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...

My Baby...Love Your Way...

August approaches...wow...summer seems to be flying by, no? It makes me a little anxious, I must admit...like I need to capture every moment, every feeling, every sight and sound and taste and smell and bottle them up...You know, like the way the sun reflects off the pool in little bobbing, wavy streaks...and that splash you hear when one of the kids jumps in the water...and there's the endless floating and the hot sand under your feet...and your neighbor's charcoal grill, all smoky and festive, you just know there is a juicy T-bone sizzling up over there and it is calling your name...which reminds me that there is the al fresco dining, breakfast, lunch and dinner...and the farm fresh tomatoes and basil and sweet corn and nectarines and watermelon...and the lights on the ferris wheel lighting the night...soft serve ice cream and fudge and zeppoles on the boardwalk (I am in NJ, after all...)...and then at night those crickets and tree frogs setting the scene with their background buzz. I know...summer isn't all rainbows and unicorns...there are those massive thunderstorms, so furious they are almost biblical, and in an instant they can put an end to a perfectly good backyard bash....and waiting on those steamy (Congo hot, even) subway platforms...how you are all sweaty and flushed and frizzy by the time you hit the office...and of course there are rip-tides and shark attacks and capsized boats...but those are few and far between, no? And don't those minor threats pale in comparison to the way the salt sticks to your skin and hair after a day spent in the ocean air...how it covers your whole being and you feel endlessly warm and summery...and then, you take that post beach shower...and you're all pink and glowing and tingly, damp-haired, dressed in your little terrycloth cover-up, kicking back on the deck in the breeze, a sunset cocktail in hand. Delicious, right?

But there is another reason that I love summer...in fact, the month of August marks the anniversary of one of the greatest moments in my life...

My jealous and possessive youngest child was born to me six years ago this week...and he was and has been different in almost every way from my first two...from the beginning. Ellie and Tim were these planned out beings, from the moment I considered having them...I timed it and figured on their due dates and the amount of spread between them and what their names would be. And news of their impending births brought such joy and excitment...the first new babies in my family in years. And then, they were both born, as you may remember, under incredibly unique circumstances (Y2K) and in the immediate wake of astounding, earth-shattering events (September, 2001). So I suppose that should have proven to me that you never know...you cannot plan anything or know what is coming around the bend. But when I learned that I was pregnant with my third, I was bowled over, in disbelief...as if I didn't know how it happened. And so, I retreated. Now you know me, I am an extrovert...always ready for fun and family and celebration...but instead, this time, I was, for some reason, reluctant to share the news with my parents and siblings and friends...so I kept a teary distance. And forget about work...what would they think of me...this baby machine, three babies in less than four years. The joy that I had encountered the first two times was buried somewhere within me...I couldn't rouse it...and I carried on as such for the first 16 weeks of my pregnancy. I know, looking back, I can't believe it either. Eventually the feeling lifted, and soon I looked forward to meeting this baby...and I was excited and happy and bonding...

So flash forward a few months.... the kid was 10 days late...a monster from the get-go. When I finally did go into labor, it was so unlike the last two times in which I was writhing and yelping and whining...this time it was all going incredibly smoothly and perfectly and all seemed right. And then the doctor came in, we were ready to birth...and suddenly, in a succession of increasingly frantic and coded interplay between she and the nurse, she jumped on top of me...straddling me on the gurney, her hand pressed up

against me, holding the baby in, yelling to everyone "go! go! go!"...and they wheeled me across the hall into an OR and told me that I was having an emergency C-section... The nurses were all nervous energy, prepping me and I could hear the doctor saying "hurry up! hurry up!"... Then I saw the anesthesiologist run in, grab my hand and plug a needle into my wrist...I watched as this grey-black liquid flowed through the tube...and that is the last thing I remember....

