Be My "guest"....

Isn't it so awesome how some days you wake up and have no idea how deliciously the day will end...you know what you have to do, and what plans you have made, and what errands you are running, and what friends you are meeting or meaning to call...but, you know, even the best laid plans and the most decent of intentions deliver unexpected fun or happenings or diversions.

This Tuesday, the 29th of September, was one such day for me. It happened to be, in fact, the 20th birthday of my oldest nephew and first godchild (I am godmother to 4...and all of them are boys...I must seem like a good

spiritual role-model and positive, faithful influence...fooled you, I guess...), Tyler

(yes, all of you who were with me when he was born...or remember him running up and down the Big House hill after my graduation from Stonehill...yes, we are all 20 years older (well, except for me...I am still 19)...Holy Mother of Jesus...). So, anyway...though the day was a special one in our family and a proud day...(we Rittereisers have safely delivered the first child past the teen years without any major screw ups...yay Ritts!)...all I could think of once I wished him a Happy Birthday, was: Damn! Has it been that long? I remember it vividly --I was a college sophomore and we went to a party in Mather House the night Tyler was born...and at one point during the celebration,Boca lowered the volume on whatever CSN song ("Suite: Judy Blue Eyes"...? "Southern Cross"...?...) was playing and we toasted the birth of this child...and my friends all clapped and hugged me...and now, we are 20 years hence. So that was a nice memory, and I am teary and proud and filled with love...but, though I adore Tyler, this 20th birthday milestone was not the reason this day rocked...

In the afternoon I headed into the City for a little gals lunch at Bar Breton with my Stonehill Class of '78 bestie, Kathie M....and we chit-chatted and

gossiped and laughed and giggled and she told me

all about the dedication of the new Science Center at the College, which took place last week and was an event for which I briefly considered blowing off Ellie's Back to School Night (Mother of the Year!), heading up to Massachusetts (avoiding the Merritt Parkway this time...) and sleeping on the floor of Quincy House (you'd have let me in, right, KR, KA??) so that I could get the College contact high under the guise of celebrating this amazing development in the history of the school...and to see, in person, the second floor bar area that was set up for the event right in the alcove that has been named in

honor of the donation made by...you guessed it...The Rittereiser Family!! How apropos is that? I love anything, even a small accidental gesture, that associates me and my proud family name with fun and festivity (so what if my parents are virtual teetotalers...)...So anyway, Kathie and I ate these little galettes, the restaurant's signature dish based on these yummy specialties from Brittany, buckwheat flatbreads with savory fillings and toppings...and we reveled in the smoked salmon and the horseradish cream and chives (me) and the prosciutto and chevre and arugula (Kathie) and the little crock of seasoned frites that I insisted we order alongside. I mean, why not go b*lls to the wall, am I right? Enjoy life...do whatever the hell you want...that's my motto... At any rate, Kathie and I ended up chitter-chattering non-stop, barely taking a breath until almost 3 hours in... I know, I can talk a dog off a meat truck...and my other Stonehill besties can attest that Kathie and I together might suck all the oxygen out of the room should we get going...so you can imagine how we allowed it to go on for a while over galettes and frites and club sodas and coffees...so, we enjoy a good time. And it was....but no, that was not the reason why this day ended up being so perfectly terrific...

So, I left Kathie with promises that we would do it again very soon and I headed back across the Hudson...and I had a mission. I had this mission planned for days...and I knew exactly when I would execute said mission: on the way home from lunch with Kathie. "After lunch with Kathie" became my mantra...I was repeating it in my sleep even...and I was all extra excited and gleeful and tingly...and feeling kind of secretive too...a little illicit and deceptive, which is always fun, no?

Yes, my friends, I know this will break a few hearts but, well...I was off to meet my new secret love.....

at the Kate Spade store in Garden State Plaza!!!!!!!!

I am a g**damned fashion accessories junkie...I admit it. I love handbags and totes and clutches and boots and scarves and belts and wraps and costume jewels...and oh, my drug of choice...shoes, how I love thee...heels, flats, open-toed, leather, suede, patent...I am getting all heated just writing about it, honestly. So last week I was all itchy and scratchy and jonesing for a fix...and I was surfing the net on the accessories "dating" sites (my faves...Tory Burch, Coach, Jimmy Choo, Manolo Blahnik, Stuart Weitzman, Michael Kors...a veritable pharmacy of candy for Suz...yum...)...and I happened upon katespade.com...always a fave to hit, particularly heading into the holidays when I like to tell Mom and Rob and his mom and anyone who will listen which bag I want next (Coach Tribeca Tote in antique gold, fyi...get your Amex out!). And as the home page opened, I saw her....and she held my heart instantly.

She is Kate Spade's "guest"...and she is the hottest b**ch in town. She is this black suede slingbacked, 4-inch heeled, platform-toed beauty...but, that is not it...she is not some black

suede wallflower (though, with 4-inch heels, it is hard to fade into the background, am I right???...). No, no...this delicious little "guest" features a tasteful but show-stopping cascade of satin fuschia ribbon detail across the top. And I had to

have her...I had to make her mine. But this was a new addition to Kate's Fall collection, and of course, "guest" was full price...and I am not opposed to a full price item, I mean...I am all about full price, particularly on shoes and with my teeny tiny shoe size that has grown from 5 1/2 to 6 since birthing my kids...if you like a shoe, you have to snag it. At any rate...the price, though not outrageous ($325) did give me pause...aren't we in a recession? Maybe not...not sure anymore. Either way...I needed to think of a way to make "guest" my own...and if it meant full price, well, I would explain it as a necessity to my husband and the accountant and all that...yes, I needed them...I needed these shoes. And then....

While surfing the other selections on the site I decided that I should visit the store and at least try the shoes on...and when I went to the store locator onsite to confirm the nearest location in our local mall, I stumbled upon a special in-store offer...a coupon...20% off any full price item purchased in-store...and the offer expired in mere days. It was like god and all the angels wanted to unite me with "guest"...for the two of us to become one...it was a sign...and right then I

hatched my plan...I would go pick up my new love right after my lunch with Kathie on the 29th.

