...A Mom on Spin. .

In a Rut

2010-02-02T21:08:00.005-05:00

So are you prepared - dear reader - to imagine this scenario in the Spin household . . .

Veggie with a respectable full-time job. . . earning money?

Trigger on ADD meds. .. and (according to her latest report from college) a neat freak????

Ponzi out of funds because I've learned to lock my wallet up at night???

Veggie on the verge of purchasing her own car. . . with her own insurance policy. . . .so that it no longer matters if she cracks ours up????

Trigger staying out of the emergency room????

Ponzi completing the college application process without a hiccup. . .and already accepted at two universities?

Veggie easily passing her employer's drug testing???

Did I tell you that Trigger is on ADD meds?

Ponzi deciding not to go to a concert and selling her ticket for a profit????

Veggie's travel plans being confined to weekends. . . and limited to the Northeast corridor????

Trigger . . . Well, she's still away at school so she could be doing God-knows-what there. . . but the beauty of it is. . . God knows the bad things she's doing, while I'm still in the dark!!!!

Ponzi. . . Now would you believe it if I told you that she's . . . well . . . . less scheming????

I ask you. . . where have the good old days gone????

Truth be told. . . within the last week Veggie stayed out 'til 2:30 a.m.. . . Trigger overdrew her bank account once again. . . and Ponzi attempted to steal twenty bucks from me (twice). . . but still . . . I dare say we're closing in on boring here. . .

Yeah, Sometimes I Need a Big Old Slice. . .

2010-01-31T16:59:00.001-05:00

Don't you love it how we old ladies don't know how to text? said A Mom on Spin lightheartedly to another mother as she watched her painstakingly depressing the keys on her cell phone. . . never guessing that she was attempting to contact an individual on the run - accused of stealing $13,000 from A Mom on Spin's favorite hippie priest.

Today is my son's birthday she replied. I doubt if he still has the same cell phone with him, but I just wanted him to know that somebody still loves him. . .

And I thought I had it tough with the sticky boobs. . .

Come to Think of It. . . I Still Don't Know if She Was Peeing or Not

2010-01-26T19:42:00.009-05:00

So, I've never really told you this, but the real reason I didn't want Trigger to go away to college is that I somehow knew that one day I was destined to receive this panicked phone call, which came in at approximate 8:53 on Sunday morning. . . .

___________________

Me: Hello?

Trigger: Mom! I'm in the most pain I've ever been in in my life! Should I go to the emergency room?

Me: What's wrong?

Trigger: I told you yesterday! My throat is so sore it feels like it's swollen shut. . .my glands are HUGE and my neck's all swollen. . . I can't move it, you know. . . and I can't touch it. . . and I have the worst headache I've ever had in my life. . . and it's going down my spine now. . . and I've never been in so much pain in my entire life! Should I go to the emergency room or not?

Me (considering. . .) That much pain? More than the time you broke your right foot in that Irish Dancing competition?

Trigger: Yup!

Me: More than the time you broke your left foot playing basketball?

Trigger: More!

Me: And what about the two times I brought you to the emergency room with pleurisy? More than even those times?

Trigger: Way more!

Me: How about the appendicitis? It can't hurt more than the time you had your appendix out. . .

Trigger: Mom! That was Ponzi, not me!

Me: What?

Trigger: Mom! I didn't ask you anything. Talk to me!

Me: I'm trying! But your father wants to know if you have a fever. . .and if you were out at a frat party last night. . . oh, and are you peeing. . .

Trigger: Of course I wasn't out last night, Mom! I'm sick! And I don't even know if I have a fever 'cause I can't find my thermometer! And what business is it of his if I'm peeing or not?

_____________________

And if, by chance, you can't imagine a conversation worse than that one, I'm here to tell you that once Trigger was indeed in the emergency room (and I, in church mind you. . . ) our primary means of conversation then became texting:

Trigger: Am hooked up to an I.V. now and they're giving me lots of medicine.

Me: did u tell them u have lupus and did u give them you rheumatologist name (I have yet to master the art of punctuation and capital letters while texting. . .)

Trigger: Yeah, but they said I had to get hooked up right away.