I woke to the doctor calling my name: "Suzanne, Suzanne...you have a son..." They told me that the baby had been cut off from my blood supply, his chord having slipped out too soon, ahead of him...and that it was a very serious, life-threatening situation, that we were blessed and lucky that he had survived. They wheeled me in to see him, held by his father, all swaddled and pink and teeny tiny, like a baby doll with his little blue cap...and he was looking right at me, eyes wide open, face to face...and from that moment on, he held my heart completely. How could I have ever doubted that he was meant to be?

So here is the part where I become all profuse and besotted...don't say I didn't warn you...

William Frederick Rittereiser Anderson...named for my beloved Gramps, the only other person on earth who could be such a g**damn ballbuster and still have me falling at his feet...my favorite quality in a guy. My only summer baby, a Leo, the Lion, the King...and boy, does he personify that distinction. Will is sarcastic and aggressive and relentlessly mischievous....he had become a pro at the fine art of the "time-out" before his brother, Tim, 23 months older, had ever even had one...in fact, as it stands today, Tim has yet to misbehave quite enough to warrant a "time-out." Will is extra protective and possessive...the only one of my children to climb into my lap if I held another child, elbowing the interloper out of the way, ensuring he, and he alone, stands between me and the rest of the world... And, of course, my other two have learned to reluctantly defer to him...to know that he will always fight the hardest.

But Will is excessively loyal...not to mention fearless, gregarious and totally hilarious...enough personality for 10 men. He is also loving and sensitive -- always certain to be the very last to kiss and hug me as I walk out the door, unabashedly yelling "I love you" to all of us...and ending each night by saying: "Mommy, I love you eight thousand, nine hundred, infinity and a google..." Be still my heart. He is an architecture and carpentry junkie, insisting that one day he will build me a mansion with his own two hands...he loves the City and its buildings...always wondering how long before he can take part in the planning and construction of one...his very own skyscraper. And we bond quite readily through our shared love for food and his willingness to try...to be adventurous and eat escargots at every meal if he could.

But most of all, Will loves to interact and ask questions...constant questions about truly intelligent pursuits and theories and concepts and philosphies -- life and death...humanity...love....afterlife. One time, I heard him tell Tim, matter-of-factly, that when you die, you are born again as someone else. And Tim goes: "Really? is that true?" and Will was like: "well, yeah, duh..." I have no idea how he knew.

When Will was about three it became clear that he was a leftie...something that caused him embarrassment as he grew, sensitive to being different than Ellie and Tim. Over and over I told him that lefties are special...that they grow to be successful and dynamic and charming and respected leaders...our last three presidents are all lefties, I told him. He would tell me that he was a righty...that I had it all wrong.

Then one evening we saw a promo for a National Geographic Special called: In The Womb: Multiples. I know now that this show was an installment of a series about the gestation and birth process of many species...dogs, whales, human...this one would cover the phenomena of multiple births. And Will was entranced...he said: "Mommy, we have to watch that show..." And, you know, I am not a science geek or anything...but I went with it. We snuggled up on my bed that next night and learned all about the biology and process and mechanics and all that....and then, about halfway through the show the narrator begins to touch on the concept of the "vanishing twin." And they go on to explain that with the development of ultrasound technology, scientists have learned that many pregnancies, as many as one in eight, begin, naturally, as a set of twins...and that at some point early on, one of the twins disappears, absorbing back into the mother, or becoming a part of the remaining twin. And most times the mother never knows that this happened...that she was carrying two...but in fact, her baby is a mirror image of another. And then....

...the narrator shared the widely-held theory that left-handed people are the surviving siblings of a vanishing twin. I was speechless...and for the first time ever, so was Will...