And so it was....after lunch I cruised across the GW and in minutes I was in Paramus (land of malls) and entering Garden State Plaza. And I beelined it across the mall -- passing J. Crew and Stuart Weitzman and Neiman Marcus and Louis Vuitton -- right straight into the front door of the Kate Spade store. And as the pixie workers greeted me, my eyes fixed on the shoe wall....and there she was, waiting for me...I went and took her in my hands and I saw that she was a size 6...yay!...and I turned to the pixie who told me that this pair...this "guest"...was the very last pair in the store...Thank god I made it here in time! I tried the shoes on...and of course they were perfect, and my feet and legs and every part of me loved them even more (though for a minute I was diverted, contemplating cheating on "guest" with a pair of red suede flats with a jeweled detail...but I came to my senses in no time...).

So the pixie took "guest" to the check-out and I handed her my little 20% off coupon

and she rang me up....and as she took my credit card and input my address and phone number and email and all that, I could feel the tingling...the endorphins surging through my system...like the junkie that I am...this little accessories fix just did it for me. And I was all smiles

and a little giddy...and as pixie wrapped "guest" in tissue paper and placed her in the tasteful green Kate Spade box and the placed the box in the sleek green bag, I reached out and took the package....and as I did....

Clear as a bell over the in-store speakers I heard

the undeniable, unmistakable opening synth-pop-horn section-electric guitar staccato beats of the great Hall & Oats classic "You Make My Dreams Come True".... "What I want, you've got and it might be hard to handle/But like the flame that burns the candle/The candle feeds the flame....Well, well, well yoooou/You Make My Dreams Come True..."

How spot on...the accessories gods had smiled upon me...that a**-kicking '80's tune perfectly articulated how I felt, and I just wanted to skip and twirl and dance around that store...

Later I stopped at sistergirlfriend and fellow accessories

junkie, Lisa H.'s house to show off my new conquest, and as

we squealed and clapped, I told her all about the trying on and how this was the very last pair in the store and how they just happened to be my size and fit perfectly and how I just swelled with happiness upon purchase...and of course, how the entire moment was crystallized by this amazingly appropriate and well-timed song. And we agreed it was like I was in some commercial or sitcom dream sequence...like in 500 days of Summer...couldn't we all see the kids from How I Met Your Mother having this very same moment? You know...maybe even a little guest cameo by Hall & Oats themselves rocking that opening strain while the pixies and the customers all lined up for a choreographed number surrounding Me and "guest'...all in love and finally together...making dreams come true with this stunning pair of black suede, slingbacked, 4-inch heeled, platform toed, fuschia satin bow detailed answer to my accessorizing dreams...

Ahh bliss....

And that is why, my dear friends, Tuesday, September the 29th could not have been more perfect....

...xo...S

Photo 1: Tyler in his 20th summer with my three...Bermuda, 2009.

Photo 2: Angelic little godchild at 3...

Photo 3: Kathie and me...ok, so we stopped talking only long enough to take this shot...no joke...

Photo 4: My Quincy House posse, KA & KR...keep that floor warm for me, ladies...Alumni Weekend approaches!

Photo 5: Crock 'o frites...before we decimated them...

Photo 6: The Coach Tribeca Tote in antique gold...I am coming for you, baby!

Photo 7: Me and my "guest" bonding in my upstairs hallway...as shot by Ellie...

Photo 8: And they look good while walking too....again, an Ellie original....

Photo 9: Harmonizing '80s icons Hall & Oats...actually kind of look like a tag team porn duo in that shot...

Photo 10: Fellow junkie Lisa H. snaps me and my "guest" in a private moment...true shoe love...

Cause You're There For Me Too...

This past Friday was Wendy and Roger's annual backyard beach bash/Flying Mueller Brothers concert...the party of the season...the one I have been writing about and referencing since I told you about the great spring social event among our set, Helen's Island-themed Reggae Splash 40th Birthday Bash. And I cannot even begin to cover the scene because it is like the ADD just overtakes me...and I can't even focus on who and what and where...it was that much fun. So maybe next time I will tell you all about the sand and the barefeet and the grill and the music and the surprise guest entertainer that brought the house down (with whom the professional photog took my picture...just you wait and see...)...how Suse was missing, how I missed her because being without my bestie at a social event here in town was just kind of bizarre and foreign...

...and how the women, my friends, all looked so lovely and carefree and happy, dancing and laughing...how a whole cache of men from our group were running a race up in New Hampshire, so a bevy of wives were unattached (for the night) and how we texted them pics of our fun time while they were having their own fun 350 miles away...how Gwen and I got yelled at for unintentionally cutting the bathroom line...and then how we scoffed at the b**ch and joined the wait at the men's port-o-potty instead...a sacrifice, as the women's bathroom was in the cabana, but we were heroes...and the guys always enjoy a little injection of womanly chitter-chatter while hanging on the traditionally dark and silent men's bathroom line...

...and how I was the first to leave again this year, at 12 midnight, leaving behind my entire group, my husband and friends...and best of all, how Sandy agreed to carry me on his back to catch my ride home from Nancy, because I could

no longer walk, couldn't even stand, like my little tootsies were on fire...and not because I was drunk, not at all...I had three Coors Lights all night (well, I did have a few sips of the signature Sex On The Beach cocktails, I even asked the bartendress to go a little light on the "sex" and a little heavier on the "beach"...which she misinterpreted and gave me a glass full of alcohol...rum and peach schnapps, I think...I would have thought asking for less "sex" in a drink would be pretty clear...apparently not..). Anyway, these throbbing feet were a result of these adorable 4-inch wedge sandals I was sporting with my Lucky jeans and pink Vineyard Vines tunic with the dolphins that I bought on Longboat Key...a $145 tunic, marked down to $36!!!!!!!! So, at any rate...I stupidly wore these uncomfortable shoes and my dear little sparkly toes just couldn't hack it beyond midnight. Well...I learned today that Sandy had forgotten to tell Mary that he hiked me up on his back and carried me across the sand for the entire town of Wyckoff and beyond to witness (and I must say...he was kind of acting like I was some sort of baby elephant, I'm not gonna lie...)...and I later learned that Sandy rode his bike home, Richie following him down Wyckoff Avenue as a precaution...thank god! because Sandy totally

wiped out in the middle of Wyckoff Avenue and from what I hear, Richie promptly p*ssed himself laughing. And though the night did not end up in Pina's kitchen over a pot full of homemade zeppoles, we still rocked it out. I have to say, we are such a fun lot....