Me: r u dehydrated u father was right i bet u werent peeing what medicine they giving

Trigger: I don't know!

Me: ask them then tell them that doctor milkmans number is two one two eight five three two two nine three (How does one text a number???)

Trigger: Some antibioitics, some painkillers, antinflammoatory (spelling has never really been Trigger's strong suit. . .) and something so I don't throw up.

Me: i think im going to throw up send it here

Trigger: Mom!

I could go on like this forever,
but know that if Trigger were not back
in her dorm room within two hours of these texts,
I would not be here reporting to you as an ever-faithful . . .

Dear Mr. President of Sticky Boobs, Inc.

2010-01-23T11:59:00.004-05:00

Dear Mr. (or perhaps Ms. - but a woman would have known better) President of Sticky Boobs, Inc.,

Despite the fact that there was no acknowledgement to my previous correspondence last January, I find that I am once-again at your mercy. . . begging you to take some action on my behalf. And, yes, the reason for my correspondence does have to do with the stickiness of your product. . . but not in the manner of which you and I spoke last year. (Well, I spoke. You never saw fit to reply. )

This time I would like to simply ask the following question:

If your boobs are so sticky, why - then - do they not stick around?

Wait. Let me state that more succinctly. Why do your sticky boobs not stick around where they belong?

For, Mr. (or perhaps, Ms. - but a woman would have known better) President of Sticky Boobs, Inc., it appears that whenever your sticky boobs are needed by one of my three daughters, they are no where to be found. Sadly, it seems, those little rascals are often carelessly left at a friend's house after a big sleepover. . . buried deep in the recesses of the dog's crate (Don't blame her. She's a retriever!) . . . or - as is most-often the case - smushed in the closet or suitcase of another daughter. And guess who it is who ends up having to shell out yet-more money on her daughters' boobs, Mr. President?

That's right. Me.

Case in point. . .

Just the other day I was forced to leave my sick bed in order to drive Ponzi to the corset shop so she could spend a whopping $48 of my money on a set of your push-up-enhanced sticky boobs. (Yes, I know Ponzi has her license, but the Spin Family has been short a car ever since Veggie's accident - may Percy rest in peace - and all of my daughters refuse to drive my 1999 minivan, but I guess that's a story for another day . . .) When I inquired as to the whereabouts of the countless other boobs I had purchased for Ponzi in the past, I was informed that Trigger took all of the good sticky boobs back to college with her, Mom! And, although Trigger may have left some bad boobs behind in the wake of her departure, no decent mother worth her salt would entrust her teenage daughter's decency at a rock concert in the heart of New York City to a pair of bad (or shall I say sticky-challenged?) boobs!

So I ask you. . . . Should it be my fault if Trigger has sticky fingers in the sticky boob department?

I think not.

In fact, I think it's your fault Mr. (or perhaps Ms - but a woman would definitely have know better) President of Sticky Boobs, Inc.! Yes, it's your fault for not having some sort of elaborate locking mechanism. . . or security-encrypted packaging. . . or, better yet. . . . voice-activated adhesive . . . attached to your boobs. That way they could actually stick around and be available to the rightful boob-owner when she needed them.

Could you work on that for me?

Tell you what. . . I won't even charge you for the intellectual properties associated with the voice-activated idea if you would just market the product. Having the correct boobs at my daughters' disposal when they need them would be payment enough.

Signed, one of your best customers (albeit, reluctantly)

Oh. . . and I still think you would make a killing in the sticky thong (ouch!) department. . . .

How to Be Sick Like A Mom on Spin

2010-01-21T14:22:00.005-05:00

Well first we ought to start with this title: How to Get Sick Like A Mom on Spin. It's easy, really.

Work at a frantic pace, seven-days-a-week since like Thanksgivingish.
Say things like Sick? Why I haven't been really sick in five years!

Okay, now that we've determined how A Mom on Spin got sick to begin with, we can now learn what it's like to be sick like her. . .

Friday Night: Feel some sort of sore-throat-coldish-thing coming on, but pop a Zycam and go out for dinner with friends anyway.