I tuned out right then...I didn't need any further proof -- I was buying this theory without question. It all seemed right to me...you know, it just made sense. And the more I thought about it, the more I felt that it explained everything about my life with Will.... The pregnancy was undoubtedly a strange one...could there actually have been two babies? Could he have been sharing that space for a while, even just for a few weeks? But what was really making me pause and wonder and believe, was simply who Will is...this little thing with this oversized personality. Could it be that he had absorbed his twin, thus bringing with him a double dose of the qualities that make him such a force -- an extra share of emotion and inquisitiveness and loyalty and conviction and possessiveness. And then there was the introspection...and his undeniable connection with and curiosity about his spiritual side...maybe he felt the presence of his vanishing twin...maybe just a bit.

Frankly...I have no doubt...

So, as I said, this weekend marks the six birthday of my true love and greatest fan...together we

will splash in the waves....hit the boardwalk for some zeppoles...and we'll ride the ferris wheel, even though I am petrified of them...and we'll listen to the crickets and tree frogs as the salt air bathes our summery skin...I will give him a Lego building set, preparing him for the future...and we'll eat escargots...And, of course, he will blow out the candles on the chocolate cake with vanilla icing and colored sprinkles that I make for him every year...And he will grow another year older and he will grow wiser and ask more questions and try new things and ponder the mysteries of life...and as he always has been, he will continue to be double the fun...

Much love to all my Babies...

xoxo...Suz

Photos 1 & 2: Summer fun...in many forms...

Photos 3 through 12: Various moments with my sweet little darling...

PS Ok, Ok, Ok...next time...I promise, lots of naughtiness and debauchery...have to counteract all this family friendly stuff...

PPS Happy Birthday, to you too, Cath....our Lioness...finally 29!

It's Sleeping In My Memory....

Many happenings since last week...summer cocktails and backyard parties and girls' book clubs and gourmet dinners. So much to tell...fun and festivity and drama. I mean, come on, it's always a blast when summer cocktails commence with the Nigerian parking attendant on 29th Street giving me a lollipop in an attempt to cheer me up as I drive away...the lollipop did little, but the gesture was certainly lovely....ahhh, good times. Friday and Asian night with the gourmet ladies lifted my spirits exponentially...ADP sporting a silk kimono and chopsticks in her hair...I made spare ribs but it was Suse's lettuce wraps, and that noodley-peanutty thing Tracy cracked out, that I was all over. Oh, and don't let me forget the fortune cookies...we each read ours out loud and then added the line "in bed" at the end...remember that game from back in the 'tween years? Back when you knew "in bed" was naughty and had some connotation relating to sex and making out and all that, yet you still had no clue. Well, we were a little tipsy-ish on sake so we found this retro pastime hysterical....some choice selections:

"You are sociable and entertaining....(in bed)"

"You will be fortunate in everything you put your hands to...(in bed)"

"You will always get what you want through your charm and personality...(in bed)"

Of course, we can all agree that each of those apply to me...but my actual fortune said:

"The man who fools himself is the greatest fool of all."

Ha! Can't say that little gem didn't seem to apply quite readily to my life...in or out of bed. In fact, I am pretty sure the Nigerian parking attendant mumbled that very same sentiment as he offered me that consolation lollipop....well, I couldn't understand him, but it was something like that. Ok, ok, ok...I know some factory out in Flushing is pumping out those little "fortunes" en masse...but you know me, the dreamy Pisces, all about psychic communication, reading into everything, trying to decipher meaning...maybe that little message was meant just for me...a gentle reminder from my angels...you know, via Confucius.

So after that, on Saturday we had Gwen and Joe's backyard BBQ bash....we arrived at 3, ate, drank, were merry around the vintage beer-filled tub and Scott's famous corn-hole game and beer pong and the 80's hair band tunes and the fire pit. We returned home at 11:30...surprisingly I ingested only half of one margarita, one of Tim and Mike's classic and perfect mojitos, some sickenly sweet Mike's Hard Berry crap and one Corona Light in 8 hours...pacing myself...how novel. Best of all -- no hangover on Sunday. Nice! So since I was headache-less that Sunday afternoon, we were back to Gwen and Joe's for some next day leftover feasting and party download in the yard. Brian and Sam with us too, all of the kids running around, catching fireflies, putting flowers in their hair, piling onto the hammock, playing

Wiffle Ball and some make-believe game they called "Teenager"...hmmm...yeah, don't think I want to know the rules of that game. So I said to Brian as we loaded up our plates with the pulled pork and brisket and all that: "These are the times I remember when

I look back to being a kid...these summer nights running around a neighbor's yard, the parents enjoying a cocktail...these are the memories I love the most from back then. So glad I can give that to my kids too..." And he totally agreed.