But, I will tell you all about that another time, because what I really want to talk about is that Wendy and Roger decided to make this year's bash a fundraiser for breast cancer research...a cause that has taken on so much personal meaning for all of our friends this year. I have mentioned before that a whole group of us ladies are walking together in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in New York City this October...and our team, the Jugheads (complete with Helen, who jumped on board today!!), was formed in honor of our girl Kathy, who is so g**damn strong, you guys...so amazing...always making me laugh my a** off, making naughty but hilarious comments...still totally just cool Kathy, the way she always was and will be. Such a f***ing rock star. I am tearing up now, because I am just so proud to be her friend, to be a part of this team of women, my close friends walking together...to be

bonded even more so through this. And to have raised, as a team, over $50,000 for the cause....the sixth highest earning team in the New York City Walk. We rule.

So, at any rate...Wendy and Roger made it easy for the guests to donate...and it was still just a great big celebration and Kathy's whole family was there, in from the Island and enjoying a little slice of the Jersey social scene along with us (they could keep up pretty readily, I would say...surpassing us even...nice work, Rails!). And we all just did what we always do...had fun being with one another. And Roger and Wendy's guests -- so many of you among them -- were just beyond generous, the amount that was raised just in that one little night is truly staggering. And I will wait to say how much, I will let Kathy and Wendy and Roger have the privilege of telling you all what a great success the night was...but I will say, I fully expect the Jugheads team ranking to rise above 6th place when all is said and done.

So I guess I just wanted to tell you...just wanted you all to hear about it and know that even though I chitter-chat a lot about the silliness and debacles and debauchery and idiocy I encounter daily...even though I am here for fun and to share my life and times...I guess the lesson is always the same no matter what story we have to tell...so much good, so many blessings, come out of being surrounded by great people... It's that simple.

Love to you all...

xoxo Suz

PS Happy Birthday, sistergirlfriend/Jughead, Lisa H...

Photo 1: One of those party shots texted to New Hampshire...the lucky lone man is Charlie, surrounded by the hotness that is (l to r) Kathy, me, Dana, Mary, Nancy and Kathleen....

Photo 2: Jugheads Kim, Nancy and Helen flank Joe...Helen getting extra friendly, I see...nice moves, H...!

Photo 3: Gwen and I braving it with all the dudes on line at the port-o-potty...such tough broads we are...

Photo 4: There I am in my $36 pink tunic, pounding the last of my three Coors Lights...Nancy, Helen, Annie and Gwen just getting started...

Photo 5: Helen, me and Pina dancing in the sand...my feet already burning...

Photo 6: Wendy and Suse with Kathy this May...my Jughead sisters, rock stars all three...

Watching...While You Sleep...

Sleeping through the night has been a challenge as of late...since my return from the blissful end of summer escape I embarked upon with my kids. I guess this is partially because they are back to school, and we are no longer, all four of us, cuddling up in one bed, Gulf breeze tickling us through the screen, late night waves crashing, the kids bargaining and making deals on who gets to sleep closest to me. You know, they are possibly the only beings on earth who so fervently desire and defend their position at my side...so I suppose in my self-centered glee over being such a hot property, I allowed the arguing and battling to linger ever so slightly. We eventually instituted a system -- I would sleep in the second spot from the left, one child on my right, another on my left and the third on the far right, next to his or her sister or brother. And each night their positions would shift, so all three would have two consecutive nights all close and tight and snuggly, next to me. It was an awesome system...and bedtime went pretty smoothly as a result.

Then one night, the night we had returned from spending a full day driving from Longboat Key to Orlando and back again...the hours in between spent doing some serious damage at the deathly hot but virtually empty Magic Kingdom...Tim, who had the outer right hand spot, woke screaming at 2 a.m. And he is so quiet usually, so reserved and easy to reason with...but he was inconsolable...and through his sobs he complained that his feet were throbbing from walking all day long...and I tried to soothe him, but he was just miserable...and eventually, after pilfering through my parents' bathroom drawers and locating one Tylenol, which I forced upon him through his tears...he chilled a bit and then begged to sleep next to me (a speech I expect he will someday use as a co-ed on some sweet innocent young lady...ugh...). But this wasn't a ploy, I knew for sure...he was far too distraught...this little angel, who never gives us a minute of angst. His sister and brother were so concerned, I encountered little resistance when I asked Ellie to sacrifice her position...and I moved him to the number three spot, to my right. Almost immediately, Tim fell into an exhausted sleep...but the rest of us were wide awake, ramped up and hyper...looking at one another like: "What the hell was that?" So I said:

"Hey kids...what do you say to some late night TV?"

We high-fived and settled in.

I turned the lights off and began flipping the channels...finding Top Chef (yum...Tom Colicchio and braised pork belly take on a whole new level of deliciousness in bed late at night...) and Mad Men repeats (Don Draper...oh, so yum..so very yum...totally wish I worked with those guys) and Full House and True Hollywood Story and The First 48 (so scary anyway...but in twilight hours, alone with three children in a sparsely populated coastal

resort town off-season...yike!) and Frasier and Will & Grace and some Melissa Gilbert TV movie on Lifetime and Top Model (Cycle 6!! Joanie and the tooth-pulling nightmare...I loved Joanie...still my all-time favorite...)...But then, while flipping around I found a late night showing of my very favorite movie: Wuthering Heights. And I was filled with delight...right there, my two alert children groaning and annoyed....they knew the buffet had come to a close and I was sticking with this 1939 Laurence Olivier/Merle Oberon classic...my favorite since age 11 when I stumbled upon it on the Sunday afternoon movie on Channel 5. The possessive/obsessive love and loss and deep soul connection and strife and pain and parted loves...even at 11 years old, I totally got it...(sadly, I think the dashing but manipulative Heathcliff then became the future model upon which I chose my boyfriends...well, he and Elvis's fake cheesy movie persona...love those soft-hearted rock star/rage-aholics...but that's another story...). So, many times, the kids have been forced to watch Wuthering Heights in its black and white glory, seated beneath the 50th anniversary movie poster that hangs on our family room wall. As the other two rolled over and checked out of the late night TV fest, I settled in and could not have been happier. Insomnia never looked so good...