Saturday: Take another Zycam before traveling to Philadelphia for dear aunt's second memorial service in two weeks and participate in family's effort to clean out her apartment. Know in your heart that all that Zycam isn't really working. Take to your bed once you get home.

Sunday: Head to church to lead the 150-or-so little darlings who have been entrusted to you to learn all about God's love while the rest of the congregation listens to the priest's sermon. Hand over all such responsibilities to sister (not a nun, silly, A Mom on Spin's sister!) because you can barely hold your head up. Go to office to tie up loose ends and prepare funeral program for Tuesday's funeral - knowing that you may never get out of bed again. Go to drugstore and get supplies for major skirmish with one's immune system. Come home and collapse while thanking the good Lord for Martin Luther King, Jr. presidents, veterans, and all others who are responsible for days off from work.

Monday: Shiver. Shake. Blow Nose Repeatedly. Subscribe to the old wive's tale of Feed a Cold, Starve a Fever and eat all remaining food in the house during the day. Wish that someone would go to the grocery store. Sleep. Lots. Order take-out when no one offers you anything better. Reprimand family for not taking better care of you and drinking all your diet ginger ale to boot.

Tuesday: Convince yourself that you are feeling better and arrive at work super early in order to set-up for funeral and hop on chartered bus which will bring you to the inauguration of New Jersey's new governor. Lose all semblance of feeling better by noon but realize that you're at the mercy of the length of new governor's speech, the perambulating skills of the Hank-the-Bus-Driver, and the over-all decibel level of 46 excited eighth graders who are sharing the bus with you. When at last you return home, record fever and send Drip Dry for take-out. Write questionable blog post with New Jersey limericks - knowing you can always claim that you were delirious from the fever when you wrote them.

Wednesday: Wake up with right eye swollen shut from all of the tearing that comes with the sneezing, sniffling, shaking, and shivering. Take one look in the mirror and quickly determine that there will be no reporting for work. Call priest boss, receive his blessings, and crawl back in bed for remainder of day . . . that is, until Drip Dry brings you take-out yet again.

Thursday: Get up. Run to mirror. Wince. Take temperature. Note absence of fever but decide to stay home another day anyway. Very quickly become discontented with the cleanliness of your house now that you can actually see again. Proceed to clean toilets, rearrange bedroom furniture, do five loads of laundry, and spend $169 on groceries before making a cup of tea and settling down to read a new 800-page novel. Realize after two pages that you have read the novel before. Shield dog's ears from the expletives that come from your mouth in case the pet-talking-psychic ever comes to your house again and A Mom on Spin's Best Friend decides to share more of the family secrets. Return to reading biography on Dickens that you had been pretending to enjoy ever since Drip Dry proudly gave it to you for Christmas. Realize that you have slept so much over the course of the last five days that not even a boring biography could lead you - the Master of All Nappers - down the road to sleepytown one final time. Hear yourself telling the dog that you are sick of tea and ginger ale and, in so doing, make the decision to complete the circle and keep date with friends to meet for dinner. . .

Oh. . . and I'm still writing Jersey poems. My latest one - although not quite ready for prime time - is entitled What Exit????

I Have Been to the Mountain

2010-01-19T18:35:00.010-05:00

Not the mountain, really. The inauguration.

I have been to the inauguration of New Jersey's new Governor.

And because I went there sick, I feel like I have not only been to the mountain, I also feel as if I had trudged up it, did a hundred sit-ups at the summit, and slid back down on my tookus.

And so I sit here this evening - thinking that I really should have been to the grocery store instead of the mountain on my first foray out of my sickbed - but realizing, none-the-less, that days like today are the very things God made take-out for.

And Drip Dry. These are the days that God made Drip Dry and take-out for.

So I'm just here under my blanket waiting tonight for the phone call asking me to become the new Poet Laureate of the great State of New Jersey.

And practicing.

Tell me what you think. . .

There once was a girl from Pennsauken

at whose nose folks were always a-gawking.

It was big, red, and round,

until that girl found,

a surgeon who hailed from Weehawken.

or how about this one. . .

There once was a lad from Bagota,

who fancied himself Cssanova.
But the New Jersey girls
gave this young lad a whirl,
and sent him to Drake, North Dakota.

