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

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

"Have you

started training?"

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

"Training?"

She answered:

"Yes...for the Avon Walk!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go Jugheads!!

xoxo, Suz

Photos:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Nothing Left to Lose...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xoxo

Photos:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until September then...xoxo, S

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

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

Photos:

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

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

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

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

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

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

And When You Finally Fly Away...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I gained some perspective.

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

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

xoxo

Suz/Crystal Dawn

Photos:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photos:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Picking Up The Pieces...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photos:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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