So flash forward to now...to this week...we are back home and each night the kids are in bed by 9 (ok...I'll confess my poor parenting skills...9:45...)...and I am without our little snuggling system and Gulf breezes and waves crashing (tan still rocks though...). But....somehow, I continue to awaken sometime between 2 and 4 o'clock every morning....and some mornings I can lay there and lull myself back to sleep with happy or delicious thoughts...but most of the time, I am completely awake. So, as a result, I have taken late night TV viewing to a championship level...me and my grey Stonehill College-logoed blanket curl up on the sofa, away from the sleeping family...my hot little hand fondling the TV remote. And the variety of craptastic viewing is truly unparalleled....

I love documentaries -- TV and movie versions -- you know, everything

from Intervention and Hoarders (oh, the vomit-inducing horror...) or True Life and Made on MTV to Supersize Me and Hoop Dreams and Streetwise (the gritty film documenting the lives of Seattle street kids in the early '80's -- prostitution, pimping, mainlining, thieving....my Mom and Dad, possibly giving birth to the lax pop culture exposure rules I employ with own children, brought me to see it in NYC when I was 14...). Documentaries are all over late night TV...I saw the controversial The Business of Giving Birth with Ricki Lake, which rips apart the medical profession and traditional obstetrics and hospitals and insurance companies in favor of midwifery and home birthing. And we also get to see Ricki Lake's bare pregnant breasts. That part was tough to watch. So the film is all hyper-educated earthy-crunchy hippie vegetarian liberal...and I can be easily swayed, you know, and am all about respecting the natural process...but then I look at Will and I know he would not be here if I was birthing him in our master bath at 4 a.m...And who the hell wants to learn sh*t or be preached to at 3 in the morning? Not me.

So I flip past the loftier selections and head right for the dreck... Well, not the infomercials and Billy Mays products (RIP, by the way...Hey, wait, sidebar...when will this summer of death

cease? I mean, earlier this week we lost PatrickSwayze and then today it was Mary of Peter Paul and Mary...you know, not an A-lister like MJ or Farrah or anything, but she'll be missed, right? Pretty lilting voice of "Leavin' On a Jet Plane"...bummer...I am ready for 2010...). So, right...I am more likely to settle on a little late night Golden Girls marathon -- who can resist really? Betty White is pure genius and that Blanche is such a hot b***ch...who doesn't love a bunch of old broads talking about geriatric sex over cheesecake? And I love a late night Real World/Road Rules Challenge...such drama and intrigue is even better post-midnight. Oh...that reminds me of the late night marathon I caught one sleepless night when I was pregnant with Will -- Tough Enough on MTV, featuring goateed WWE star Al Snow, bloated by testosterone...with whom I promptly fell truly, madly, deeply in love...a crush that I could not shake until the child was outside my body. Bizarre pregnancy...late night TV can be dangerous...

But it can be good for you too...the other morning I totally scored and caught the opening

sequence for The Other Boleyn Girl...not dreck at all, but a nice, easy way for me to get the (not so)

full effect of reading the book that has been uncracked but perched on my nightstand for eons, while drinking in the Tudor tumult and scan

dal...and Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman sporting those sexy medieval fashions and stabbing one another in the back over Eric Bana and his Henry, VII codpiece. This sexy Henry the apparent rock star/rage-aholic predecessor to Heathcliff/Elvis...I would have been right there egging those two crafty maidens on. I watched the entire film...and totally felt fulfilled...like I accomplished something meaningful. The book is now back on my living room bookcase...I'll get to it eventually, so don't start giving me sh*t quite yet...you know, like I should be using these late nights to make a dent in my reading list...of course I should, but late night is for completely checking out...no thinking, right? Right.

The best thing about being alone with the remote in the earliest of morning hours, is

rediscovering old classics, guilty pleasures and sentimental favorites. The week I returned from Longboat Key, one of the first nights I took my late night party to the family room sofa, I happened upon the late 1999 teen flick, 10 Things I Hate About You...the vehicle that introduced the departed genius, Heath Ledger, to the American public. And I had remembered liking it back then, thinking it was so smart and well-done...all these cute little teens, so much more talented and interesting than our current crop of Hollywood train wrecks and meth-heads...Julia Stiles and Joseph-Gordon Levitt and David Krumholz...and Heath. And based on Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew...so again, not dreck.

So I watched...and I loved it even more...this story of the Stratford sisters and their protective dad and

the plan hatched to bribe Heath's mysterious character to date the prickly sister so a bevy of other lads could have access to her perky and desirable younger sister. And how the prickly sis and the mysterious suitor are a perfect match...and they fall in love in spite of themselves. And the story is multi-layered and sharp and, let's face it, the film spoon fed Shakespearian themes to high school kids through modern twists on classic plot lines, with a long-haired hero and a**-kicking soundtrack...perfect, thoughtful selections that carried the film's vibe effortlessly. I listened to the lyrics and welled up for Kat and Patrick...totally feeling the love and heartbreak...I

jumped up that first night and googled the film, retrieved the song list and promptly downloaded each track...Letters to Cleo's remake of "Cruel To Be Kind" (Well I do my best to understand you/but you still mystify and I wanna know why...) and Joan Armatrading's version of "The Weakness In Me" (I'm not the sort of person who falls in and quickly out of love/but to you I gave my affection, right from the start...)....an absolute must listen...(go ahead...click the link). But truly...the pinnacle, the whole reason I stayed awake through the night watching is for that one scene...that final revelation where the prickly Kat confesses her love and heartbreak with an original sonnet in English class...Oh please...twist the knife...I love it.

So....being reintroduced to this little celluloid gem, right there, late at night as I battled

insomnia... ten years later being captivated even more so by its simple genius...watching

it with experienced eyes, knowing how Heath's story ended..but seeing his appeal and talent and charisma....on top of that I have been able to re-live the experience the whole next day via

Napster...all totally worth being awoken at an ungodly hour and

becoming a miserable b**ch by 9 a.m. the next morning. Totally worth it. I would stay up every night if I was promised a

happy surprise awaited me...you know, not Melissa Gilbert...or Ricki Lake's bare body...or even some model enduring an epic tooth-pulling...or geriatric sex and cheesecake... No, I mean a

discovery...a gem...something new to divert me until morning....

