for Girls...and of course I was laughing at something that she said as my Dad pulled up to the curb just like we did two weeks before. We had already been in town 24 hours...had enjoyed some Blackberry mojitos at The Inn on the Biltmore Estate, which, I must interject, was gorgeous and perfect and leaps and bounds and mountains and wuthering heights above The Crown Plaza Tennis & Golf "Resort" from last time... Anyway, my father and I had been mistaken by hotel staff on more than one occasion for a married couple, which aside from inducing dry heaves, had me wondering how wickedly they were snickering behind our backs...meanwhile, of course we had separate rooms so the front desk team and concierge must have thought I was a f**king frigid gold digger to boot...gross. When we finally did tell our waiter that we were father and daughter he was struck dumb....I just ordered another two glasses of Biltmore Estate Chateau Reserve Champenoise Blanc de Blancs Brut and drowned my mortification. It was worth it all though, because we pulled through and here we were, only seconds from seeing Ellie again.

I hung up on Gwen and distractedly put the phone away as I scanned the faces in front of me...campers and counselors, hugging, weeping, not noticing me at all. And then...like a flash I saw a figure moving towards me at rapid speed...and I stopped in my tracks. There she was, in a ponytail and light blue cheerleading shorts, running faster than I had ever seen her move before...and her face was teary but her expression indecipherable as I dropped my purse and she threw her arms around my waist. We stood there hugging for a few minutes, the emotions high...and then, in a voice choked by sobs, she speaks:

"Mommy, I don't want to leave!!!!"

Wait, what? Did she mean...wait...she had an awesome time?!?! Relief washed over me...yay!! Praise Jesus, Mary and Joseph and all the saints... She had the time of her life and wasted nary a second telling me that she was coming back next summer and that she wanted to drive the 12 hours instead of fly so she could pack even more cr*p. I agreed to it all...she was beaming and glowing and happy and she was here with me again, sporting a brand new Southern accent, I might add...particularly when she told us the story of falling off her horse, Oreo, on the jump in the final show. It was in a whirlwind that she hugged and sobbed with her new friends (no secret Lindsay Lohan twins among them, though I did learn the secret handshake just in case...thanks for the lesson, Big...)...she said goodbye and made promises to write and visit (I am going to see to it that she clocks a visit to the little French girls before next summer...me as chaperon...).... And off we went. Success.

So, thanks to all of you who told me the time would fly....and thanks to all of you who wrote her and sent care packages and pictures...we are blessed to have great friends...

But enough of the sentimental stuff...let's move on now, to more important matters...like the event of the summer: The Jet Blue Freak-Out!!!

Let me just state right here that the best part of that whole thing is how he grabbed a few beers before he shimmied down that chute -- who's with me? Now that is the kind of grace and style I can get behind! I love when people stop to think about minor details while executing a major diva snit...like: "Oh, you know, all this expletive hurling and felony-committing has made me a little thirsty...they won't miss a few Buds!" Or Blue Moons probably...he should have grabbed some of those Terra Chip Blue Potato Chips they hand out while he was at it and really had a party on that AirTran ride back to short term parking....

I have to say though, all kidding aside...and other than from employing the shoot, which would have given me a godd**ned heart attack had I witnessed it...yeah, I know they had landed and were deplaning...I know they were on the ground...still, I would have been convinced we were all going to die had I seen that slide blow up out the window. Anyway, aside from all of that...I think Steven Slater and his unhinged rant were totally justified. I kind of feel like being a flight attendant is akin to working at a McDonald's in the sky these days...granted the side benefits of world travel trump a free Hot Apple Pie here and there, but the thankless clientele is on par, only the air traveler is far more anxious, smug and self-centered than any old fool who walks into a McDonald's...we are all guilty of it, you know it's true.

I worked retail for a brief period before I got my first real job as some lackey at a PR firm...it was an upscale retailer that employed me, and by and large the days passed without incident, and my co-workers and I (read: me and Lisa) had it relatively easy...yet, there were days when we would be astounded by the behavior of a customer. I saw one guy turn magenta as he screamed at his pre-school aged son and then shook him by the shoulders because the kid knocked some books off a display...and I saw people try to return items that were used and abused and long out of production, furious that we would deny them, calling every manager and asking for the name of the district manager, stomping their feet until they received something for their trouble....and one time a customer monopolized me for an hour asking for help picking out gift items for her new boyfriend's family...then flipping on a dime and berating me with such disgust because I was choosing items that were too "WASPy" for her liking. I am not making this sh*t up. I am still not sure what she meant or how 16 years of Catholic schools had so ill-prepared me for that but.... It was then and there that I decided once my real life had begun that I would never, ever work in a place where any sociopath could walk in off the street and treat you as they wish. The only positive turn in that situation was that I was not at 32,000 feet.

I know air travel carries with it a responsibility...close quarters with at least 100 people and all you have to do is stay in your seat when asked...to put your tray table in place...and to honor the alternate merge concept when deplaning. It shouldn't be hard...but for a lot of us, it can be. I for one will admit that I am a horrific traveler, my family steers clear and wishes I would pop a few Valium...I get very anxious throughout the whole experience from early morning car service to landing, but am very close to a nervous breakdown during take-off and I gasp and wince at every bit of turbulence. On the way home from Longboat Key in March, my friends and I were scattered about the plane and unfortunately had a very rocky flight...and I grabbed the hand of the 20 year old girl next to me and squeezed so hard...but she let me...we were strangers, but she took pity...and she comforted me (she also guessed my age as 30...I loved her...). But usually I suffer in silence...and I strictly obey the rules of the FAA and the airlines and the flight crew. And you know, whenever I sit on a plane, I marvel at the flight attendants' ease in the situation...and every single time I think: "I would never want this job in a million years." So, I try to always treat them with respect...I mean, they usually keep their cool and make you feel comfortable...and they do so with the best attitude they can muster, which is much better than I could ever manage. I mean, if I, as a passenger, cannot look at the others seated around me without eventually developing an unwarranted hostility towards them -- "look how she sticks her toe out into the aisle as the beverage cart is trying to pass...so rude!..." or "oh my g*d, did you hear how loudly that guy was turning the pages of his magazine..." or "look at that f**ker in a blazer and shorts with the popped collar...what, is he six?" or "I may put this b*tch in front of me through a wall if she makes a joke about the plane crashing one more time..." -- how can we expect the likes of Steven Slater to not eventually crack...not to "go postal"...or "pull the chute," as it were. We can't. In fact, we all secretly admire him.

So...speaking of "pulling the chute," I head out again this weekend...on the road again...off with my kids for two weeks on the Gulf of Mexico (yay, tar balls!)...and I am flying Jet Blue!! So...by law of averages, I will assume that no rogue flight attendants will be wigging out, pulling the chute and skipping off with the extra beers....but should you hear that this phenomena takes place yet again, you can safely assume that I was riding shotgun on that chute...only I will be sure to grab the mini bottles of Patron too for some AirTran margarita maddness as we escape... I mean, damn, I'd consider sliding down a razorblade into a bear trap if it meant beating the rest of the passengers to luggage claim...you can bet on that, my friends...

Until September then...xoxo, S

PS Oh hey, and to the one who called me "motherf**ker" : F%$! you, motherf***er! I've had it! I'm done... Well said!

Love you guys very much.... Happy August!

Photos:

1. Outdoor dining at The Biltmore...lunchtime blackberry mojitos for the pseudo trophy wife....

2. Ellie (center) and her new besties hug goodbye until next year...

3. Totally worth getting arrested and fired over...hope he grabbed some orange slices!

4. Our hero, Steven Slater. Oh no...he doesn't look the least bit insane...

5. Someecards.com always on the pulse...sent to me by Gwen, who, as evidenced by her note, has obvioulsy witnessed my travel style...

6. Making my exit for the rest of the summer...please note I am handily multi-tasking and was driving down the Westside Highway as I shot this, sunset in my eyes... Reckless!

And When You Finally Fly Away...

2010-07-28T09:20:00.000-07:00

I told you I would be back...you know, it's called "thus-it-continues" for a reason...and here, my loves, is your fix (well, your fix, Bridget...my little blog junkie...)...

So I am going to skip over all the happenings since last time...the trip to Bermuda and all that fun and sun and the Swizzles and hot stone massages and the togetherness with my kids...and that second anaphylactic reaction, this time to a Caesar salad (WTF???) at Little Venice on Bermudiana Road in Hamilton...which was extra fun as my Epipen was left behind on my counter in Wyckoff. I am skipping over that...and

I am skipping over my road trip to Boston the following week...Sam and me, visiting TL at Stonehill, hanging with Cirque du Soleil roadies, dinner and drinks at Clink in the Liberty Hotel, shopping in the North End, Jeanne's seaside 40th birthday party in Marblehead... I am skipping over the Gourmet Girls and our Trailer Trash-themed dinner at my house, complete with Tater-Tots, Frito Pie, Trailer Trash names (call me Crystal Dawn, thank you...), a spot-on psychic friend reading Tarot cards and Suse in a Hooters Girl outfit (yes, they sell those things...and I think a few of you saucier friends out there may be in the market for one...(Latzy??)...just saying...)... And I am skipping over the days at the Indian Trail Club, Sam and me in shotgun lounge chairs, drinking Tea-ade like it is our job and watching the kids kick a** in their swim meets... And, lastly, I will skip over the summer parties and cocktails and fun with the girls...al fresco and late night with Pina's coconut pineapple vodka deliciousness and a Toffee Bar chaser by SisterG...the summer moments flying by without notice...