Not even 24 hours later, Ellie and I packed a bag full of red wine, cheese and crackers, lobster salad and peanut butter chocolate chunk cookies and headed into the City for a showing of Harold & Maude at the outdoor film series at Bryant Park. There we would meet my gay boyfriends/big brothers/elegant hosts/style icons, Tom and David, and a selection of their ultra-fab posse (including their friend, Matthew, who is my favorite because of the story he told us once about the night Princess Diana died when he was at a boring dinner party on Fire Island and, unknown to the other guests, had climbed out the bathroom window to visit Tom and David a few houses down just for a laugh...and they broke the sad news to him...so he ran back to the dinner party house, climbed back in the window, came back out of the bathroom and informed the dinner guests of the earth-shattering drama unfolding in Paris, thus ruining the party completely and never fully explaining how he had learned of the news while locked in the john....Love that!). So anyway, I know, bringing a nine year old to a decidely adult cultural event seems a little askew...when I told her she would be the only child in our group, she rolled her eyes and said: "well of course, Mom...gay guys don't have kids..." Hilarious! But anyway, we are talking about making memories here, and ever since the Jo Bros concert last week, Ellie has been my undisputed BFF and first-choice date...my little confidante too. So you know...I adore my Mom and Dad, but when I was nine, I was virtually taking care of myself, so Ellie seems old to me....certainly old enough to be introduced to the "outdoor series" concept, no?

So at any rate, back to memories...Ellie had always wanted to attend the Bryant Park film series because she knows that her father and I were engaged there during a showing of the great Audrey Hepburn/Humphrey Bogart film, Sabrina (delicate sparrow Sabrina, a servant girl in a Gold Coast estate who visits Paris and returns a Franco-phile fashionista and foodie...in a set of twists and turns, she falls deeply in love with the serious and tense but secretly soft-hearted older businessman who grew up on and whose family still inhabits the estate...and her vivacious spirit transforms his life...a little heartbreak, I feel a pinch now just recalling, but it is worth every tear...run out and rent it immediately....). And that memory lingers as we enter Bryant Park, my firstborn and I navigate the blankets and people and cheese trays and wine bottles crammed onto the lawn...we find our party and settle in and pour some wine and chit chat and greet the motley crew (Ellie's new best pals, Tom's darling niece, Annie, and her adorable, floppy-haired boyfriend...at 18, they are the next closest in age to Ellie...), the scent of premium herb filling the air. And suddenly, I am flashing back...and it's not a contact high...this is a total deja vu. I can't shake the memory of me and my sisters and little brother and my parents and their friends from Beverly Hills -- a surgeon and a novelist -- and their daughters...and we are crammed in on a field, sitting on blankets for hours on end, all day and night.......but this place is much bigger than Bryant Park...and it is much more crowded...and the event is a legendary moment in pop culture history....it is 1981, the event is Simon & Garfunkel, the concert in Central Park. And I was there.