I mean...can you think of anything better to pass those lonely sleepless late night hours? Oh, well, I mean...other than an overnight Don Draper retrospective, of course....yum...

Or one more night cuddling my three under the Gulf breeze...

xo

Photo 1: A pre-bedtime public snuggle, celebrating one of our last nights on Longboat Key... Caesar salads and Chateaubriand at Euphemia Haye...maybe that's what was keeping me up???

Photo 2: Yes...I took three children to Disney all by myself...I rule!

Photo 3: Joanie...hide that snaggletooth, sister...fierce!

Photo 4: Olivier as Heathcliff...suspicious, possessive, protective and obsessed...but undeniably gorgeous...perfect boyfriend material...

Photo 5: Tiny from Streetwise, prostituting at age 14, circa 1983...nothing else to say, really.

Photo 6: "Pain don't hurt." But another loss does...RIP.

Photo 7: Those Boleyn girls with that hot piece, Henry, VII...wrecking havoc, taking down kingdoms and fathering little red-headed b**tards all over England...my kind of guy!

Photos 8 & 9: The cast of 10 Things... unsung genius...

Photo 10: How you doin', Don...?

Photo 11: Ellie and me by the Gulf. Close my eyes and we are right back there in the salt air...late night TV could never compare...

Oh Little Darling of Mine...

Ok, so...I'm back....

Remember that? That was the title of my very first post on this blog, which I began writing a year ago this week....

I know! I can't believe it either. And on top of that, today marks my 50th post....a milestone and an anniversary all at once...lucky number 50. And I don't feel a minute over 18...(really...). So, Happy Anniversary, my loves...lots of kisses...

But, truly, how apt and perfect and dead on, that title a year ago, no? Because it has been a while...and here I am, back with you again...

This time of year has always been my favorite...the late summer days and crystal blue skies and the breeze, a touch cooler each day. I know...there is no question how great the warmth and leisure and festive nature of the summer is...how free we feel and how much we all love that. But I don't feel it is a sad moment at all, this end of summer, this Back to School hubbub...instead it feels like the weeks in front of us are filled with promise. You know, still today I have this (not so) secret jealousy, wishing I was the one going back to class, getting my course schedule, hitting the caf...so of course I can never help but feel the excitement of what is to come...all the great fun and celebration ahead and new school books and new friends and new school shoes and new haircuts and new stories to tell. And then there is all of the apple cider and hayrides and pumpkin carving and turkey eating and pie making and gift-buying and holiday partying...all those moments that we revisit year in and year out...the moments that make our memories. And we welcome them with open arms, because seeing someone or something from whom we have been apart and sharing that first moment...the hugs and laughs...well, it is a Reunion of sorts. And this time of year is filled with Reunions.

These days though, when I see that crystal blue sky of early September, a different memory strikes me. And I know each of you look up at the sky and remember it too...and dwelling is not

my purpose here, but I will say this....

Since That Tuesday eight years ago, these yearly milestones and events have taken on new meaning for me. It's like each year, each season reunites us with its own set of beauty and depth...even the little things make your heart leap: the fiery Fall foliage and cracking that first beer at the Opening Day tailgate...or those hopeful Spring crocuses poking through the frost on the first warm-ish day in April...or the very first winter snow storm, keeping everyone inside by the fire, under warm and cozy blankets, black and white movies on AMC. And I know, for myself, I look to those moments every year...because it signifies that the next Reunion is around the corner.

So many pieces of September, 2001 swirl around us still...but I look now and see how that day, too, was about Reunions...about being lucky enough to see that person whom you love so deeply return to you. We all had our moments that day and we know each others' stories...but I never really talk about what I saw late that afternoon, while we were still waiting for my father and husband to come home...

I was pregnant with Tim and had an appointment with my OB, and his office called to tell me that I should still come, even with this madness...I was just 5 days out from my due date and the

baby, who I didn't know yet would be my first son, was moving around all day...like nothing was different. Life was going on, somehow. So I left Ellie with Mom and my sister, Trish, and went to my appointment...and thankfully all was well and his heart was beating and he was almost ready to meet me...to embrace me for the first time.

On the drive home I was stopped at a train crossing in Ramsey, first in line, waiting for the arm to lift once the train pulled out. And as it rolled in, I noticed a cute little woman, about 50,with a suburban bob and khaki pants, on the sidewalk just in front of my car...and she was looking

towards the train as it settled and people were getting off...and she looked sad and distressed...and of course I knew she was waiting for someone. So I watched her...and I watched as her knit brow and worried eyes broke into a relieved smile...and she began to hop and clap. So I followed her sightline and saw a young guy heading towards her -- tall, about 25, in

shirtsleeves and a tie...that dust still clinging to his hair. Her son. And at the sight of eachother they simultaneously burst into tears and ran to one another...this mother and son...and they embraced in front of my car and she was consoling him and wiping his tears. And this went on for a few minutes, the train long gone, but none of us moving...the two of them still holding on. And their sad joy was palpable...I felt it too. I sat there...the irony not lost on me with this pregnant belly in which I held my own son. And I cried fresh tears because I knew I was so blessed at that moment, witnessing their Mother and Child Reunion on that hellish day. A bright spot...her baby had made it home..so very lucky.

I think of them every year at this time...and though I can still barely speak of it without choking up, the memory is a beautiful one.

So even though this magnificent time of year...the time full of promise...has been altered for us somewhat, we can at least welcome the memories of the lost...and those who returned to us. And we can relive the good times and remember old jokes and hilarious stories and happy moments...and laugh and cry...and even though we cannot embrace those who are gone anymore, it is still a Reunion of sorts.

So very happy to be back here with all of you...

Much love this week...that day...always...

Suz

Photo 1: Cupcakes for our anniversary...late summer tan lines still visible in my new favorite Vineyard Vines top...

Photo 2: My three...Back to School...the most wonderful time of the year...

Photo 3: Ellie, captivated by the windy September sky on the first anniversary, September 11, 2002.

Photo 4: My first son...always a joy to behold...

Photo 5 & 6: Tim and me sailing Hamilton Harbour, Bermuda this July... and then against the late summer sky, early last week on Longboat Key...