I am skipping all of that to tell you about this past weekend....my trip to Asheville, NC...my Dad along too...dropping my first born, my only girl...my sweet, sweet little darling, Ellie, at sleepaway camp for two whole weeks. Six states away...in the Blue Ridge Mountains, the border of Tenne-effin-see, God and Dolly Parton country. My little future agnostic (sorry, Mom!) and dyed in the wool Northeast offspring out there with her brandy-new Bible and the lighthearted Southern belles...what have I done?!?! Waaaaahhhhh!!! Actually...Camp Hollymont for Christian Girls (please, Jim Eber, try not to p*ss yourself...remember, I am a graduate of the Academy of the Holy Angels -- or "Wh*res On the Hill," according to Stacey...), is a beautiful, welcoming, loving place housed for the summer on the grounds of a girl's boarding school (wh*res on the hill, this is not...). There are bouncy blond college-girl counselors (mini-Carrie Underwoods) and fresh-faced little girls spending all day swimming and horseback riding and learning archery and cheerleading and tennis and golf and taking babysitting classes and, of course, participating in morning devotions...(that's prayer and song to all you non-Christ believers...). What a cool place...in fact, I am going to suggest they start offering a week for jaded suburban moms...our activities would be more like mixing the perfect martini and how to craft the cutest swim suit cover up...I know at least 18 women that would sign up with me, no???

Anyway...we are not sleepaway camp aficionados...this process is no rite of passage among the Rittereiser-Andersons...and that is not because we are against the experience or have a problem with it in concept. In fact, I have always looked on in fascination at my friends for whom sending the kids away to summer camp is not an "if" but a "when"... there are girls that Ellie has grown up with who have been away for 7 full weeks every year since second grade and love every second of it. And I wouldn't have sought it out...but Ellie wanted in... honest truth...Ellie asked, pleaded and would not let it go...she was going away to camp come hell or high water and she was going to make it her mission to have more fun than those double pre-crackhead Lindsay Lohans in Parent Trap if it was the last thing she'd do...

So of course the past few months were spent running up bills on all the camp accouterments... the horseback riding gear...the bedding and clothes and towels and new hiking shoes...and an extra premium so that she might partake of the whitewater rafting trip the camp offered. Yes...my not even 11 year old will be whitewater rafting in the Nantahala River on the edge of the Smoky Mountains...well, she beat me by 20 some-odd years! And we did all the planning and paying and medical check-up getting and plane ticket buying...and we arrived this weekend, leaving the house among hugs and hidden tears and promises to write. Now, just an aside...the trip to Newark Airport on Saturday afternoon alone could fill a complete blog post on its own. On top of being mistaken for my Dad's wife...(gag...puke...I almost had to be transported to the hospital after that mix up)...let's just sum it up by saying that Terminal A might as well be a Greyhound station...catering to all those regional airlines and bizarre, little fourth-rung cities like Eau Claire, WI and Burlington, VT (ok, that's third-rung but who needs to fly there from NJ...wtf??) and Jackson, MS and Springfield, MO. Thankfully, I have little to no experience in Terminal A...and that is good because I could feel the people and Middle America (Crystal Dawn!) vibe kind of eating me and my Dad up like those vampires in Twilight... Anyway...it added to the atmosphere and the overall feel of the trip, if nothing else...

We arrived in Charlotte and drove to Asheville and stayed at some crusty, kinda ratty Crowne Plaza Golf & Tennis "Resort"...I use the term very lightly...and it was late but we had dinner in their freaky dining room and were served our meals 20 full minutes apart from one another -- the pork chops in what I think was French's mustard sauce, arriving to Ellie and Dad way ahead of my mini overcooked beef tenderloins (no seafood, remember???...)...and I didn't care because I wasn't really in the mood anyway, and none of us even batted an eye or complained...but the waiter felt so bad he comped our whole meal...?????????? My Dad argued for a few minutes and then gave up...actually, the French's mustard sauce alone should have rendered the meal free, so....we have booked The Biltmore for the return trip...

The next morning we made like the locals and hit some little Southern diner and had these giant breakfasts for a total of $15...and then off we were to Camp Hollymont...well after my Dad blew through a red light to enter I-240...hey we made it there alive, didn't we? Um...just barely... Anyway, so we drive up the long and winding driveway passing signs "You're Almost at Camp Hollymont!" "Keep Going!" and taking note of the old ivy covered academic buildings (one named "Anderson Hall"...) and the Boyd Chapel and the gorgeous vistas...rolling hills into a valley between the Blue Ridge Mountains. And straight ahead there were 26 mini-Carrie Underwoods waving us in...and in a whirlwind we were greeted and welcomed and some cute boys from the brother camp, Rockmont (for Christian boys...who all seem to be built like Mark Wahlberg...maybe they would run the Moms' camp...????...) helped Dad unload the bags. And soon enough we were all checked-in and paid up and Ellie's temperature was taken and we met her counselor, Ashley...more like a mini-Kelly Clarkson...who brought us to Ellie's dorm room. We unpacked her clothes and newly monogrammed beach and bath towels (Thanks Kerry!) and made her bed with the ice blue and lime green polka dotted sheets and the matching ice blue quilt. And the roommates and "cluster-mates" all came in and we met their parents and found out they were from Birmingham and Chicago and Atlanta...and Paris, believe it or not... And they began the getting to know you stuff as the one roommate covered her walls with Taylor Lautner posters.

And I watched as Ellie shyly answered and asked questions, silently growing more and more comfortable with the girls, yet petrified as the day progressed...soon we would have to leave her here, six states away in the Blue Ridge Mountains on the border of Tenne-effin-see with the drawling mini-Carrie Underwoods. Ellie is more a strawberry pre-teen Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles...cute and sensitive and innocent, yet composed and mature...would they "get her" here? There was a developing pit in my stomach too as the years flashed before my eyes...Dr. Faust saying "Well hello, Elizabeth" as he delivered her...and that morning in 2002 when she started at Grace Church Nursery with her pigtails and her "Never Forget" American flag t-shirt and those precious red gingham Keds...and her first dance recital where she wore this "wh*re on the hill" candy apple red lipstick with her little green tutu...and the day Will was born and how p*ssed she was that he was not the sister she had asked for (Tim was more than enough brother for her...)...and that moment she held him in her arms and I watched her fall in love with him...as she looked into his eyes, as if she always knew him...like he was always meant to be her brother. Wasn't all of that only a few months ago? And here I was separating from her...no contact beyond notes and letters...and a few glimpses of her camping fun on the Hollymont website. I was feeling sick...but I knew that she would be better once we left....so we did...even after prolonging it beyond all expectations. Dad and I hugged her and kissed her and told her we loved her and that the two weeks would fly. But as soon as I turned my back I bawled like a girl...and it took me hours to stop. My baby is growing up. Ouch.

Hours later I sat in Terminal A at the airport in Charlotte (much less "Night of the Living Dead" than Newark's Terminal A, thank goodness...) awaiting the new departure time for our already two hour delayed flight home, reading Vanity Fair and Bon Appetit. My makeup had dried up and cracked off long before...and my eyes were bloodshot and I was spontaneously choking back tears without warning. Was I going to feel this way for two whole weeks...would I eventually stop missing her?

And then there was this flight to Houston boarding at our gate...and never had I heard this before, but when the gate crew announced pre-boarding, before the One Pass Elite members and the First Class passengers and people with screaming kids...this time the first passengers invited to board were the "uniformed military." And I remembered the guy...tall, handsome, young 20's in tan and faded green fatigues and combat boots... who had walked in earlier and sat behind me...and when they called for military personnel, I heard him and those seated with him stand up and this terrible whimpering began...which grew to sniffles and crying...and I sneaked a look over my shoulder and watched as this soldier's sisters and Mom wept and hugged him, saying that they loved him, telling him to be careful and they were praying they would see him again...his Dad keeping his cool but clearly terribly sad. I remembered seeing the Mom wiping her tears in the bathroom mirror earlier...and I remembered thinking "what sh*tty thing did some guy do to her?" Never for a second thinking she was crying over her child...just like I was... And her child wasn't swimming and horseback riding and learning archery or cheerleading...her child was being deployed...one of the other passengers told me the soldier was being sent back to his base in Texas, meeting up with his unit and then off to the Middle East. So his Mom wouldn't be returning in two weeks to pick her baby up like I would. Sh*t... The soldier boarded the plane and everyone in the gate watched the family, four across, hand-in-hand, walking away...the Mom turning once to watch him disappear down the platform. I could not see through my own tears as I watched.

And I gained some perspective.