I know!! How cool is that? My parents weren't hippies or anything, prone to caravaning around the tri-state, selling tie-dye shirts or some crap like that. It was just that Dad was always a big fan of S&G...the boys from Queens...and maybe he identified with their brand of urban poetry. When we were kids, after dinner and just before bedtime, Dad would settle in the family room, work spread all over the big game table and listen to the Bridge Over Troubled Water and Sounds of Silence albums on heavy rotation (the other top choice was The Beatles' Abbey Road...). So these are the songs that pepper my early childhood memories...I remember sitting there in those hideous 1970's orange velour chairs in our family room in the New York house, before we moved to Franklin Lakes, with my nightgown on, chatting with Dad while he tried to work, asking him what "I am a rock/I am an i-i-i-sland" meant...how could that guy be a rock? And that bridge and troubled water? I always pictured a man stretching himself across the river, like the GWB or something, which seemed so stupid...And how could silence have a sound? But that voice (what I now know is Art Garfunkel and his glorious gift) made it all the more intriguing and confusing and so beautiful.... So I suppose the symbolic prose of Paul Simon piqued my interest very early on in that orange chair...I wanted to understand the metaphor and, again, decipher the meaning (just like the fortune cookies...the philosophical genius that comes out of Queens is endless...) and

identify why the lyrics touched me even then. So maybe that is how I ended up a reader and writer and analyst of all things nebulous and eventual English major...and perhaps what landed me here.

So I remember, we all hopped the train together, met the extended posse and then snaked our way through the City early that morning (in my googling of the event I learned it took place on September 19, 1981 -- exactly 20 years later, to the day, I gave birth to my second child and first son, Tim...) and then entered the massive Great Lawn, staked out a spot, spreading our blankets all about. And it was tight, I remember, and we were on top of one another. And I am pretty certain that there was no cheese and wine, just #5 sandwiches from Grosso's if anything (though, I cannot confirm that...my mom probably forgot she had children with her and put us all on her survival diet for the day...). My sister, Trish, and I sat there together for hours and she regaled me with her teenage stories and we played games....and I remember the group in front of us passing a roach around and RJ loudly asking my parents: "Why is that cigarette so small?" over and over again. And I remember the show too...I remember that I couldn't see a thing, not at all....just a far away stage with two little human-shaped dots on it...but I could hear everything. Simon kind of reserved and monotone...Garfunkel all psyched to be there (well, did he have much else to do then???), keeping the crowd happy and riled up. And I remember that they did not sing Cecilia and my sisters were bumming, calling out the song's name just prior to encore...as if S&G would hear us from 20 blocks south...Mostly I remember being there and feeling so grown up...and that after the concert, years later, whenever I told someone that I had been there, camping out all day at age 11 to see living legends, they were so totally impressed.

Ok, so a screening of Harold & Maude doesn't exactly compare...but the vibe was the same...you know, we were with fun friends, all jammed in and the group of twenty-somethings in front of us were passing joints back and forth (Ellie was oblivious to that, but she was impressed with their hippie couture fashions...one of them sporting a $250 head scarf...) and the crowd was festive and excited. But truly, the very best part of being there with Ellie was laying on that blanket, looking up at the buildings surrounding us, their windows lit up and making patterns across the sky. That sky...Ellie kept saying: "Mom, look at the purple sky..." And she was asking me all kinds of questions while we ignored the film...talking about how lucky we are to live here, to be able to be in this City whenever we want and see and do all kinds of fun things here...even if it was just to lay on the grass and look up.

And we were making memories...

So on the way home, she in the backseat of the little blue Jag, finishing up the Mr. Softee chocolate dipped soft serve cone that we bought on the way out of Bryant Park, she says: "Mom, where did this fortune cookie come from?" And after she explains finding it on the floor in front of her, I tell her about Asian night and the gourmet ladies...I had forgotten that I had grabbed extras to bring home for Tim, who loves to eat fortune cookies and whose taste in cookies, obviously, is lacking. So anyway, Ellie asks if she can open it...and she reads it to me and even though I was silently adding the words "in bed" to the end and giggling, the fortune could not have been more perfect...simple and easy to decipher, not shrouded in mystery...no rock or island here...just another nudge from the angels who never, ever misguide me...again, via Confucius:

"Treasure what you have."

Photo 1: Marisa and Suzy Fong kicking off the MSG-fueled festivities...