Bye Bye, Baby...So Long, Darling...

I knew I couldn't avoid it...I tried, though...but it was impossible. Those hot, hazy endless August days must have done it...a little summer malaise has set in....

You know, it's this black hole of laziness...I am starting to let the kids lounge around and get started later and later each day...and I haven't been to the Farmer's Market in a week, so pasta and scrambled eggs are making repeat performances on the dinner menu...and then one

day last weekend all I had to eat all day long were two Snickers ice cream bars -- so uninspiring (but so delish!)...and I am starting to muse daily about my plans for the Back to School onslaught...just about a month away...could I really be wishing for Fall already? Yike! Nope...I need Cher to whack me in the face right away ("Snap out of it!") so I can savor these next weeks. Enjoying and embracing and welcoming the last few moments of quasi-freedom... No more spending these sunny days and extended hours lolling and slugging about in slo-mo...

So...I am going away. Taking my kids and we are leaving, heading out for fulltime ocean air and salty sandiness...

You know...I am not great at goodbyes...I want so much for them to never come, for the

moments together to never end... Last week on Facebook I was reminded of the Irish Goodbye, which, for those of you who cannot remember or don't want to admit to the existence

of, the Irish Goodbye...it is that elusive "slip-out"...and its flawless execution is a talent the Irish possess like no other. And we all have friends and ex-boyfriends and college buddies who are pros at applying this tactic (Samantha...??)... You know, you are all out, enjoying a fun night, a few cocktails... and suddenly you turn around and said friend or ex-boyfriend or college buddy is gone, nowhere to be found and they never said a word before making their exit...and then everyone spends the next half hour trying to find the missing party...calling, texting...and then eventually it becomes clear...you have just been treated to an Irish Goodbye.

We've all been there, all perplexed and a little miffed until the next

morning when your friend or ex-boyfriend or college buddy explains

where he or she ended up the night before...and of course you tell them that you were worried...but they will do it again...they always do, right? I am proud of my Celtic heritage...but doesn't it seem the Irish are always sharing with us the most questionable of their cultural offerings...Lamb stew, Colin Farrell and the Irish Goodbye -- the g*ddamn holy trinity of Irish crap! That said, pass me a Black & Tan, a wheel of Gubbeen Farmhouse cheese and an Alec Baldwin SNL retrospective, and I am yours...I know, Alec is a stretch...more Killarney via Commack...but at some point those Baldwins were an Irish import of some sort...So, anyway, who knew this little process had a name? I certainly never did until I saw that Lyncher and Murph had become "Fans" of the Irish Goodbye on Facebook. And I visited the page and the group's mission to make this tactic an "acceptable social act" just totally cracked me up...and their little description just summed it up:

"Because everyone knows that bailing without saying bye is the way to do it...."

Hilarious for sure...and I thought for a second that I would try it...that I would go off with my kids and disappear and no one would be the wiser until my email all of a sudden didn't end up in your inbox three weeks in a row. I thought maybe this brand of goodbye would be less painful, less rife with complications...I mean, there has to be a reason men

have been using a form of the Irish Goodbye as a breakup strategy for generations (even Rob, possibly the most considerate guy on the planet, has used it...). But then I remembered how much I hate leaving things all open-ended and ambiguous and confusing...and I didn't want to

pull that move for the first time on all of you, in this forum...I wanted you to know that I am not

gone for good.

So.... kisses and love and hugs and all of that... I promise to come home all salty and

delicious...tanned within an inch of chocolate

brown...hair all scraggly...well-read and rested and uncoiled and chilled out...filled with new musings to share...and busting with joy that I had all that time by the sea with my sweet little darlings.

Malaise, be gone!

Hope you miss me back...

xo, S

Photo 1: Beautiful summer sky...as seen from my actual view for the next few weeks...

Photo 2: Me and Tim, toasty brown and glossy...tanning competition only just beginning...

Photo 3: Walking STD and Irish import, Colin Farrell...totally getting caught in the middle of an Irish Goodbye....

Photos 4: Bonding time: perfect moments and more to come with my travel companions...

Save Me From This Road I'm On...

At the end of last week I had to make an unexpected

trip to Boston on some personal business...and though it was a serious occasion, I realized it is quite possibly going to be my only trip to New England this summer...which is rare, because we always hit the Cape for a visit with the Olsen 5, or an extended pool party playdate with all the kids at Jeanne and Bob's in Marblehead, and there's our week in Nantucket. But I looked forward to seeing my friends, regardless of why we would be coming together. And, though there was no question I would make the trip, it was a little tough to go...the night before I headed out, some of my girlfriends came over for impromptu cocktails and snacks, just a mid-summer gab session...and Will's birthday was approaching, and his anxiety was high due to my impending departure, he wanted desperately to join me on my jaunt, not fully understanding that it was an adults-only visit...and he was begging me to stay, to not miss his birthday that Saturday...of course not!, I told him...never. He wouldn't leave my side, sitting there with me and the ladies, bottles of wine being emptied one after the other, noshing on crabcakes and supreme brie on baguette and Greek "dakos"and Texas Sheet Cake and listening to Mary's hysterical Jersey Shore/Ashley DuPre stories while we all guffawed endlessly...."Mommy, what's a call girl?...What's a massive payoff?...." he asked me later.... Mother of the Year!!

At any rate...with only 5 hours of rest and a slight triple-creme cheese and red wine hangover, I hopped in the little blue Jag on Thursday morning and headed across the

Tappan Zee Bridge and I-287 to 95, taking the coastal route north so that I could swing by the beloved alma mater for a little "meeting" (read: bullsh*t session) with my Boston BFF/Class of '81 bestie,

the famous TL. I had packed a plate of lemon bars that Suse had made for our Wednesday night girl-fest to present TL, and just before I pulled onto campus, I grabbed two iced lattes at the Easton, MA Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru (my standard "hostess" gift when visiting a friend at work, midday iced coffee -- always a big fat, refreshing hit...). So we sat in TL's office in the historically landmark-ish Stonehill "Big House," upon whose steps much naughty collegiate behavior always ensues...even after graduation. And we caught up on all the chit chat and happenings and developments in the weeks since we had last shared a drink back in June in New York City, our other '81 bestie alongside us...though those were definitely not lattes we were pounding that night... And we sat together for an hour and a half, our lattes perched upon his fancy Stonehill College coasters...in the middle of a work day...the day before he left for a long weekend and in between meetings...and I thought to myself: there is nothing I love more than a friend whose busy day does not interfere with my slacking off...I can always count on TL for that. So, the weekend started out well...