I am not diminishing the difficulty of leaving Ellie and flying away from her...the first time I was truly out of reach to her...but I know that in (less than) two weeks, the pit in my stomach will be gone and she will be freckled and bright-eyed and happy with a whole collection of new friends and amazing experiences...and I was almost guaranteed that I would get her back in one piece. Seeing the military family and watching that Mom crystallized the whole experience for me...and showed me once again how privileged I am to be a mother of three...and to know virtually for certain that when I send them away, I will see them all again. Blessed and lucky.

Love to all my babies and sweet darlings out there...miss you...

xoxo

Suz/Crystal Dawn

Photos:

1. Soaking up the Bermudian sun, cruising Hamilton Harbor pre-snorkel...let me assure you, I had a Swizzle in hand...

2. A few hours after snorkeling, Will and I sit down to dinner at Little Venice...and shortly thereafter I am popping Benadryl like a maniac...praying the anaphylaxis subsides...

3. Sam and I enjoying a cocktail at Clink in Boston...I was totally wishing it was Indian Trail Club Tea-ade...

4. Trailer Trash sisters...the Hooters Girl...the double beer hat wearer...and the pregnant chain smoker....Cheez Doodles and 32 oz. Budweisers...mmmm, baby!! All we need is a Jerry Springer marathon!

5. God or Dolly...in the Blue Ridge Mountains, there is no distinction...

6. Oh...damn, the little trainwreck was adorable back then...talk about tragic...

7. Ellie gives a final hug to the boys on the front porch before heading out...

8. Swerving onto I-40 towards Asheville with my Dad at the wheel...

9. Ellie at Camp Hollymont...the Blue Ridge Mountains indecipherable in the lighting but right there, behind her...

10. Young Mom and Baby...Ellie already my strawberry girl at 10 months...

11. Illegally lifted from the Hollymont site, Ellie in her riding gear...

12. Beautiful babies...my three and me...

I Won't Waste One Single Day...(starting right....now...)...

2010-06-24T20:40:00.000-07:00

I am 100% unprepared for the end of the school year and the start of summer...and you know, I have a million things to do before Friday at 1:05 p.m., when the kids are dismissed from George Washington School...and did I mention that a mere 16 hours past dismissal we will be picked up by some stretch van with 4 rows...and said van will deliver us 26 miles east to John F. Kennedy Airport...and I will board the early Jet Blue flight to Bermuda with the kids and my parents and sisters (both brothers are no shows this year...) and nephew.... and our friends, Kerry and Fred's nine year old daughter, Kathleen, who is our guest and Ellie's companion in lieu of my niece, who will be experiencing summer at Ithaca College. And once the jet lifts off, thus begins Summer, 2010....officially.

So anyway, all I mean to communicate here is to say that I am utterly unprepared...have not

packed or even gathered up belongings for myself and the other three human beings I am responsible for... Instead, I am taking the championship in procrastination and training for the Olympic medal in attention deficit disorder. Instead, I am attending every year end party and lunch and brunch and school assembly and PTO kaffeeklatsch and kindergarten graduation. I am taking full afternoons and evenings to socialize and kick back and divert my focus entirely. And even now, here I sit, writing this all down so I can say goodbye for the week..so we can have one last moment together...and so you get the full picture, you should know I write this as I lounge on the floor of my bedroom in a tank top and shorty shorts that say "ACK" across my a** (so refined!!)...my TiVo playing and replaying a Top Chef marathon, my empty suitcase and very full closet left untouched. Well, I told you this was the Olympic medal in ADD, did I not????

Don't worry though...once I am done chit chatting with all of you, I will go into turbo mode and somehow, as I drop off, pick up, hit two consecutive swim practices and a meet with Tim, purchase riding britches and paddock boots for Ellie, celebrate the birth of a friend's baby and then celebrate another friend's marriage, somehow I will have every flip flop, beaded necklace, fun dress and cute tankini in my collection all neatly packed and waiting at the foot of the stairs...be assured of that.

But before I get to that I had to tell you all about the old school keg party we hit this weekend on a vast lawn few blocks over... live classic rock cover band setting the scene...and Skinny Girl margaritas (ok...not so old school...) served up by the Indian Trail Club women's Round Robin tennis champs... Sounds upscale really...and it was...even with the keg and the band and the port-o-johns...and we wore adorable outfits and flirty summer shoes showing off our manicured toes and lightly tanned shoulders.

We started the night on Gwen and Joe's patio (same spot I was the night before with Nance and Amber...and that was after I hit Kim's poolside with the Gourmet posse...)...anyway, on Gwen's patio we enjoyed beers and kir royales and vodka gimlets...with Sam and Chris and Suse and Scott (Scott having just completed the Franklin Lakes triathalon and placing in the Top 50...congrats to all my friends who participated by the way -- Mary, Kathy, Jimmy, Mike, Chris -- I was cheering you on...a spicy Bloody Mary in hand...or maybe it was an ice cream cone...)...I digress.... So I spent the entire day leading up to and those last moments on the patio at Gwen's before the kegger trying to convince everyone that we had to do as we did back in the day of the genuine high school keg party and walk to the fest en masse up Wyckoff Avenue. And Gwen and Sam were on board, but by the time Suse and Scott arrived, the guys had already talked us out of it...and we all hopped in the SUVs and drove the 8/10 of a mile instead (bunch of pansies...).

So we arrived with our hostess gifts and kissed our hosts and then found TJ and Jim who had staked out a cocktail table on the patio...positioned equidistant from the buffet and the dance floor (which was really just a stretch of lush green grass in front of the lead singer's microphone...)... And when Helen came around with a pitcher of those Skinny Girl things (made of Patron and Fresca and lime juice, I think...sort of like 7Up on steroids...) we swiped the entire thing from her as she labeled our cocktail glasses with our names...like we were grown up 5 year olds at some Twilight Zone backyard barbecue...priceless!! And we drained that pitcher almost immediately...in no time another appeared...and soon Pina and Colleen and the Pauls arrived...and by then we were enjoying ourselves tremendously.

So the night went on and I know that at some point I was demonstrating the difference in height between myself and my predecessor as PTO president by standing on my tippy toes and then squatting down extra low and waving up at the crowd above who guffawed endlessly and my ridiculousness...but I am spot on...she is at least a foot taller than me, and she stood there laughing as I mocked us...so we are an odd pair, that's all... Anyway, it was at this time that Helen and Sam and Chris and Gwen and Joe started playing quarters on that mini-cocktail table and Helen kept choosing me to drink, even though I was not playing....so when I saw ADP and CDP make their appearance I grabbed TJ and we escaped to greet them...ADP grabbed a bottle of water, and without much discussion, we hit the dance floor. Just the three of us. Alone. All alone.

And you know the drill....we laughed and hugged and danced like we were co-eds once again...demoing our best pseudo-Dead Head moves... You know, my bohemianish preppy gal strapless shift could have been a stylish Dead Head's dress, I suppose...and Trish had a long beaded necklace on, so that qualified... But you see...we broke the ice by being the first to take the plunge and soon the Indian Trail tennis posse and the PTO gals and Suse and Pina and Colleen gathered around us...and then when some guy who was apparently the husband of one of the playground moms took over on the drums, the legit drummer came out and thanked us profusely when we pulled him into our little dance circle... So yet again...we made someone's night...what else is new??? Or maybe not...Ha!

At any rate...after our American Bandstand moment we sneaked to the front yard and told stories and I think TJ and I marveled over how gorgeous and fit Colleen looks barely a month post baby...and we almost convinced one another that it wouldn't be so bad to have another baby even though we are so far out of the woods, our youngest ones big kids now (knife in my heart...)...But you know, why should we let our post 35ishness and a guaranteed C-section stop us???...ummmm...where do I begin?...clearly those Skinny Girl things were potent (it's the Fresca) and our senses had escaped us... Time to go!

So we made our exit...grabbing the crew and waving goodbye to all...Suse and Scott and Gwen and Joe with us (Sam and Chris performed the Irish Goodbye at least two hours prior...), traipsing down Wyckoff Avenue like a bunch of sophomores...and piling into an SUV to drive home the 8/10's of a mile...like the old b**tards we are becoming. Still...it was only midnight, the night had been full... we were fun and lively and we played quarters and we danced and we hung with the band...

And here we are...almost a week past the kegger and I am no closer to being ready to leave for a week in paradise with my three babies...Rum Swizzles and cobalt seas await me...why am I not prepared??? But...I have convinced myself that it will happen regardless...it always does...somehow I always pull through...and I can still hit every year end party and lunch and brunch and school assembly and PTO kaffeeklatsch and even my baby boy's kindergarten graduation along the way. And so I will be a little spent by the time we deplane in Bermuda...nothing a few Rum Swizzles and a pretty sunset won't cure.

And then I will come home in July and get right back to it with camps and parties and visits and trips and summer fun....but I'll have had my one week in paradise, which is even so much more than I could ask for...well that and a rocking tan....

Kisses and hugs to all my summer loves...
xoxo

Photos:

1. The kids and I on a misty Hamilton Harbor a few days in the future...or maybe it was in the hazy past...either way, could it get much better???

2. Baby Boy...my sweet little darling as he graduates from kindergarten Wednesday afternoon...and if you think I wasn't weeping throughout, you are sadly mistaken...

