Slices Of Life...

Today my baby turns 9 years old.  In the blink of an eye.  It has always been my tradition to write a loving tribute in this forum to each of my children on their birthdays...and as much as I love to share, more and more I feel like they are getting to an age where their lives and moments and questions and dreams and hopes and assertions should be theirs to share... I think they are ready for me to let my birthday love notes over the past four years stand as is, to look back on and speak to who they are and what they have meant to me...and how they have all made me even more who I am than I could have been on my own.  They are amazing children...I cannot believe I have been blessed by their presence in my life...

Of course, he is a youngest child and I think he deserves some special props on this 9th anniversary of his touch and go birth...so.... Will is awesome in so many different ways....he totally gets and then laughs like a maniac at my sarcastic jabs, as I do his superior wit and timing...he is seriously one of the funniest people I know, big or small...and he notices every little nuance and detail in a comment, a situation, a structure...and he shares his impressions as such. I look at him and he still seems to be my little one, my baby boy...but day after day he is growing to be such a thoughtful, wise, brave and multi-faceted person with interesting opinions and points-of-view... He feels deeply and is endlessly open-hearted....he still tears up when one of his siblings is in trouble or hurt or sad. Will is resolute in his opinions and absolute in his commitment to being whatever and whomever he wants to be, and he sees no obstacles...he wants it? he's going to get it... He's is exactly the person I have always wished I could be....And I secretly think it's possible that somehow those Brit rock geniuses, The Sweet, must have known back in the 70's that this child would be upon us one day when they wrote: "Willy sends them silly with his star-shine shimmy shuffle smile..."  He does!

I am just thrilled to be able to share in his life, let alone be his mother on top of that.  Blessed and lucky.  Happy Birthday, Will! My sweet little darling...

So now...on to new business...

I walked into the kitchen/classroom my first day of culinary school this Saturday....all jazzed up in my apron, oversized white chef's coat and gigantic chef's pants that TJ had to safety-pin hem for me the evening prior...I had on my black Buster Brown-like orthopedic, professional kitchen shoes and my long locks braided and pushed up under a white skull-cap type chef's hat that is reserved for the professional kitchen's lowest men on the totem pole: cooks in training...and probably dishwashers too... That's ok...my ego is in the basement somewhere anyway after almost 20 years working in PR, so I am happy that at least in a kitchen, each worker's place is clearly defined...and if you don't know where you rank, then check out the height of your hat...

In any case...I wondered if I would be the oldest in the class and thankfully I was not...I mean, I am up there compared to the 20-somethings, a mix of cool guys and a young girl or two... And there are my two new boyfriends, both Latino guys from Queens...super sweetly offering to carry my chair and my 500 lb. bag of kitchen tools and doing all kinds of cute chivalrous boy things like holding my door, treating me just the way I hope my boys treat the women they work with someday...  Of course, maybe my two new boyfriends are actually helping me because they think I am old and fragile like a their moms or aunties or abuelitas are...but I choose to believe otherwise... There are also two girls my age, one with kids exactly the same ages as mine...and the other a career-changer with a freaking MBA that got her nothing but the desire to be her own boss...and there's the standard bad joke telling guy in his late 50's who tried to tease me for being from NJ when in fact he is too...oh, yeah...haha...good one...clearly he's not from Bergen County, ok...

Anyway...before the chef-instructor, who is like a younger, more intimidating version of my beloved Gramps -- Germanic, straightforward, precise, super neat and tidy, and no patience for BS (e.g. late 50's guy's poorly timed jokes) -- before he took the room, we had a mini orientation with the Dean of Students, who reviewed the rules of the kitchen with us, on which we had to sign-off...and I thought, no problem, I can do this...I can stay clean and be prompt and respectful and answer "yes, Chef" to every question no matter what it is...and ok, if I have to keep polish off my nails, I can make that happen too... But wait...what does it say here in rule number 5?

Cursing or aggressive language will not be tolerated. The kitchen is a serious place of business, this behavior is unprofessional and Chef will have you removed from the kitchen should your language and manner present as such. 

And all I could think was:  "Oh f**k, motherf**ker, I am totally f**ked!"

No, really...I mean, I love expressive language...not that it's appropriate in all venues, and I am a seasoned professional with manners and decorum in my forum... But let's be honest...we all get frustrated...we all let it slip when we shouldn't...I mean, truthfully, my kids don't even look up anymore when they hear it...oops...bad mom!  But back to the kitchen....what if I start a fire in the convection oven or forget to prepare a day's worth of mise en place or totally f**k up (see there I go!) an entire lesson by burning the Beef Wellington... I have to admit, remembering not to scream  "Sh**!" from the depths of my soul is going to be a tough one...or so I thought....

