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...

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

Me and Sarah, Duchess of York, January, 2004

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So We'll Swim Upstream...

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

And now... the update....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

xoxo, Suz

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then I passed out....

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

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

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

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

My thoughts exactly.

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

Photos:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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