3. A pitcher of b**tardized Skinny Girl margaritas (with Fresca!) alongside our labeled keg party cups...please note Sam's is also labeled "Left Fist." Pretty sure there was a gimlet on the right side....

4. Gwen, me and Sam...toasting the first of many backyard parties this summer...

5. Third time new mom Colleen, Suse, Pina and me...kind of looks like I am getting a little friendly with Pina...it was the pseudo margaritas!!

6. Helen and Sam kick a bunch of dudes' a**es in quarters...without breaking a sweat...

7. TJ and me on the dance floor/grassy knoll...channeling the stoner sorority girls within...

8. Legit drummer and thrilled dancing partner surrounded by my gorgeous and festive girlfriends, (left to right) Colleen, Suse, ADP, TJ and Pina...

9. ADP, TJ, me and Gwen....I'd say legs up in the air is usually a sign to call it a night...usually...

10. Rum Swizzles are waiting for me...at the Swizzle Inn, Bailey's Bay, Bermuda...yum yum!

Picking Up The Pieces...

2010-06-08T06:32:00.000-07:00

It was all fun and games last week until the squirrel committed suicide on my driveway....

This past week just happened to be one of those extra busy, fun weeks jam-packed with gatherings and dinners and outings... And even though I had just come off the big party weekend leading into Memorial Day, I fully embraced my social butterfly side all over again. It is June after all, summer coming...much to celebrate. So I started all over again on Wednesday with Sally's big birthday dinner...Sally and me and Stacey and Lyncher, friends since Freshman year of high school, at Rebecca's, this little hidden gem Cuban BYO in Edgewater...a secret patio in the back, nestled among the cliffs and ravines of the Hudson River-side...and the night was warm and the patio was lit by white Christmas lights and after we ran off the little family and the romantic young couple, we had said patio all to ourselves. Together we (and by that I mean Stacey and I with minimal help from Sally and Lyncher...) downed 4 bottles of Spanish rose with our plantains and ropa vieja and croquetas...and as Sally sported her birthday sombrero, we laughed non-stop with and at each other...

Thankfully Stacey's young cousin Lucas drove us home...and thankfully, I felt crisp and clear and ready to go on Thursday morning (unlike Stacey who was in bed until 1 p.m....), because I had an official PTO welcome brunch/meeting and then that night a country club cocktail party with my 22 year old bestie, Kaitlyn...brand new graduate of Stonehill College and new employee at a big international financial firm. And you know, we rocked our preppy strapless dresses and worked the room and chatted up all the old geezers and had drinks with some Southern guy and a few frat boys and we somehow became the new muses to a fine gentlemen in pink seersucker pants who thought Kaitlyn and I were the same age...and though this might sound like an insult to KRose, she had already admitted her age to him when he made the assumption...which shows you how drunk he must have been. All along we made note of the wiry, un-made up, strong-faced WASP gals in the room...we looked like showgirls next to them for crissakes...but I don't find a thing wrong with injecting a teeny, tiny bit of sexy cuteness into a buttoned-up old men's club...and so we did...

On Friday night we celebrated my own birthday (again) with Allison, Kevin, Marty and Casey -- burgers and beers at Langan's (which I tried to pay for only to surrender when Marty practically dove across the table and whacked the billfold from my hands...) and a performance of "Rock of Ages" starring Wyckoff's very own (and Steve M.'s cousin), Constantine Maroulis, and where we coincidentally bumped into our friends Charlie and Teri. So, anyway, while I love the retro 80's power ballads of Styx and Journey and REO Speedwagon...I must admit, I was having a hard time reconciling sitting in this Broadway theater while pounding Coors Lights sold to us by waiters trolling the aisles throughout the performance...like at a Mets game or something. And though I didn't partake, the beers added to the ambiance, and I think the producers of this show realized it would be far more enjoyable to watch while p*ss drunk...and I would have to agree. It was such a fun night though, being with my BFFs, Casey and Al in this 80's-centric experience...just like in high school...

It was Saturday morning when the week-long buzzy fun came to a halt....as I ran around the house trying to find Tim's baseball uniform, making the beds, throwing together breakfast, getting dressed, tossing laundry in the dryer, I hear Ellie say:

"Mom, there is a dead squirrel on the driveway..."

And she's all matter of fact and straightforward...no real emotion, just stating the truth.... Not I...I start freaking the f**k out... "What???!!! Are you sure???!!!" And again, she simply states that there is a dead squirrel on the driveway, right next to the basketball hoop...she even demoed the squirrel's death face for me...all while the panic rises within me.

Now, aside from tornadoes and vampires, my greatest fear in life is coming into contact with any form of wild life. I am not one of those folks who thinks it's adorable when a deer is at the side of the road...or when a bear gets stuck in a tree in some suburban park....or when a freaking bunny births another litter in my forsythia. I know it sounds bad, but I think it is kind of gross....and I curse the developers and dirty politicians who have approved the blasting of mountainsides to put in McMansions, pushing wild animals down into our backyards, the poor things....and because of that, my friend's dog was eaten by a coyote. I love animals...but I love them best when they keep a clear distance from me. And a dead animal...ugh...god help me... I couldn't bring myself to look at it...so the boys confirmed Ellie's declaration after surveying the scene themselves.

So a million thoughts go through my head...I am alone, just me and my kids...I consider briefly calling Suse's Scott or Kim's John or Mary's Sandy or Joe's Gwen....and then I remember my dad...I should call him, I think. But I am too embarrassed to do so...instead I decide that this is a right of passage for me as a woman...eventually everyone has to toss out the dead animals that come into their lives...and this was my moment. So I enlist Ellie, as my oldest, to be my partner in crime scene clean up...I make her grab some trash bags and I grab a big snow shovel and then a garden shovel as the big broom is amongst the missing (great timing!!)...and I head out for my initial investigation. And of course, upon first view of this silent, still rodent, the wind blows and it's diseased furry tail moves and Ellie and I scream in terror...Did it just move???? Is it still alive??? we ask one another....but clearly, it is not, because there it lays, still. I begin to tear up from pure fear as I close in on the little thing and I see no obvious outer injuries...no blood or wounds...no bite marks...so I look up and see in direct line with the final resting place are a tree branch, the edge of my roof and a cable that is connected to my neighbor's house...and with this evidence I declared the incident as self-inflicted...suicide or accidental death by a leap too short...certainly no foul play...no gangsta raccoons to arrest as or anything...(see, I learned a lot from watching The First 48...). It took a few tries because Ellie and I both kept running from the scene screaming, but eventually I covered the body with a rag and then scooped it up with the shovel and deposited it into a trash bag...which I then triple bagged. So utterly gross. Thankfully my Dad played coroner's office and removed the bag from my property and tossed it in an unnamed local public garbage can....like it never happened...very Jersey of us.

I did my best to shake the heebie jeebies for the rest of the day and later I rallied and prettied up for Sally's Surprise Birthday party at Stout NYC on 33rd Street, where I met Stacey and Christine and we toasted a shocked Sally...and at which a group of servicemen on leave came and joined us in our toast...frankly, I am not sure any of them were of legal drinking age, therefore they were at least 25 years below my preferred target age... but a few cougars in the room made them feel welcome.

So then it was Sunday afternoon....I was preparing to ride out the spotty thunderstorms until the planned evening barbecue at Sam's house, I was cleaning my kitchen, making some lunch for the kids...and out of nowhere, like a high speed bullet heading straight for me, as I shut the oven door, two glass Pyrex casserole dishes, one 9x13, which was held inside an 11x15, flew out of the cabinet above...and I do not exaggerate...they flew like there was some evil force expelling them or as though someone had performed the Heimlich on my cabinet...straight forward, totally airborne, missing my head by no more than 5 inches. They smashed on my kitchen floor, scattering shards of thick, heavy glass across the entire floor, into the dining room, front hallway and powder room. And I just stood there dumbfounded, looking at the floor and the shards like little diamonds twinkling back at me...and I realize it would be my head down there had I not pulled back...and I just kept thinking: "a million little pieces..."

This garbage removal was far more labor intensive than the last debacle...took me a full hour to complete...but I just floated through it, thanking Jesus, Mary, Joseph, all the angels and saints...my guides and all that...they must have saved me from this random event, the propelling dishes, 8 pounds combined, probably a result of some pissed off squirrel poltergeist that now inhabits my walls (or maybe my questionable pan balancing abilities...not unlike that poor squirrel, just missing the cable from the branch...)...but at least Ellie wasn't standing over my listless body nonchalantly telling the boys: "There's a dead Mommy on the kitchen floor...."

Instead two hours later I was sitting on Sam's deck with Gwen, sipping a frozen purple grape juice margarita (trademark: Brian H.)...again, laughing with and at my friends, watching my kids run around in the yard, playing tag, blowing bubbles...

So, I guess I was just reminded yet again that there are worse fates than having a little unexpected refuse to dispose of now and then in life...some fears to face and messes to clean up...that is not a big deal at all when you are blessed with friends and family who love you and want you to be there for their birthdays and barbecues and nights out and burgers and beers and memories from decades past....or for the unknown brand new memories to make together... In fact, I think nothing beats knowing there are still countless brand new memories in front of us...scattered about the years ahead like a million little pieces...