You see, the second day we began knife work...and I have been cooking since I was a young teenager...I know what I am doing...I know how to to chop and dice and hold my knives...well, I thought I did, because not only do I have poor knife-holding habits, my carrot slicing and onion dicing were seriously lacking as a result...and Chef had to correct me, which made me feel like a dumb girl...and then 10 seconds later, my bad habits returned and I sliced a fifth of the way through my left thumb...and that may sound like a nick, but it was a slice...and I began to gush blood.  And by some divine intervention -- from my Gramps maybe?? nah, he loved cursing... -- by the grace of whatever celestial spirit was watching over me, nary an expletive escaped my lips...I didn't even think one.  I was too scared Chef would consider me was a complete f**k up (see!)...instead, right after he had me sanitize my knives and work space, he acted like my Gramps once again and dressed the wound and covered it with one of those rubber finger covers that, sorry, look like mini-c*ndoms...and I learned my lesson.  There will be mistakes along the way, I guess...but at least I didn't chop off my entire thumb...like my Gramps did way back in the day...and I bet he didn't hold back the string of F-bombs that surely followed that debacle... See why he was my idol?

So...with sliced up thumb and complete exhaustion in tow, I think we are off to a good start...because you know, aside from sharing moments with the ones I love, I am never quite so happy as I am when I'm in the kitchen. A bloody thumb and ugly shoes and no nail polish and a bruised ego...even quelling my expressive language is worth being able to spend even just a small part of my life in the kitchen...

Oh yeah, and by the way, the next three items Chef had us chop I was certain to take caution and be super precise...and Chef said "Very good, Suzanne..." ...which might as well have been a marriage proposal coming from him...yay me!

Star pupil in the making?!  You know it, b**ches!!
... (told you...I can't help it!!)...

xoxo, Suz

PS  A Happy Birthday to the other Leo in my life, big sis Cathleen...who still considers Will her very own special birthday present...ok, we can share... Love you!

Photos:
1.  Look at that little darling at age 3 in 2006...an LBI birthday, cake by me, via Duncan Hines...
2.  Awesome, perfect, beautiful...in 2007 in Barnegat Light, NJ...
3.  How I still see him...
4.  Hot as hell, right?  Come on now, try not to lick the screen...
5.  Not my Gramps or my Chef...but he seems cool too...
6.  I think up new curses sometimes to fill the void, honestly...
7.  My pretty, butchered, and c*ndom covered thumb...photographed by Tim on the Westside Highway...
8.  Much better on the medium dice now that I am holding my knife correctly...only took me 25 years!

"You've Seen the Films, kiddo. It Ain't Over 'til It's Over..."

"I'm a star. I'm a star. I'm a star. I'm a star. I'm a big bright shining star. Yeah, that's right."
--Dirk Diggler, Boogie Nights

You know that scene...the "big reveal..." "Big" being the operative word there for dear, sweet, wounded naif, Dirk Diggler...finally back on the scene, back doing what he does best, after days, weeks, months...years, even...his future back on track. And after all he's been through...let's not even get started on the whole demo tapes standoff ("feel, feel, feel, feel, feel, feel my he-eeat...feel my he-eeat...") and "Sister Christian" shoot out and meth-fueled prostitution and brutal yet misdirected gay-bashing that brings him home... Still, after all that, at the end of the road, he can still look himself (well, part of himself...) in the mirror and believe that he is still a star. We can all learn a little about resilience and second comings from Dirk Diggler...wait, I am not sure that sounded the way I meant it...well, you know what I mean.... Dirk wisely rediscovered his true talents and he let them shine...

So...like most of us, I left college with a suitcase full of scholars to quote and literary references aplenty...but clearly, I am a simple girl at heart, because whenever I am left contemplating next steps and life decisions and planning the future, what comes to mind is the montage that closes Boogie Nights, set to the tune of "God Only Knows" by The Beach Boys...  All that redemption and hope and life moves on stuff, even for a ragtag family of pornographers and cokeheads... What an uplifting message -- everyone gets a second act -- and I always hear that song in my head when an ending approaches, and a new beginning is within reach...


It is the last week of school here in Wyckoff, which is always emotional...hopeful, yet poignant all at once... There are promotion ceremonies and "Moving Up Day" and proms and awards dinners and commencements and kindergarten plays and year-end parties and "Clap Outs..."...and I am at the end of my two year stint as PTO President. I know, I know...laugh away, high school friends, I know you are recalling my behavior in school back then and find the PTO thing all so incongruously riotous...though most of my friends from the different stages in my life saw my PTO gig as making some sort of twisted, hilarious sense. I joked often about being sure to create some scandal on the way out, just so I can crash and burn in dramatic fashion and be forever notorious. But that didn't happen...we closed our last meeting, I wore a peony pink dress and pretty, tortoise-shell high heels that I nearly broke my ankle in only days prior...I gave out gifts to my beloved Exec Board, who in turn gifted me a gorgeous turquoise and peridot necklace...we officially welcomed our new Board, and I thanked every single person I could think of. And I was proud, because I worked hard at the job, like I aim to do in all tasks and roles -- and relationships -- that I think are important... And though PTO was only one part of my life these past two years, not what elementally defined me, but important still...even so, I knew I had to wait til I was on the other side of it before I could start my real life once again...