A Day in the Life

2010-01-14T21:21:00.006-05:00

So you and I both know that - in order to win friends and influence people - communication skills are everything. Right?

Listen carefully and see how A Mom on Spin did in just one day yesterday . . . .
_____________________

7:10 a.m. - Cheerfully ask Veggie if she'll be ready for work early because the family is short a car since her accident (may Percy rest in peace) and someone needs to drive Ponzi to school. Receive look of disgust in reply. Drop Ponzi at the high school yourself. Don't even attempt to talk to anyone in your family again until you report to work.

8:30 a.m - Bid a fond farewell to your new boss who is leaving for a few days of well-deserved R & R. Tell him you hope he enjoys that new novel you shared with him. Assure him that everything will be under control while he's away.

8:45 a.m. - Receive phone call from boss while he's on the road asking to make sure someone visits an elderly parishioner in a local nursing home in his absence. Reply that it's A piece of cake. Note that the day is off to a good start.

8:46 a.m. - Receive second phone call from boss asking you to organize the parish's response and collection efforts for victims of the Haiti Earthquake. Of course you can do that.

9:00 a.m. - Schedule a baptism. Try your best to be thrilled that another baby has been birthed to the world. . . a baby girl no less. Bite your tongue and congratulate the new parents.

9:01 a.m. - Another call from the boss (he does a lot of thinking while he's driving, now doesn't he????) instructing you to order some take-home materials to arrive in time for next weekend. Remind yourself that this is why you make the big bucks. Say a quiet prayer of thanksgiving that he doesn't do his best thinking while in the shower.. .

9:15 a.m. - And speaking of bucks.. . .place a call to your friendly financial planner to ensure her that - yes - she read your fax correctly and she needs to send $13,441 to Trigger's university to cover her spring semester. And, - yes- you're a tad-bit on the late side in faxing the request. The tuition is due Friday.

9:32 a.m. - Another baptism call. . . always better than a funeral call . . . but another baby girl. . ..feel your anxiety kicking in. . .

9:33 a.m. - Call physician and schedule an appointment for blood pressure check.

10:05 a.m. - Meet with a grieving family whose departed loved one was a well-known philanthropic pillar of the community to help plan her funeral service. Hear yourself say that you only provide a simple one-page funeral program. Then surprise yourself by hearing the following phrases emanate from your mouth: "Family photos? Oh I could scan those! Eight pages? No problem! Printer first thing in the morning? I can do that! When everyone else says "No" a Mom on Spin says "Yes!"

12:25 p.m. - Take another call from a funeral director and book a funeral for Tuesday - knowing it will totally destroy all hopes of your long weekend.

12:25 and 30 seconds: Inform all within earshot that - funeral or not - you're still going to the governor's inauguration on Tuesday because you ghost-wrote that invocation and you're damn-well going to hear it delivered!

Shortly Thereafter: Daydream about new governor liking that invocation so much he invites you to be part of his speechwriting team. . . or - better yet - the Poet Laureate of the great state of New Jersey. Reprimand self for daydreaming at work. You have work to do.

12:37 p.m. - Field call from Trigger who tells you that you need to pay her $750 in sorority dues immediately because she got "called out" at a meeting last night. Poor thing.

12:38 p.m. - Place another call to your friendly financial planner to see if perhaps sorority dues are, indeed, a "qualified" withdrawal from a 529 account. When you hear her answer "no", meekly ask if beer money. . . or tanning memberships. . .or the cost of pedicures. . . would be reimbursable under the college savings plan you have established in her name 'cause you're awfully broke right now and you need an infusion of moola.. . .

12:59 p.m. - Receive a call from old priest boss wondering if you could do him a favor and book him a flight to Florida for his upcoming vacation in February. Play travel agent while typing frantically on your keyboard. . . asking for things like credit card numbers, date of birth, and one-pass mileage account numbers.

1:04 p.m. - Put him on hold in order to stop the chairman of the parish finance committee from running yet-another error-filled tax letter to all contributors, by actually reading the first one that came out of the printer and pointing out errors to him. Note that you still haven't shredded the 1,000+ error-filled letters which he printed last week.