Photos:

1 & 2. Sally, Stacey, Lyncher and me...at least two bottles of Spanish rose in, acting the fools and celebrating the years ahead...

3. KRose (far left) and Me (far right) flank one of the member wives in her dainty straw hat...or maybe that is Christina Applegate and Heather Graham with Chloe Sevigny...but we looked exactly like that...

4. Casey, me and Allison celebrate memories of more than 26 years together...over beer and burgers and '80's power ballads...

5. A little black bear enjoying the cozy and cheerful benefits of urban sprawl...cute!!

6. The suicidal squirrel had a past apparently....

7. Sally toasts her birth with the innocent, underage boys who protect our freedom...our freedom to be boozy cougars, apparently...

8. Actual shot of a small section of my kitchen floor, covered in broken glass...

9. Giving me new memories every single day...Tim, Ellie and Will, last summer on Longboat Key...

And Fairy Tales Don't Always Have a Happy Ending, Do They?

2010-05-25T16:17:00.000-07:00

Me and Sarah, Duchess of York, January, 2004

Yes...if you think back a little and remember what you know about me, you will eventually stumble upon the Weight Watchers years...and you will remember that I worked closely with The Duchess and a team of talented professionals who were responsible for her reinvention after the toe-sucking/royal divorce/Duchess of Pork days... Our work established her reemergence as an inspiration to millions of people who never thought they to could reinvent themselves...take charge of their lives and become the person they wanted to be...and weight loss and body image were just the beginning of the messages The Duchess communicated in her role as spokesperson for Weight Watchers International. And she was beloved.

By now you have all heard about what she was "caught on tape" doing this past weekend in London...puportedly selling access to HRH, The Duke of York -- her royal ex-husband, the father of her children -- to an undercover reporter posing as a legitimate businessman.

Apparently a desperate act of a woman who is deeply in debt and made a bad judgment call.

I spent six years working with The Duchess and I know a woman of many qualities...and in the coming days, until this dies down, you will all read a lot about who she is and the mess she has created here, there and everywhere...she lives beyond her means! she has traded on her royal title! she's an abomination to The Royal Family! she sponged off of Prince Andrew! she let some rich bald dude suckle her tootsies!... Still, I wanted you to know what lies beyond that...the woman as I know her too...

First, if there is one rule of PR to which I have held true over the years, it is to do all you can to protect and preserve the image of the client or brand...to keep inside information of any kind to yourself. And though I know how The Duchess liked her tea and what she enjoyed snacking on and what cocktail was her favorite...and the way she was with her girls...and what she said about Andrew and Diana and William and Harry and the Queen...and about her amazing intuition and psychic abilities (she announced to a room full of people that I was pregnant with Will in the earliest days of the pregnancy, before I even knew for sure...)...and some of her stories about run-ins with other celebrities...and difficult moments and tense times we had with her...I think I will continue to honor the rule and keep the details to myself... But some of the experiences I had with her over the years that I will share, speak to who she was almost 99% of the time I spent with her...

In Buffalo one year I had arranged through Make-A-Wish Foundation for a terminally ill little girl, whose last wish it was to "meet a princess," to be a guest at our event and have a private meeting with The Duchess afterwards. And the Duchess was worried the child wouldn't think she was a real princess...like Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty...so she asked for some tin foil and she made herself a crown and a little scepter...she bought the girl some Barbie dolls and she sat on the floor of that hotel meeting room with that ridiculous foil crown and played with the little girl for at least an hour while the girl's mother and the Make-A-Wish folks looked on in teary amazement...

And the time in Kansas City when she insisted on making a detour to planned appearances and TV interviews so that she might visit my great friend and counterpart, Nancy B., who had just given birth to a daughter, who arrived unexpectedly and very early...six weeks early at least...and the whole team, including The Duchess, had worried that all the work Nancy did to make this royal visit to Kansas City successful had stressed the baby and made her arrive early... So The Duchess didn't care whom she kept waiting, this visit and being there for Nancy was far more important to her...

And there was her great chemistry and deep friendship with my dear friend, co-worker and mentor, Sharon R....an amazing leader at Weight Watchers, our training manager and the gold standard by which all others were judged. The Duchess always turned to Sharon for inspiration and encouragement...their traveling show at our East Coast Super Meetings was the hottest ticket in every city, little and big, that we traveled to over six years together...they shared a legendary banter and effortless back and forth...what a great team! Such fun to watch. And I know that The Duchess stayed close to Sharon and called her frequently from wherever she happened to be in the last two years of Sharon's life...returning the inspiration and support Sharon gave her over the years...and I know those calls buoyed Sharon's spirits and brought her much comfort in those final weeks.

And then in Baltimore, hosting the last media event in my role at Weight Watchers, The Duchess pulled me aside and told me how much our working relationship had meant to her over the years...and this touched me because I had always been sure to give her a respectful amount of space so she would not feel that she had to be "on" around me. She said that she always felt cared for and comforted when she traveled with our team...and she thanked me for that and said that she would miss me and that she wanted to stay in touch. Weeks later I received a lovely card with great photos that she shot herself along with a personalized note that was genuine and heartfelt...an unexpected but fitting goodbye....and of course, I still keep it with my other favorite things...

I don't know what happened this past weekend...I hate to know that she had hit that low of a rock bottom and that it was splashed across the world in technicolor. I feel for The Duchess because she truly is a good, decent person...generous and witty and polite and sentimental...cool and sarcastic too...but mostly, she was wounded from a lifetime of loss and I always wanted to see her happy. We all do things that are not wise or pretty and we make choices that are morally ambiguous...every one of us does things we are not proud of, but to use an old Weight Watchers saying: "there is a positive intention behind every action..." Not to excuse the behavior, but I believe she is in need and she was only trying to protect herself.

So...judge not lest ye be judged, I guess... I am on Team Fergie.

So We'll Swim Upstream...

2010-05-19T13:09:00.000-07:00

Thanks to all of you who expressed your concern and love and devotion and shared your theories and advice and suggestions after my last post...I am blessed to have such caring (and b*ll-busting) friends and I love you too...no, scratch that...I love you more.

And now... the update....

Will and I visited the allergist this week... Ok, wait...rewind a little...when I told my story a few weeks ago, I left out some details to make the story flow succinctly...so, part of the whole mess you didn't hear was the ironic fact that mere days prior to my ER visit and 3 hours on IV, my jealous and possessive six-and-a-half year old, Will, complained of a "sore throat" while we enjoyed some lobsters for Sunday dinner. And the alarm bells went off...I made him stop eating and I announced that I would be making an appointment at the allergist as soon as possible so that he might be tested. And then that Wednesday, I had my episode. So....we made a tandem appointment instead....and this past Monday morning we sat next to one another on the examination table and each received these little pricks (ha!...not that kind...) in our arms and watched as the little pricks swelled to twice their size and turned red (ha!...again, obscene... the jokes just write themselves here...I am not even trying...). So anyway....this is what we found...

It was wrong of me to hate on the shrimp teriyaki...my brush with anaphylaxis was, in fact, not a result of those deliciously glaze-y, salty little critters...instead my tongue blew up and my throat nearly closed in reaction to the innocent little salmon avocado roll I snacked on at the same time. Salmon...I know! Who would have thought? You know, I don't eat it unless it is raw or smoked...so I don't really even eat it that much. You know the weddings and parties where you get the choice of salmon or beef fillet...I always go right for the fat, lazy cow as it will most likely be cooked more expertly than the salmon anyway. But, you know me...I am a foodie to the core, and any food allergy is a major blow...any inconvenience or restriction in any way almost puts me over the edge...so this is punishment, certainly (Damn hooky playing!!). I will miss salmon...because now, it needs to be removed from my rotation for good....now I get to carry an epipen in my purse...now I have an anaphylactic seafood allergy.... I am certain that this will cause me to long for all things salmon for the rest of my life.

During my pregnancies -- the only time in life I denied myself an exotic snack here or there in protection of my unborn angels -- I vividly remember daydreaming about sushi and beer all nine months...sushi and beer was all I wanted all 40 weeks...two things I knew weren't an ideal combo for the health of the fetus...I don't think either of those items are even treats I indulge in regularly, but at that moment in time, I wasn't allowed to have them and that just got to me. I suppose I am one of those girls...if you tell me I cannot have something...anything...if you give me parameters and guidelines, I will spend half of my life figuring out how to skirt said obstacles. In all things. So now, it is not only recommended that I stay away from salmon...my life depends on it.

But....at least it wasn't shellfish, right? I wasn't prepared to have to give up lobster rolls on the deck by the beach...or that creamy, delicious shrimp gratinee at Arturo's...or mini crabcakes with spicy remoulade....or Nan tucket scallop season. At least that wasn't my issue, right?....

Well....don't expect an invitation to a celebratory crawfish boil, because I mentioned there were two of us on that examination table, did I not? That's right, my friends, my sweet little darling was right...his throat was sore that night after our lobster tails...because the little pricks in his arm told us that he is severely allergic to all shellfish...lobster, shrimp, prawn, scallops, crab, crayfish, langoustines...you name it. And on top of that, more cr*ppy news, he has a high sensitivity to mollusks...clams, oysters, mussels, etc.... And this is the child whose favorite food is escargot. I am so bummed for him.