And here I am, on the other side...

When I was in my early 20's I knew there were two things that came naturally to me -- writing and making friends. And I did both, as much as I could...I was young and I lived in New York City... I was in PR...lucky me, I got to write press materials all day long! And there were young people there alongside me...and we became fast friends...of course! I lived in a little apartment on West 10th Street, with the world's tiniest kitchen...and I guess I fancied myself a character in a Woody Allen movie, some latter-day Annie Hall, churning out three course meals and holiday celebrations with recipes from my ratty copy of The New Basics, my friends perching dinner plates on their laps while sitting on the bed. That was the most fun ever.

I had always been a foodie, long before those years on West 10th I had been introduced to delicious food and fine restaurants by my parents, who preferred raising RJ and I with midweek dinners in the City to homework sessions and early-to-bed mantras... The minute I could work a stove and grease a pan, I tried to teach myself how to create those flavors on my own... But it was as I became an adult, and in writing about food and restaurants and beverages at work, that I began to consider what part of all this really interested me...what really came naturally to me and made me happy? It was the cooking. It was making people happy with my food. So why wouldn't I just spend my life cooking then? I enrolled in the French Culinary Institute in search of a Culinary Arts degree...and I was young, I knew this training would open a million doors for me...and maybe, just maybe, someday I could fuse all my special talents and passions and become a restaurant reviewer or cookbook writer or have my own food column or run a test kitchen for one of the magazines...or something...

But a few months before classes began, I became engaged to Rob....and I began to plan my wedding and my future...and I began to realize what a different life I would be embarking on than my soon-to-be husband and our young friends who were all starting out in their normal, Wall Street/Advertising/Pharmaceutical Sales/You Name It jobs. The route I was taking, I might likely have worked in kitchens of restaurants they frequented, and catering events and parties and weddings even...weddings I wanted to be a guest at instead... I became spooked...and I turned my back on culinary school...and I felt like everyone was disappointed in me...but I made the excuse that I really only wanted to be a food writer anyway... Soon I knew I had made a mistake, though I couldn't admit it to myself until much later... There were blessings of course...that detour in life gave me my three gorgeous children, lights of my life...an exciting career, a nice home and scads of friends that I would never trade...but still, there was a twinge of regret living in my heart...

Over the past few months I have been contemplating....and I decided that I never lost that dream to become trained and credentialed and learned in the area of food and creating and giving of myself through my work...and I decided that it was time for a new beginning, time to rediscover my talents, just like Dirk Diggler, and get ready for my second act.

So...I will begin attending Institute of Culinary Education at the end of July.

Who knows what it will bring me...but I know I will be proud to have gone back and made it right...and to show my kids that it is never too late. My darling Will has appointed himself my motivator...he's been planning the menu, choosing a name and mentally designing our future restaurant, going so far as to approach the owner of our favorite local coffee shop, telling him to call us when he's ready to sell...so funny... And maybe it really will end up that way... But to be honest, I don't know what I am going to do with this degree...I have no clue...I just want to be in a position to do something I love all the time...so it's the beginning of a new chapter... And as I wrote in an email to my dear, supportive friends in town this week: "I hope you will all work in my food truck with me someday...selling tacos to construction workers...sounds good, right?"

It sounds great actually....
God Only Knows...

So while writing this here today, I remembered that another great film also ends with a montage narrated deftly by that same song...the final scene of cherished love and life lessons at the airport in Love Actually.... And I was thinking that my whole experience is not really like Dirk Diggler's...it's not really about coming from behind (sorry...ugh...you know what I mean...)...I am not all "I am a star..." like he was or anything. For me it's about existing in life and experiencing a simple epiphany -- your happy future is right there in front of you, within grasp of your own hands...go get it!...


So right now I feel less like Dirk Diggler and more like the cute, chubby aide to Hugh Grant as Prime Minister, when she runs towards him at the airport and jumps into his arms, red coat and all, not a care for who sees...

That's me. Taking a leap...

Happy Summer!
xoxo, Suz

Photos:

1. Big moment....
2. Cokehaeds and pornographers...but lovable, no?
3. Some of the beloved Exec Board, Rhonda, Kelly, Me, Joan and Suse...hot b**ches, dressed for our final PTO meeting...a little blurry, pretty sure the photographer was wasted...(not pictured but still beloved, TJ, Robyn, JVC and Jen...)
4. There she is now, Past President, in her peony pink and gorgeous turquoise and peridot necklace...a look of silly relief all over her face....
5. The New Basics...prop for my past as a Woody Allen character....
6. Totally worth the detour...my three...
7. Forever dear friends, Amber and Nance...who have both offered to sample my homework...
8. Hugh Grant as PM along with my hero -- cute, chubby aide and her very own second act...

And for your viewing pleasure...teeny, tiny bit NSFW...just for a second...

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

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. 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...

"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....

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....

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...!!