Photo 2: Suzy Fong trying to seduce me with some extra sake and peanutty noodles...

Photo 3: Confucius say: You gourmet b*tches certainly love to eat...in bed...

Photo 4: Tub 'o suds...heat that up and I'll jump right in....

Photo 5: Our cherubs, playing "Teenager" and making memories...

Photo 6: Ellie and me enjoying togetherness among the Bryant Park throngs...actually, that's when we were fighting over the lobster salad...

Photo 7: Me and David...planning an attack on an adjacent strip of grass...

Photo 8: Hepburn, Bogart in Sabrina...difficult, torturous, beautiful love, as it always is...ouch, my heart is pinching again...

Photo 9: Tom and the 18 year olds...gorgeous and fabulous against the City backdrop...

Photo 10: Boys from Queens, that night in '81....

Photo 11: At the Concert in Central Park...I think those guys were sitting right by us...well that bald guy was definitely there...

Photo 12: Me and Ellie, cozy and blanketed...looking up at that purple sky...

Photo 13: One of my most prized treasures...I mean Ellie, not the ice cream...

Hold On To That Feelin'...

So I hit my first summer concert of '09 last night...that's

right, you know me, always up for a good time, a little tailgating, a couple-a bong hits (kidding! I promise, Dad!...), buying a few counterfeit $17 t-shirts from stoners out of the back of a VW van and happily crushing among the throngs...

But none of that brand of fun was afoot, well, aside from the $17 t-shirt purchase (though it was legit and a steal at $40) and the throngs. No, no...this was no outdoor 80's hair band fest or seaside Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame act or Dead tribute group or even some big retro tour with REO Speedwagon and pseudo-Styx (No Dennis DeYoung, no Styx...) or bastardized-Journey (no Steve Perry, no "Open Arms," no "Separate Ways" and damn straight there is no genuine "Don't Stop Believin'" without him....told you, I am a traditionalist....). And it certainly wasn't a Super Star stadium act a la Bruce or Elton or Billy or that ultra-d*uche, Jon and the rest of his Bon Jovi's (if you knew the stories I had about him...)... No way, this was even more groundbreaking and revolutionary -- the Anderson girls' inaugural Mommy and Daughter Night at the Brendan Byrne (ok, IZOD) Arena....Ellie's first concert, a surprise to her until almost the very last minute. So, yeah, I'll admit it...Ellie and I rocked out all night long to everyone's favorite new act...rock gods and legendary talents (I kid...I hope you know that...), The Jonas Brothers. And though I do dig a boy band sap-fest every now and then (hello, Backstreet Boys...), the JoBrosare virtually unknown to me artistically....but we did go see them, and it was just a complete and total flashback.

My very first concert was in 1981, and I saw Styx on their Paradise Theatre tour (with Dennis DeYoung, of course...). We were seated in the Merrill Lynch sky box at Brendan Byrne Arena (pre-IZOD)...no bong hits or fist fights in there, just platters of fried chicken and the private bathroom. I was so excited, watching those little long-haired midgets (talking to you, Tommy Shaw) in their gold-lame jumpsuits and badly dyed scraggly hair (and you, James "JY" Young). And the entire night I sang along to their "rock" opera/theme album tunes and cut the rug by imitating the Danny and Sandy solo dance from the "National Bandstand" scene in Grease (no lie...). I had just turned 11. And Styx is cheesy and all, but we can all agree that they rule...and that when you hear the strains of "Lady" or "Babe" or (T-T-T-) "Too Much Time On My Hands," you get all tingly...we all do.

Eventually I grew and my taste in music improved, though I was ahead of the game with my big brother, Dan, who refused to let me age without an appreciation of the classics...so I had been schooled early in the virtues of The Stones and The Beatles and Queen and Lynrd Skynrd. And I think my musical palate has expanded to appreciate all music as art...well, most of the time. I will admit it, there were those times I met the Menudo guys (ok...I will pause now so that you can

pick yourself up off the floor and catch your breath...I know...it is hilarious and embarrassing....) at Radio City with Allison and Darts and the Donut...g*d only knows what promises and back door deals my Dad had to agree to to make that happen. And it wasn't just him, Darts' dad was pulling strings left and right too so we little suburban pixies could go a little ghetto....