I spent the next 24 hours with Jeanne and Bob, who

hosted me overnight and treated me to a fantastic dinner, lots of catching up and sorting out...and I saw some great old friends, the Orleans House Girls...the kind of friends with whom you always feel familiar, to whom you will always be bonded... But, it was an emotional day and a half, and I was ready to go home that Friday afternoon...ready to get back to my life...so I didn't even change out of my serious clothes, I just hopped in and drove out of Jeanne and Bob's driveway in the pouring, driving rain at 12:50 p.m....I plugged "Go Home" into my Garmin GPS and it predicted my arrival in Wyckoff to be 5:00 that evening. The roads were a little tight -- a Friday afternoon in the summer -- but I circumnavigated my way around Town to the Mass Pike. It started as a typical roadtrip with my bottle of water by my side and the 5-CD shuffle going, playing a mixed bag of classics and filling the Jag with Roy Orbison: "One look from you, I drift away..." and Tracy Chapman: "And your

arms felt nice wrapped round my shoulder/And I had a feeling that I belonged..." and CSN: "This does not mean I don't love you/I do, that's forever/And for always..." and of course a little Backstreet Boys...we don't need a reminder of their a**-kicking lyrics to set the mood, though, do we??? Of course we do!..."So many words for the broken heart/It's hard to see in a crimson love..." Yeah, I am unsure of exactly what that means...but it is heartbreaking sappy saccharine gold, no?

So anyway...I was there, singing along at the top of my lungs, and all was going smoothly...I was catching up on phone calls...checking in with Dana on the planned sleepover for our girls that night at my house....and I chatted with Gwen, giving her the low-down on my visit to Boston...and I even caught up with RJP, who is off at Notre Dame this summer working on his Masters. And traffic was crawling a little, lots of volume, like there was a Barry Manilow concert somewhere in the area or something...but eventually I made it to Connecticut, the Constitution State...

And that, my dear friends and beloveds, is where all hell broke the f$#@ loose...

It happened as I traveled on Route 91, heading towards the Merritt Parkway and the promised land of NYC-metro...my GPS had already added an extra hour onto my estimated arrival time due to all that traffic, now predicting 6:06 p.m. But all of a sudden it was Arma-f$%&ing-geddon...the sky was black...ink black...as if it were the middle of the night...it was somewhere around 3:45. And there was so much rain...this abrupt, heavy burst, like someone was standing on the roof of the little blue Jag pelting it with rocks....and I was cringeing and ducking at the sound, as if the raindrops were hard enough to penetrate the roof and knock me out, bloody me and make me spin out, splashing across the highway. And, even so...even as this is happening, there I was, steering my car onto the Merritt...that twisty little two-laned country road/state highway, cut through the woods of Connecticut like a narrow path to the Big City....and I knew that it was a mistake...I had this dread feeling...but I did it anyway.

Almost immediately the sky darkened further...and the rain intensified...and I turned off the music so I could concentrate, lowering my speed to 40 mph and sitting on the edge of the driver's seat, white-knuckling it...truly shaking with a deep fear....because....I could see nothing out my windshield...nothing, as if I were under water or in a white-out blizzard or that same someone who was pelting my roof with rocks a few miles back was now standing up there

drenching my windshield with a power hose. As I crawled along the road, I saw other vehicles pulling over with their hazards flashing, but I was too scared to stop, afraid I would be hit if I parked on the shoulder...too confused and wanting to get home. So even though I could not see a thing, I kept going... Finally I thought to put on WCBS 880 for info and, god help me, there were alerts and bells ringing and earnest weather reporters telling me this:

A string of strong thunderstorms are blanketing the area, the most deadly and destructive of which are currently traveling across Connecticut, moving up Fairfield County to New Haven County...heavy rains, dangerous lightening, 70 mph winds expected and a tornado warning is in effect.

Now...I don't know if I have ever mentioned that I have a rather pronounced phobia of being caught in a tornado...I have been known to run frantically from the beach or the playground or my backyard, dragging my kids by the wrist, if I see the wind blow the leaves inside out....Perhaps it was brought on by an early viewing of Wizard of Oz...or maybe I died in a twister in a former life...am not sure... Whatever the cause...twisters have been starring in my nightmares since I was a child (vampires too, by the way...thank god the weatherman didn't mention any of those in his report....). So anyway...I think you can forgive me for my reaction to the realization that a tornado was quite possibly on its way, and I was most certainly driving right into the center of the bullseye....

Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the saints...I am f&%$ed!!!

And then I saw the cloud to ground lightening bolts all angry and reckless strike the road in front of me...and a crash of thunder so damn loud it made me think I had been rear-ended. I winced and then I started to bawl like a baby...with all my heart pouring out and my kids faces flashing before me. And out came those

prayers I say during take-off every single time I am on a plane...Please Jesus, watch over me....please.... Still shaking I took notice of the giant branches arching over me, so threatening as I pass under in this little blue Jag...I was certain I was going to be crushed by one of them...so I chastised myself -- why the hell did I leave the Volvo home? That tank would keep me safe, I thought... I am telling you, it felt like somehow I got caught in the movie Poltergeist (WHAT'S HAPPENING????????)...some pissed off evil force taking hold...the trees and the ground and the entire world surrounding me trying to suck me up and eat me alive. And I know I am prone to drama and all, but I am not exaggerating in the least...

I was really frightened...this was no bullsh*t. I thought I might

die...whether it was irrational or not, who can say...either way, I believed it. And in my fear I thought back to the last few days...how I got to spend time with my old friends and people I love...how I had scarfed that extra delicious supreme brie and laughed my a** off with the girls...and shared a latte with TL...and most of all, how I had written that post about Will last week, and I thought it would be fitting should I not make it home...my son would know that I loved him so very much and all of you would remember me that way. But I didn't want to miss out on his birthday...it was the next day, and I had promised him that I would never miss it...never. I wanted so much to keep that promise. But for the first time ever in my life, I was truly unsure that I would be able to keep my promises to my kids.