Of course, I want to keep Will alive and healthy...I worked hard to get him here in one piece after he lost his umbilical chord and oxygen and I needed an emergency C-section to birth him...I have always been extra attached and protective of him. So we will avoid shellfish to the very best of our ability, of course...and as Suse pointed out, at least I don't have to worry about kids bringing shrimp cocktail or steamers in for lunch everyday like the nut-allergic moms worry each day with peanut butter contamination. That is all true. But as a lover of food, it does break my heart just a little bit that this child will likely (hopefully) live another 90 years and will never enjoy lobster rolls by the beach or creamy shrimp gratinee or mini crabcakes or seared Nantucket bay scallops...and don't even get me started on clam chowder (Say chowdah, Frenchy...!) and The Oyst er Bar at Grand Central. I guess to protect him I will have to hide my disappointment too...I will have to pretend that clambakes and raw bar and chowderfests totally s*ck....but we all know that is a lie...and that he will be missing out.

So...what's an indulgent mother to do in compensation? What deliciousness can I introduce him to that will fill the seaside shellfish void? What cool summer pastime can I hook him on so that he feels just as festive as the rest of us while we watch the sunset sink beneath the horizon? Hmmm.... Damn...the only thing that keeps coming to mind is cocktailing...you know, almost as fun, festive and delicious as a lobster roll. Too early for that kind of fun though, isn't it? Oh, ok...yeah, I guess you are probably right....rushing my son into the wonderful world of summer cocktails is probably a mistake. So, I will have to keep thinking on it...wrack my brain for Will's next yummy diversion...maybe that will keep my mind off the smoked salmon rosettes I will now have to turn down at The Fourways Inn this summer in Bermuda...ugh...this is not going to be easy....

At least we know what we are up against though, right? Right.

xoxo, Suz

Buy Me Some Peanuts and Crackerjacks...and a Foam Finger...and so on...

2010-05-07T13:26:00.000-07:00

I am pretty sure I am the only person in history to have worn a strapless Vineyard Vines dress to a Yankee game...oh even though it was navy and white and kind of festive and seasonably light and airy, make no mistake, everyone -- the women and men and kids and concession stand workers and maintenance people and security detail and undercover cops -- gave me and my garden party appropriate duds the once over and the barely concealed eye-roll. I guess adding on top of that my two boys in their madras shorts, we were an odd sight up there in section 328 of the upper tier...oops! So I misread my audience...at least Ellie pulled through with some upper tier cred as she sported a tank top, denim skirt and the white trash pink camouflage Yankee hat she just had to have at the first souvenir stand we passed....her father surely would have come right to the stadium, dragged her to the car and taken her home had he known I allowed her to brave the crowds in that get-up...but thank g*d she did, because at least our upper tier brethren didn't think we were total jag-of*s...

Ok, so my outfit may have been kind of prim, but my intentions were purely down and dirty...this was a midday game...and it was Wednesday afternoon on a school day...and there I was, corrupting my own children and letting them skip school so we could kick back for an afternoon and hang at the "new" Yankee Stadium together...my first time. I bet there is probably a sizable selection of you who think I am a "cool mom"...and I guess in some ways I can be...but most of the time I am not. I don't like to break rules and I am always afraid someone is going to yell at me or think I am pushing the limits of acceptability...so I am never the mom who takes a week off of school in the middle of the year to go to Disney off-season...nor am I the mom who lets the kids stay home "sick" if they are just tired...and I am not the mom who drops a Happy Meal off at the school for the kids' lunch everyday...not that there is anything wrong with any of that, in fact, that kind of flexibility is a good trait...just not one that I possess. Instead, I am the mom who gets them to school at 8:35 everyday, 15 full minutes prior to the final bell...I am the mom who somehow agreed to be PTO president for the next two years (another story...)...I am the mom who drops off the kids' completed homework if they are out sick...I am the mom who fears authority (it's that Catholic school education...I am scarred...) and who doesn't want my kids to be late or delinquent or in trouble because of a choice that I made... But yesterday afternoon I went against my natural inclinations and we played hooky.

It all started when my high school friend, DPM, posted the tickets' availability on Facebook, which, incidentally, I think is sort of becoming the internet age's version of the lunch room bulletin board...you know the one where you posted your Relay For Life pledge form or your little note card advertising a brand new litter or kitties or puppies that are up for grabs or your daughter's contact info with the headline: Babysitter Available! Anyway, I looked at the calendar and there were no meetings or pedicures or lunch dates scheduled...and then I checked the kids' school schedule, confirming there were no tests scheduled for May 5th...and there weren't...so I thought "what the hell?"...and so it was...I took DPM's Yankee tickets.

But, you know how the ticket exchange thing works...you have to go get them...and DPM is in the City and I was out here, but I made it work. I made plans to meet up with DPM after Rob and I had dinner at Market Table on Carmine Street (pancetta wrapped diver scallops and spring vegetable risotto...hello!...). So despite our high school friendship and interaction on Facebook, DPM and I had not seen one another in fifteen years. Yes, fifteen years (I am so old...)!! And I was using his season tickets out of nowhere as if we lived next door to one another or something...so it was a reunion and ticket exchange all in one. We conducted our business in the lounge downstairs at the Washington Square Hotel where DPM and his lady friend were sipping some gin cocktails complete with cucumber slices...and over his gin and my sparkling rose, we caught up and decided it was long overdue, this reunion...and that we needed an official unofficial reunion of our high school posse, boys and girls and cocktails...

So on to the game...the kids and I got to the stadium just as the doors opened on this gorgeous and perfect day... I knew the seats were upper tier even before we got there, so I was expecting to be out in the sun among the people...forgetting though that I have one child blessed with my tolerance for sun and tanning abilities, while the other two, particularly Ellie, are very fair and have a rough time in the sunlight (no wonder she loves that Twilight vampire boy)... Oh I totally slathered them in spf 50, but the guy at the door confiscated the bottle before we got inside the stadium because it was of the aerosol variety (security alert...). Ok, so as I said, I had to get Ellie a hat or she would never make it past the first inning in the sun...and of course, we stopped at the first kiosk we saw and she chose the aforementioned (WT) pink camouflage one. Then the boys wanted foam fingers. I obliged. And then they wanted french fries and sodas and chicken fingers and water bottles. I obliged again. And then it was those little plastic Yankee helmets filled with Carvel soft serve...this all before we even found our seats. And once we did sit, the Carvel was dripping all over everything and Tim and Will were fighting over the foam fingers and who got what ice cream on whose. That was when Ellie decided to go back out to the concourse to avoid the sun...we had a full 40 minutes before the game was to begin. Oh lord god...

Then Will's melted vanilla with sprinkles spilled all over his lap and onto his seat, completely covering his madras-clad thighs and bum with melted ice cream. This moment marked the second time I had to take him to the bathroom and I made Ellie come out of the shade to sit with Tim while we were cleaning up. In the Ladies Room I encountered the most lingering of stares at my strapless Vineyard Vines get up from a woman in a half shirt and denim shorts, while I wiped him down at the sink. I need a beer, I decided...I am dressed all wrong and I am on the upper tier...a beer is needed, asap... While Will and I waited for my Corona (thanks for reminding me it was Cinco de Mayo, TL...) I started getting phone calls from Ellie begging me to return so she could go back in the shade...I walked back chugging the beer and passing a group of cops who I am pretty sure snickered at my questionable strapless dress in the upper tier...

So the game started and I purchased countless other food items...the plastic collectible cup filled with popcorn that Will eventually dumped on the Dad and his adult son in front of us -- "At least it's not beer!" they said as I blushed and profusely apologized...and they couldn't have been nicer. There was also more water and some ice cream bars that dripped all over Tim's shirt and stuck on his face. And there were those foot long hot dogs that somehow I thought would be an item I should try too...and that turned out to be a big fat mistake. Then at one point the Budweiser vendor walked through: "Bud! Bud Lite!" and Will raises his hand and calls out: "Over here!" and I smack his hand down and am laughing at him, waving away the Bud guy and I say: "Will, you can't order beer, you're too young..." and he says in a dastardly tone: "Anytime one of those boxes comes down the stairs, I want whatever is in it...I don't care what it is!" Well...he is my son after all...

By the third inning it was mostly just Tim and I in the seats watching the game, the other two coming down to take money from me to buy popcorn and more water...and to ask when we would be leaving. And it was relatively quiet with just Tim next to me and I find that I am totally enjoying the game and being among the people in the upper tier, the sun beating down. It had been so long that I had been at a game and actually watched (the last time I was at a Yankee game was in the '90s and even there in our corporate seating some group of boroughs-y stockbrokers with cigars beat up an old man...right there in front of us, 10 rows back from the dugout...)...But today's game brought back the fond memories of my grade school years when we hit the stadium once a week in the Merrill Lynch seats behind the batter's circle and my BFF Allison would lean over the to the field and tell Willie Randolph that she loved him.