Ok, so I wouldn't know a JoBros song if they personally wrote one for me specifically and then sung it at my wedding as I married one of them...but I do know that they are these big Disney stars and teen idols and on the cover of every Tiger Beat and Bop magazine across the land. I know that they each wear some ring that all the Christian kids are sporting these days, and it symbolizes abstinence until marriage...but, I am thinking, as little teen idols, lots of lovestruck teenaged girls at the ready, their definition of abstinence may fall within President Clinton's own special definition of what actually connotates sex...no? I mean, let's not be naive. So anyway, I also know that these Jonas

Brothers grew up in this very town, Wyckoff, NJ (as did infamous Franken-n*pple balloon-breasted train wreck Tara Reid and flirty American Idol/Tony nominee/cousin of Steve M., Constantine Maroulis, and also some reality star from I Love New York and Rock of Love Bus or whatever dreck VH-1 produces...I think his stage name is "Tailor Made"...so there must be some cheesy crooner/child star/scary alcoholic sl*t amoeba living in those damn Ridgewood Water tanks...gotta get me some of that...). At any rate...when I heard the pride of Wyckoff was appearing, I flashed back to my own childhood idols (The Monkees, Shaun Cassidy, Andy Gibb, The Bee Gees...and by default or osmosis,

David Cassidy, the once and current love of my two big sisters...) who so quickly dropped off the radar screen, became angry suffering "artists" and drug addicts, dead at 30 from cocaine-weakened hearts

and are Hollywood cautionary tales...or maybe that was just Andy Gibb (oh but no worries about the Bee Gees, they are still making beaucoup dollars, being revered, celebrated and inducted into the Hall of Fame...ok, so Maurice died unnecessarily, but evil geniuses Barry and Robin are holding up ok still...). And I thought, well, maybe I will let Ellie see the JoBros before their downward spiral happens to them...g*d forbid...before they are yesterday's news. I mean, there is something so

special about your first time, right...first concert, I mean...and in 11 years when Ellie is sitting at Brother Mike's (a mother can dream, no?) enjoying some frosty Bud Lite in a dixie cup, we all know the inevitable "What Was Your First Concert?" game will be played...and I am thus providing her with the most embarrassing answer of the night (although her father's answer of Night Ranger/.38 Special double bill at Caldwell College is right up there in the mortification department...but Rob happily owns it...). Either way, my position as a Mother of the Year is a lock...