And I know promises are kind of BS...you know, we never can say for sure that we can keep them anyway, right? Because things change...people and feelings change...love changes....and so does life.

But then, the mayhem ended...a few miles down, the rain

seemed to lighten slightly...and the highway all of a sudden was in a dead stand still. And there I sat...WCBS not explaining what the hold up was until I was there, sitting on the Merritt for 45 minutes, terrorized and terrified that the storm would find its fury again (of course, I was thinking of all of you...and grabbed my camera so I could document the rest of this trip...kind of like a blogger Blair Witch Project...). Soon I learned that only two exits hence, two trees had uprooted in the storm and fallen across the parkway...and the road was now closed in both directions. Well...at least I was not trapped underneath one of those trees, so that was a minor victory... So inch-by-inch down the Merritt, I was re-routed and diverted and stuck in some Connecticut town called Orange...and my GPS had added another hour to my estimated arrival time. And I called Rob and he told me not to worry, that he was with our children and if I needed to go stay in a hotel and sleep and chill out and come home in the morning, that they would understand. But I wanted to see the kids...I wanted to wake up with Will on his sixth birthday. So even though the rain was still driving and p*ssing down on me...I grabbed that GPS, plugged an alternate route into the "Where To?" function and ended up on Route 95 South...that same coastal route that took me to New England in the first place.

And I was jittery and weepy most of the way, but I made it

to New York...and as I crossed the border it was like the end of the Poltergeist movie, when they have little Carol Ann back and all is calm and lovely even though she is covered in that plasma grossness...and the TV and the pool and the tree and the rain and that freaky clown are no longer terrorizing them, trying to swallow them up whole. Instead, as I merged onto Route 287 there was this break in the clouds and this brilliant yellow sun was streaming through those clouds...like, forgive me for being such a complete cheeseball and over the

top, but it was like God and my angels and everyone who has ever loved me was sending me their good vibes...welcoming me back to the safe serene little fold. For the first time in hours, I knew for certain I would make it home.

A sigh of relief....I hit the FM button on the radio, I wanted no more of that WCBS scare tactic radio...and I was greeted by Friday Night '80's on 103.9 WFAS (Westchester's Best Music Variety!). And it was like the perfect medicine...with a succession of amazing '80's guilty pleasures coming over the airwaves my mood lifted and I began to sing again...for the first time since I had crossed the state line from Massachusetts to Connecticut. First it was Survivor with High On You...("Such complete intoxication, I'm high on you!")...and then we got the Phil Collins break-up classic, Against All Odds, which almost had me crying again...followed by another break-up classic, Journey with Separate Ways ...and who doesn't love a little Power Station with Some Like It Hot...(Feel the heat!)...and then Tina Turner telling some SOB off with Better Be Good to Me...("Cause I don't have the time for your overloaded lines...")...but, the tune that brought me back from the depths, the ultra-cheesy and lame Make Me Lose Control by puffy hair-sprayed '80's relic Eric Carmen...("When I look in your eyes, I go crazy/Fever's high with the lights down low..."). I think back to '88, possibly the last time I heard that song, when this sappy and fakely-retro tune made me think of my high school beau...how god-awful and stupid the song was...but hearing it made my g*ddamn night. It felt so good...

I arrived home at 8:15 p.m....a full 7 hours and 25 minutes after I pulled out of Jeanne and Bob's driveway, 3 hours and 15 minutes behind schedule. I had not stepped out of the car in all that time...and I was kind of a mess, makeup streaked, hair all askew, dark circles under my eyes and frazzled nerves...still wearing my black dress from that morning. And I praised Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the saints...and I threw in Buddha and Vishnu and my angels and guides and loved ones...whoever it was that brought me back here... I busted in that door and the kids were sitting around the kitchen table, hysterically laughing and making birthday cards for Will. And they ran to me and we hugged and I had Rob take a picture...and they had no idea how draining my day had been, that I wasn't sure I would make it back...so they had no idea how much their hugs and juicy kisses meant at this point...and even though seconds later they were back at the table teasing one another and laughing, ignoring me completely....it was amazing and fun and delicious....the best greeting ever....

The next morning was Will's birthday...I made these scrumptious and gooey chocolate chip pancakes with sticky maple-glazed bacon and he opened his gifts...and in his excitement and thanks he told me again and again in his innocent words of wisdom the same thing I always mean to say with all my heart...because I appreciate what you all mean to me...and that you are the kind of friends who don't let your busy day interfere with my slacking off...so I don't want to waste anymore time...

I love you eight-thousand, nine hundred, infinity and a google....

xoxo...S

PS Always in my heart, Heidi....

Photo 1: The beautiful Boston skyline...beautifully shot by Heidi M., formerly of Orleans House...her first born driving the fourth sailboat from the left.

Photo 2 & 3: Some of the damage done by we lovely and demure ladies of Wyckoff ...I put that entire cheese plate down singlehandedly...

Photo 4: Speaking of lovely and demure...Ashley Dupre -- a model of Jersey elegance!

Photo 5: The Big House...TL's office top right...

Photo 6: Martha Stewart couldn't even create a more pleasing hostess gift than the delicious D&D's iced latte...

Photo 7: Jeanne and me, back in '92...forever bonded...Haven't changed a bit, have we?

Photo 8: Roy Orbison, roadtripper's BFF...

Photo 9 & 10: Not actual, but pretty spot on depictions of the scene outside my car...

Photo 11: Carol Ann desperately anchored to that cheap bedroom set...Stay away from the light!

Photo 12: Ellie, Will and Tim...celebrating Will's second birthday on LBI...never want to miss it...

Photo 13 & 14: Actual shots out my windshield as I drive on and divert from the Merritt Parkway...my faithful Garmin GPS by my side...

Photo 15 & 16: Actual shots...going towards the light as I hit New York...praise Jesus!

Photo 17: Hot '80's b*tch, Eric Carmen...I defy any one of you Jersey Girls to recreate that kind of height...

Photo 18: Actual shot of my reunion with my babies...took me only 7 hours and 25 minutes to find my bliss. And no, that is not a white bra with a black dress...please! Just rocking the Bermuda tan, baby...that's all...