At the top of the fourth Tim leans over and he says: "We can leave in the sixth inning...." And I nodded to him...you know, somehow he figured out that it would be his decision, because as long as he wanted to stay there in the sun cheering, I would have...even with the other two hiding in the shade of the concourse...because he was the one who really cared about being there and taking in the game. And so...the game ended early for us, but we got what we wanted out of it right? I mean, I got to catch up with an old friend while getting the tickets...and the kids got all kinds of treats and fun and deliciousness...and I got sunshine on my shoulders and a little Corona in the afternoon...and I was a cool mom even for a just a little while and let them take a day off from school...and best of all, we got to spend that day together, me and my babes...Ok so maybe the strapless dress was out of place, but you know, now I have pretty new tan lines to show off as a result...if nothing else....

......You know....I was going to end the story right there, on a high note of self realization and contentedness... BUT....the day took a turn once we arrived home, so hold onto your hats...

I was running around getting the house together once we got home...Tim had swim practice and the other two were hanging out...I sat down to write what you just read above...fully intending to post this piece on Thursday morning. And as I was heading out to pick up Tim, the other two asked me to order them dinner from our local Japanese restaurant...and I did...some chicken and shrimp tempura and some shrimp teriyaki and a salmon avocado roll, which I planned on eating even though I had a growing migraine since I downed that 12 foot long or whatever giant size that Yankee dog was...ick...stupidly, even though I felt sick, I planned to eat some sushi.

And so...you know what's coming, right? You know how the story goes...I eat a few pieces of sushi and two of the shrimp teriyaki...and a mere 15 minutes later the right side of my tongue is double its size and my throat is swelling shut...and I f$%&ing panic. Never once in my life have I had any problem with any food, let alone seafood...but there is no doubt what I am experiencing here. I am trying to swallow but it is hard and I am running around the kitchen trying to locate some Benadryl...I scream to Ellie asking her to help me and she calls Rob and tells him to hurry back because Mommy is having an allergic reaction...and I hear the fear in her voice. She hangs up and says that Daddy will be here in a few minutes and suggested I call Susan...and she says: "I don't know if he meant Mrs. Sobkowicz (aka Suse) or Mrs. McGuire..." Both Susans are amazing in a crisis...Susan M. is a nurse and my first medical go-to call...but Suse is the mother of a nut allergic child...so I choose to call her...

And Suse talks me through a little and asks me some questions about my symptoms...but a few minutes in I start to notice a tightening in my upper chest...a scratchy, painful tightening and I start to cough and clear my throat...and she says: "Are you coughing?" and when I say yes, she tells me she is on her way with one of Lindsay's epi-pens.... In the meantime Rob gets there and calls my mom who is on her way...Suse arrives and agrees to stay with the kids until my Mom arrives...and off we go to Valley Hospital ER with the epi-pen and the open Benadryl packaging in my purse...

When I get to the ER I tell the guy at the desk what is going on (itchy palms started in the car...) and the place goes f$%&ing ballistic...they throw me in a wheelchair and bring me to the dude in the little office who asks questions...I tell him my story between coughs and I show him the Beandryl I took (which was Children's by the way...)...and he is concerned by my reddened chest and I keep saying "It's from the Yankee game!!" Then some Physician's Assistant runs in and listens to my breathing...and then she goes berserk and wheels me away at 90 miles an hour, yelling to her colleagues to get the anaphylactic kit. Ana-f$%&ing-phylactic????? I know what that means! OH SH*T!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

They tell me to undress quickly and for the first time all day this strapless Vineyard Vines dress served me well...they tore that thing off me in one swift pull...they attach all these electrodes to me and put in an IV...a doctor runs in and examines me....and he says: "Oh, you're talking...ok, calm down...you will be ok..." And I hear him advise the staff to dial it back a little and he recommends my treatment....Benadryl and Zantac by IV (Zantac??...did I mention the 12 foot long Yankee dog at some point???)... So they administer the burning liquid through the IV and I am immediately dizzy and zoning and I hear my voice asking questions...and I am fading in and out and in my head I am picturing all of those smack addicts on Intervention and how this is the way they must feel...and I begin to cry a little and they are calming me down...and I chill. Rob is there now and when they walk away, he aptly sums up the situation and says: "Not to belittle what you are going through, but I think that Physician's Assistant had a strong reaction...you are going to be ok..."

And then I passed out....

I woke a few times in the next three hours...I heard Rob asking if this was a very serious reaction and the nurse telling him the fact that I was speaking was a good sign, but there is no deciphering how serious a reaction will be...how it will develop...if taking Benadryl will just hold it off until later or of there will be residual attacks...and so, all allergic reactions are serious...

They let me go at midnight...and I felt ok. I feel ok now too...my tongue is just now losing the final swell and my chest is still a little scratchy...I still have a hospital bracelet on one wrist, electrodes still attached to my chest and a bandage over the IV entry...but they were right...I am ok, and I will be ok...

So...Thursday morning I go about my business when my girl Stacey calls to catch up on dinner plans for our other dear high school Heather, Sally's birthday....and I tell her my story...and without missing a beat she says:

"That's what you get for letting your kids play hooky..."

My thoughts exactly.

Much love my dears...kisses to all with this deliciously swollen tongue...xoxo, Suz

Photos:

1. Will, me and my strapless Vineyard Vines dress in section 328 of the upper tier...

2. They seem to love me anyway...cool mom or not...

3. DPM and Me, our reunion and ticket exchange...and we're still looking damn good even 15 years later...

4. to 8. Various shots of my babes enjoying their take in the beating sun of Cinco de Mayo in the Bronx...

9. Shrimp Teriyaki -- Who knew we would end up enemies....??

10. The Two Susans with me...Suse to the left and Susan M. to the right...always saviors and best friends...

11. My hospital ID bracelet, still attached...I almost added a picture of the silicon nodules attached to my chest but at second glance, I decided it was borderline p*rnography....(hey but feel free to email me on the side if you are dying for a look...you sick b*stards...)

Time to Scarf the Doughnuts...

2010-04-12T08:00:00.000-07:00

When Ellie and I were in Los Angeles I planned each day around the food we would eat that night...and this is pretty much how I plan every vacation, visit, break, weekend, whatever...I am a foodie... die hard, to the core, the type of girl that would drive 50 miles for the best, the most authentic, the most creative, the most unique gustatorial selections available...I have never denied this fact. And I believe the best way to experience another place is to eat as they do there...eat what they do there...clam chowder in New England, schnitzel in Vienna, fish and chips in Liverpool, shawarma in Beirut, street dogs in NYC...so let's put it this way, on that Left Coast trip Ellie and I completely blew off visiting the world-famous Avenue of the Stars so we could get cupcakes at Sprinkles in BevHills. So there you go. At any rate, when we were in Los Angeles we had passed a cart that was selling "churros," which are essentially Mexican crullers, long and ridged and coated with sugar...and Ellie wanted to try them...now, I almost never deny my children the opportunity to try something new, but this specific time Ellie had just scarfed all kinds of garbage at Universal Studios...you know, popcorn and soft serve and Diet Coke...and I told her that we were in LA, no doubt Ground Zero for the best Mexican food in this country, and that we would get churros at another street corner, on another day....forgetting fully that we had about 36 hours left...and we were staying in the lily white enclave of Brentwood...not a churro in sight...oh, I could have found vegan red velvet cake, at least 17 varieties of organic egg omelets and an entire grocery department dedicated to cave-aged cheeses...but no churros. And the kid wouldn't let me forget it.

So flash forward to this weekend...the lead-in to my kids' truncated spring break...a break that I, again, have fully planned around what we would eat and when and wh

ere we would be driving to get it. Oh, I am fully aware that it is gorgeous out...and the kids could be riding bikes and playing tennis or whatever, but we have our own set of priorities over this way. So, having never forgiven myself for the churros denial in LA, I decided we would kick off this week of foodie adventure on the search for East Coast churros in New York City. First I googled and found on Chowhound that churros are most available in Jackson Heights and Washington Heights and some place up in the Bronx....and without a tour guide, I wasn't going to any of those neighborhoods...but...churros are also a hipster food here in the Big City apparently, because the most raviest of rave reviews were for the foodie mecca, artisanal doughnut bakery, DoughnutPlant on the Lower East Side. This guy, this doughnut chef guy revolutionized the art of doughnutry back in the late '90's with an old family recipe that gave birth to these delicious combinations like fresh strawberry and pistachio and vanilla bean made with all natural ingredients...and they became the standard by which all other upscale doughnuts are judged. You have all had a DonutPlant doughnut with your iced latte in the past 15 years at Dean & DeLuca or Agata & Valentina and Citarella and Zabar's...or maybe that's just me, but regardless...