1:05 p.m. - Resume making travel plans for old boss.

1:05 p.m. - Put old boss on hold to field another call from new boss. Pray that your session with Continental airlines has not timed-out in the mean time.

2:35 p.m. - Receive text message from Ponzi which reads, "Get celery, cucumbers, oranges, and grapes at the store." Find yourself unable to hit the reply button.

2:45 p.m. - Receive the first of numerous phone calls from the local nursing home informing you that a member of the clergy was due there to say Mass at 2:30. Note that the activities director was not happy that the staff had transported 35 residents downstairs for naught. Think to yourself, Hey, that ride in the elevator was probably the highlight of those old folks' day! but bite your tongue. . . just like like you did with the baby girl thing and the Ponzi text. Apologize profusely for priest's oversight.

3:10 p.m - Field call from local newspaper wanting to know what your parish's response to the Haiti crisis is. Proudly inform them of all your efforts, but no - damn it - you are not holding a candlelight vigil that they can use as a photo op. Inform them that you will - however - be holding a funeral service for a well-known philanthropist on Friday. And the funeral booklet will be done by you. At some point. If you can ever get off of the phone.

All Freakin'-Frackin' Afternoon! - Receive calls and emails from grieving family, clergy members, funeral directors, printers, and curious bystanders regarding or the program which you are hastily putting together, and will need 400 copies of, by Friday's funeral.

Sometime During that Timespan - Begin fantasizing about rich philanthropic family paying Trigger's sorority dues for you (Hey, a girl's gotta dream, right????) or old boss letting you use his credit card as a sort of travel agent fee. . .

4:25 p.m. - Inform Ponzi that you're swamped at work and will not be procuring the items from the grocery store as requested. Tell her she'll have to fend for herself for dinner. Hear her mutter something about you never making dinner for her anyway.

4:26 p.m. - Scoff.

Rest of Day: Refuse to talk to anyone because tongue is now swollen from all of that biting.

All the better to curse you with, my dear. . . .

Grim Reaper Signing In. . .

2010-01-07T20:59:00.006-05:00

Now you've probably been wondering where A Mom on Spin has been these past few weeks.

And even if you haven't . .

I feel compelled to inform you that I've been a bit on the busy side with my job at church lately - what with all the preparations for Christmas and all . . .

And I was looking forward to taking some much-needed time off once our "busy season" was over and the baby Jesus was safely sheltered, birthed, heralded, visited, and resting comfortably in the manger.

But something got in the way of my planned relaxation and quality time with my daughters. For it turns out that I needed to cancel my vacation plans in order to attend to a few funerals.

Eight to be exact.

That's right. We've had eight (count 'em - eight) funerals since Christmas Day (including - I might add - my very dear aunt who passed away on Christmas night. . .) all of which, no doubt, needed my loving touch, compassionate planning, and never-ending-attention-to-detail in order to send a loved one off to the heavenly realm correctly. (And besides. . . someone has to light the charcoal for the incensor-thingy the priest swings around. . . .)

And - yes - my funeral director friend from across the street is breathing a sigh of relief. . . knowing she can pay her bills after the Grim Reaper's sluggish pace of work before the holidays. But I ask you - does the recent funeral frenzy justify this call I received from one of the funeral home's employees the other day when an 85-year-old nun visiting the rectory took ill and 911 had to be summoned???

Me: Hello, this is Liz. Can I help you?

Funeral Home Employee: Hey Liz, it's Tim. . .at the funeral home. What's going on over there?

Me: What do you mean?

Funeral Home Employee: I see ambulances and police cars from the window.

Me: There's nothing for you here, Tim . . . Nothing for you. . .

Now HE, my friends, was a true "Ambulance Chaser" - was he not?

Here's wishing you all a safe, happy, and healthy New Year. . .

p.s. If you think I'm cold-hearted, or indifferent towards death. . . I'm not.

I'm just funny.

And p.p.s. . . .If you think the funeral home employee was being cold-hearted or indifferent towards death, he wasn't.

He was just curious.