Ok, so we started the night at Baumgarts for fancy Chinese food topped off by an enormous banana split (upon ordering I said to Ellie: "I will have a bite or two but I need to be able to fit into my clothes tomorrow...." And she goes: "Mom, you're not fat...you're getting old, but you're not fat..." Brat!! I scarfed at least half the thing, by the way...). And the ride down Route 17 was a little bit tight and sluggish with all kinds of traffic...but we kept passing cars on which there was all this scribble scrabble: "We love the Jonas Brothers" and "Nick rules!" (my father would have disowned me if I covered his Jag with that sh*t...)....and as I passed these vehicles, I'd play along and wave and honk at the teenyboppers and Ellie would lay down in the backseat and hide, dying of embarrassment. So of course the parking situation was an epic cluster$#@! and we were routed and re-routed through all this Giants Stadium construction through IZOD and back over to the Stadium...and then we crossed the 10 mile (well, maybe it was a little shorter) walkway back over to the Arena. And as we made our way through the doors, I happened to notice the trim blond woman in front of me holding the door open for her flock...and it was my sister-in-law, Rob's sister, Megan, and her girls, my nieces, Lily and Charlotte!! Fifteen-thousand teenyboppers and bored parents and I randomly end up walking in the joint behind a close family member...bizarre. That was basically the highlight of my night (aside from the banana split) because only moments later I was buying Ellie a $20 show program, which eventually got soaked and ruined under her seat...and then, after I seated her in our (quite excellent, I must say...) seats, I headed back out and stood on line so I could buy her that $40 t-shirt and a $10 glow stick. So we sat through the opening acts (surprise guest, Jordin Sparks among them...) and then the Jonas Brothers...Ellie jumped to her feet, yelping like she was watching the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. She stood on her seat and bounced away non-stop, singing along, though I could not decipher one lyric over the thunderous adolescent screaming. And it was a pretty decent show considering...I mean, they don't hold a candle to Steve Perry or anything. But it was fun...and I had fun. But....I did notice throughout the evening, Ellie growing more and more mortified that I was up and dancing and acting a fool, thinking that she would be proud of her "cool" mom (like that boozy and inappropriate "Mom" character by Amy Poehler in Mean Girls..."I'm not a regular mom, I'm a cool mom...")...When I asked the 14 year old next to me to shoot a picture of Ellie and I, Ellie almost f$#@ing died. So...it was a night of firsts for both of us...first concert for Ellie, and first time I realized that, as fun as I like to think I am, I am still an embarrassing, outdated, old-fashioned mom to her...well when among her teenybopper peers at least. It's a little surprising, though I knew this day would come...I mean, hell...this is the same kid I cannot peel off of me at night...the one who argues that Will always gets to sit next to me and it's not fair. But I should have known I was in for it back at Baumgart's when she told me I was getting old...ugh... So it was a realization...she's growing and the separation from Mommy is beginning...kind of sad. *sigh*....One major plus though...showing a little Rittereiser spirit within her, Ellie bored of the Jo Bros scene by 10:30 and insisted we ditch that joint mid-performance. I was overjoyed...we cruised out of that parking lot unhindered by another cluster$#@! traffic jam and were in bed in no time. I think this proves that I have trained her well... So...

Dinner: $70

Tickets: $300

Parking: $15

Official event program: $20

Official Jo Bros t-shirt: $40

Glow stick: $10

Getting home before midnight: Priceless....

No, no...wait...here it is:

Eating a banana split, embarrassing your 9 1/2 year old and giving her a memorable moment and a leg-up in future "What Was Your First Concert" games...now that is priceless...

And I know, have no doubt in fact, that she will look back and remember me as kind of a cool mom...and she will be proud that I let her do fun, grown-up things before she was old enough to truly appreciate...and since I do not know and cannot decipher these Jonas Brothers lyrics, I am thinking this line from my very first concert will be going through her head as she looks back on this night...

"Laaa-dy, when you're with me, I'm smiling...."

xoxo, Suz

PS Happy Birthday, Dad...the new "51"....we love you!

Photo 1: Rock God...ok, well, Pop God, MIA 80's icon, Steve Perry...am not buying tickets until the reunion tour...

Photo 2: Tommy Shaw is so standing on a box...

Photo 3: I had those moves down pat, baby!

Photo 4: Not Menudo...but what studs in their cool shades...the Pride of Wyckoff...

Photo 5: Franken-n*pple...I think she's secretly from Long Island...

Photo 6: I-I-I-I...I just want to be your everything...RIP AG

Photo 7: Embarrassed Ellie and "cool" Mom...as shot by nerdy 14 year old seatmate...

Photo 8: mmmm...luscious...who cares if my jeans are a little tighter today???

Photo 9: Vandalized Jo Bros tribute vehicles...screaming teenyboppers included....

Photo 10: On the concourse, Ellie in our random run-in with her cousins, Lily and Char-Char, of the Westchester Hurleys...

Photo 11: Gleeful little concert goer...forgetting her "coolness" for just a moment...

Photo 12: As we leave for the show....when she's with me I'm smiling...