So, I was thrilled...churros at DoughnutPlant, who knew? And a dozen doughnuts on top of that, it's a win-win...so the plan was set...I woke Ellie at 7:30 this past Sunday morning and off we went, breezing in, barely another car in sight (thanks, beloved Blue Laws...)...joggers by the river, the sun shining bright over the GWB...in less than 30 minutes I was making a left onto East Houston Street from Thompson, heading to sweet cakey heaven on the Lower East Side. Now, I have lived here all my life...for six years just a little West of this very neighborhood...and I am down this way all the time...just last week in fact, for "Holey Thirsty" at Nancy Whiskey (so fun, btw...)...but still, I blanked on where Grand Street was...stupidly. So there I was, driving down East Houston, looking at the cross streets: Bowery, Allen, Chrystie, Forsyth, Mott...this was where I was supposed to be...but where was Grand again??? Yet as I questioned myself I continued to go straight and...(oh...whoops...sheepish giggle...), I hear myself saying: "Oh, sorry, Ellie...but by mistake I got on the Williamsburg Bridge." And she goes: "Does it go to Virginia?" and as I am thinking: it might as well...I say, "No, Brooklyn..." And the two of us sat in silence as we digested the truth...Brooklyn's great and all...lots to offer, some of my dearest besties are from there...and I bet they had churros there...but I had no clue how to get around Brooklyn, so heading away from Manhattan into the trendster borough was not on my list of things to do that day...this week...this month... And when I saw signs for Queens and the Bronx, I knew I had to abort this mission asap once we crossed this bridge...in the meantime, I was having flashbacks to walking over the Manhattan Bridge during the Avon Walk a few months ago...the subway car rattling by with a deafening rumble... Who knew this hunt for churros would become an interborough adventure??? I prayed there would be an easy U-turn once I hit Brooklyn...an easy off to the local streets, because I had no interest in traveling the BQE...I wanted a tres leches doughnut now!!!

And then...we were coming off the bridge and I threw a Hail Mary out there and took some 90 degree angled turn off of the exit ramp...and right there in front of me was a sign directing me back to the Manhattan side. So it seems I am not the only person who blindly hit Brooklyn while traveling East Houston Street in search of any variety of things delicious and naughty... Phew...we were back in Manhattan in no time and still I couldn't figure on where Grand Street crossed East Houston...oh, what's that you say? Grand doesn't cross East Houston?! Of course it doesn't!...Grand is parallel to East Houston, so I just may have ended up in Montauk waiting for it to intersect the road in front of me...what a dumba**!! Ok, ok...so thanks to a call to Rob, I turn the car in the proper direction and drive down Grand, skirting past the Chinese merchants and their bicycles and mopeds all askew, littering the narrow streets...

And in seconds I was pulling up next to our destination...at the end of a set of stores...all unassuming with it's sleek steel and black signage and handwritten specials on a blackboard perched out front on the sidewalk. "There it is!" I yell out to Ellie as I double parked and threw on the hazards -- yes, as I said I will do anything for a foodie adventure...even risk being hauled off by the towtrucks.... And so we enter the shop...about third on line (nice!) and I see churros listed on the menu hanging above the register...yay! But then...it became clear as I observed our fellow doughnut shoppers place their orders -- the varieties available that day are the varieties you see right in front of you...and all I saw was Valrhona chocolate, vanilla bean, creme brulee, banana pecan, coconut cream, tres leches (thank god!!) and blackout...a few others too, but definitely no churros in sight...I decide to block Ellie's view of the counter until we get up close, and I whisper to the girl behind it: "Do you have churros on the menu today?" She looked unsure, but stuck her head in the passageway to the kitchen and asked a group of Latino guys in white aprons...and then she turned back to me and said: "We only have churros during the summer."

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You have no idea how scared I was to tell Ellie...I seriously thought she would throttle me right there...like: "Mom, you woke me at 7 a.m. on a vacation day, almost lost us in Brooklyn and drove around this neighborhood for 20 extra minutes to get here...and they have no churros!?!" But she didn't...worse, she just gave me a silent grimace and shook her head, almost imperceptibly. Oops...another screw up by Mom for her to tell all her jaded teenage friends about someday. Oh well, this is the risk you take when you are on a foodie mission...sometimes they just don't have anymore of what you want...it's an important lesson to learn early, I'd say...right??? In any case...we stocked up on the sweet goodness anyway, 12 sticky, glaze-y doughnuts tied in a giant rectangle box...and I grabbed an extra vanilla bean for Ellie to eat in the car... As we exited she said: "Well if they only have churros in summer, then I suggest they take them off the menu the rest of the year..." I can't say that I disagree...

So we hopped into the car, thankfully remaining un-towed...and as I pulled back out to East Houston, this time heading West and away from the Williamsburg Bridge, I handed Ellie her vanilla bean doughnut...and it took some coaxing as she was still sulking a little about this non-starter of a churros mission (only I would sit there begging a kid to eat a doughnut, saying: "please try it, Ellie...this is an award-winning artisanal doughnut!!"...). Eventually she took it and after a few minutes she cheered back up, licking her sticky fingers and exclaiming: "This is really good, Mommy..."...which is what I wanted to hear her say all along...

So on the ride home I profusely promised to bring her back in to any one of the restaurants serving churros that her father found through google as we were making this trip (Five Points...la Boqueria....Bar Jamon...I mean, damn!...I almost got us lost in Williamsburg trying to find a place that didn't even have churros and I could have just made a brunch reservation...!!!)

"Can we go tomorrow?" she asked...

"Oh, no, honey, sorry...tomorrow we are taking Tim to Max Brenner's for the chocolate pizza..."

I told you I had the break already planned out...

Photos:

1. Ellie and I head out on an LA foodie adventure...no churros on that trip, but the Lobster Cantonese was a winner...

2. Our first LA tacos...all upscaled and out-authentified with their grilled shrimp and mango salsa...

3. Greasy, crunchy, sweet and delectable...burros on a cheap paper plate -- food of the gods...

4. A little sticky circle of perfection, DoughnutPlant's vanilla bean deliciousness...

5. The creaky Williamsburg Bridge giving me flashbacks...

6. Mecca of cakey sweetness on the Lower East Side... We're not worthy!

7. Our actual plate of doughnuts and quartered up and shared with the boys...licking the screen for another taste of that banana pecan bit of heaven...

8. Me and Ellie...always having fun, even when I am force-feeding her sweet, fatty treats... Bad Mom!

9. Our next destination, chocolate pizza on 14th Street...the object of my perfect, darling 8 year old's food fantasies...mmmmmm....

Words Are Very Necessary...

2010-03-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

The best part about my weekend away on Longboat Key with (left to right, not including me, the shrimpy, midgety one with the crimson, sunburned nose...) Nancy, Suse and Mary, was not the flawless weather (well ok, flawless is strong...so maybe it was a tad windy that first morning on the beach...but the rest: flawless...)...and it was not the lunches on the verandah, Gulf of Mexico right in front of us, our luscious midday chicken and avocado salad chased by a refreshing Corona Light (with lime, TL)...and it was not obtaining the tan lines that we are all sporting on our clavicles, the first brush of direct sun and heat since the summertime...and it was not the festive nature of our dinners out -- mojitos and 1905 salads at Columbia...the Hess Select cabernet and montrous desserts at Euphemia Haye...and just about every component of our beautiful, succulent, savory dinner at The Beach Bistro (even the Bacon Ice Cream was a pleasant surprise...)...and it was not those two kittenish yet demure spring/summer dresses I bought at Island Pursuit, or Mary's new Tory Burch sandals, a full 50% off and on her feet as she exited the store, or the copious amounts of olive oils and balsamic vinegars we had shipped after a long delicious tasting...and it wasn't watching the orange-y/purple-y sunsets over the Gulf...or even when the sweet but daft grocery bagger asked us repeatedly if we were on college Spring Break (a pre-cursor to my return flight seatmate who guessed my age as 26 after I grabbed her hand and squeezed hard through the non-stop, petrifying turbulence...!!!)...Those were all wonderful moments for sure...memorable moments...but...

What I really loved about being away with these girls was that we never ran out of things to say to one another...on the beach, late night, at breakfast, at dinner, over wine...listening to one another...learning all about one another... You know, even though we are good friends, we still had much to say...telling the others how we met our husbands and our lifelong best friends or who we were in high school and college or our favorite food/song/drink/color/band/actor/writer...what we might have named our children had they been the opposite sex...what our prom dress looked like...how high our bangs were in the '80's (mine: not very...though I did love Zinc Pink lipstick and pegged jeans...)...what our hopes were for our children's future...where we saw ourselves a few years beyond this moment... Girl talk, I guess...fueled by sun and salt air and champagne....though I would bet that some of you guys would have been right there with us in our pjs as the clock ticked well past midnight, chattering away with abandon....you can admit it, we will still respect and adore your masculinity. So I suppose this should not be some revelation as I wax poetic upon spending time with and enjoying my friends at every turn...but the weekend sailed by...in a good way. I didn't even crack that copy of "The Six Wives of Henry, VIII"...

But even with all of that...the much needed and enjoyed respite by the sea...even so, I am happy to be home...being with my kids and seeing family and my other dear girlfriends...getting back to the celebrations at home....Easter Sunday of course, the clothes and the candy and the egg hunts and Country Club dinners. But you know me...I am looking to (this week!) Holy Thursday first...the annual celebration of dive barring and festivity in the name of Jesus and Biblical betrayal at Nancy Whiskey Pub...yay! With appearances by Sam and Cath, Stacey and KRose, RJP and his Mad Men posse...and the rest (aka the Professor and Mary Anne...)....much fun and frolic in store.

And lots more that's left to say, I bet...Can't wait!

xoxo, Suz