Official Minutes of the Spin Family Meeting

2009-12-29T17:23:00.006-05:00

Those Present: A Mom on Spin, Mr. Drip Dry, Ponzi, Veggie, and - as the spirit moved her - Trigger.

The meeting opened with a prayer.

Correction: The meeting with with a swear. The meeting opened with a swear word from the mouth of none-other than A Mom on Spin who - before moving on to further business - voiced displeasure at the fact that, upon returning home from a long day of work, she was once-again kept from parking in her proper parking place by a thoughtless teenager who left Roberta parked directly in front of her garage and did not answer the phone as she called frantically from the street. She also voiced displeasure at the fact that, upon entering the house with armloads of groceries, she found the kitchen sink filled with dirty dishes and the dishwasher filled with sparkling clean ones - despite the very visible sign on the kitchen counter which screamed, Empty Dishwasher!

Veggie, Trigger, and Ponzi all looked at each other and agreed they thought the sign was for someone else.

A Mom on Spin then moved on to the subject of Ponzi's 18th Birthday which was, in fact, the very next day. She reported that she had managed to take the day off from work and had just purchased the all-important breakfast of Lucky Charms before finding the aforementioned kitchen a disaster area.

Ponzi then reported that she intended to take a spin class at the gym early in the morning and so she would not be partaking of the traditional birthday breakfast after all, but that her mother was invited to join her at the gym if she wished.

A Mom on Spin then taught Ponzi the meaning of the phrase, When Pigs Fly!

The conversation then quickly moved to upcoming family plans.

A Mom on Spin informed all those present that her offer to host the "Cousins' Christmas" party on New Year's Day had - to her surprise - been accepted by no fewer than 31 of her closest family members and that she intended to enter full panic mode shortly. She then made a motion to foist responsibility for the party back onto another unsuspecting family member with a larger house.

Drip Dry, Veggie, Ponzi, and Trigger all dissented, swearing that they would chip in to help with anything A Mom on Spin needed.

A Mom on Spin then reminded them that this party was set for New Year's Day. . . you know. . . like the day immediately following New Year's Eve. . . and, since the party was called for noon and the Spin parents were also hosting a dinner party for New Year's Eve, their services would be required no later than 10:00 a.m. in the morning.

Veggie, Trigger, and Ponzi then very quickly recanted their previous offers of help stating things like. . . Oh, I'm spending the night in the city, I can't be home by then!. . . or . . . I'm going to be staying overnight at Kimmy's house, I can't possibly be up that early!. . . and even. . . Well I'm not sure what I'm doing for New Year's Eve, but I know I would never be home!!!! while Drip Dry alone stood firm and stubbornly continued to insist on hosting the party.

A Mom on Spin then accused Drip Dry of digging in his heels just to drive her crazy.

Drip Dry adamantly insisted that he would take care of all party preparations and clean up.

A Mom on Spin then reminded the family of the time she handed Drip Dry the toilet bowl brush and asked him to clean the toilets an hour before company was due to arrive - only to discover that he had dismantled the toilet seat and was soaking the nuts and bolts as the first guests walked through the door.

Drip Dry then asked for forgiveness for liking a clean house.

His motion was not seconded and the meeting was quickly adjourned.

Respectfully submitted

on this 29th day of December in the year 2009. . . .

I Have Seen the Devil Himself. . or perhaps it was The Grinch . . but - wait - no, his face was definitely red, not green . . . .

2009-12-20T11:16:00.008-05:00

So this weekend started out a little rough for me.

I was hemmed in. Quite literally.

Attempting to leave the house early Saturday morning in advance of the big blizzard that hit much of the east coast, I discovered that one of the three Sleeping Beauties had parked her car directly behind my garage - a maneuver that I had cautioned her against no less than sixteen thousand times!. . . and the very one which she had been angry with her own sister for pulling just the previous day.

And so I decided to take her car. . . . wait. . . let me rephrase that. . . I decided to take my car. . . the car which my husband and I had purchased. . . registered. . . paid the insurance on. . . .and put the gas into. . . it's just that my daughters somehow feel like the car belongs to them. . . because they named her. . . .like naming a car is akin to actual ownership. . .

So as I turned the key in Roberta's ignition, I made a solemn promise to her that she - for once - would be treated with care and respect. I also told her that she was in for the ride of her life . . . getting the chance to accompany A Mom on Spin on her errands as an emissary of good will. . .

First, knowing that I was scheduled to deliver the monthly food from the Angel Food Ministries for my wheelchair-bound friends Meke and Dora, I was able to make a few extra stops in order to get them well-supplied before the big storm hit.

Next I stopped by work to check on the status of some parishioners in the hospital, where I chanced to encounter a very kind gentleman who had come to the church in order to donate a number of frozen turkeys and a single Christmas tree. And so Roberta and I set out around town once again to deliver the turkeys. . . over to the senior citizen's housing . . . back to Meke and Dora's . . . and on to other families who I thought might need and appreciate them.

Next, the Christmas tree. I placed a call to Mr. Drip Dry and he came and tied that tree to the top of my car for me, and Roberta and I set out once again on a mission of mercy.

And the moment I drove away with that tree was the very moment that I - like my favorite character of all times, the Grinch - was suddenly filled with the Christmas Spirit. And as I drove along I found myself composing a little ditty that went something like this. . .

Forget fancy phones. . . and pricey black Uggs. . .

iPods and downloads and Starbucks in mugs. . .

Forget about concerts and money that's lost

memberships to the gym, and all that they cost.

Forget about tanning and under-aged drinking

overdraft charges and balances sinking!

For THIS is the stuff that God made Christmas for!

Why I'm helping my friends. . . and feeding the poor!

Caring for those who are down on their luck

When this very morning, I thought I was stuck!
But you know the one thing I love best of all???

'Cause I took their car, they can't go to the Mall!

And so it was that I was filled with happiness as I came to rest at a traffic light and pulled out my phone in order to tell the lucky recipient that a tree was on its way to her home . . .when I saw that the gentleman in the car next to me had put down his window. . . probably to ask for directions, I thought. . . . and I quickly put down my passenger-side window - prepared to make a difference in yet-another lost soul's life that December morn. . .

And then I saw it.

His face was twisted and contorted into a fit of rage.

His complexion was as red as boiling lava.

His tongue was forked and spewing venom.

Get off that phone!

Excuse me? I queried. . .

I said get off that G**-D****ed phone!

And as I continued to stare at him in disbelief . . . wondering when he would get to the real reason for the conversation . . . . he quickly hurled the ultimate insult at me before I had time to cover Roberta's delicate ears. . . .

You drive like sh**!!! he growled. . . and sped away.

And so it was that Roberta and I were left there - shuddering from our encounter with an entity of unknown origin. Was it Scrooge? The Grinch? The Devil himself?

But it wasn't until I finally returned home and recounted the story to Veggie, that I was able to put the whole episode into perspective. . . . Oh, he was probably just an asshole! she said.

Oh yeah. . . assholes. . . for one blissful moment I had forgotten all about them. . . .

Setting the Record Straight

2009-12-16T08:05:00.003-05:00

So, as you might imagine with Christmas right around the corner, tensions in A Mom on Spin's household are running at an all-time high. And because I've recently been accused of Never being clear about anything, Mom! I wish to set the record straight and make the following points crystal clear to all those who live in this household with me. . .

I have not. . . will not. . . nor will I ever. . . spend $178 on boots for myself. Why, then, would I compound the agony of purchasing them for someone else by stepping foot in The Dreaded Mall? If I must violate my own principles in the boot department, the very least you can do is take my debit card to The Mall yourself. Either one of you. Because, in total, I have now committed to spending $356. In boots. I think I may throw up.
And while we're on the subject of The Mall, I don't like the make-up nazis (oh, I'm sorry. . . was I supposed to call them "artistes"???) in those stores. You can tap-tap your own booties there and buy your over-priced make-up yourself.
Only those who are gainfully employed deserve to own a Blackberry.
Claiming you have a birthday four days after Christmas does not allow you to collateralize birthday money to fund future Blackberry data plans. The rest of your extended family is just not that generous. Trust me.
In case your haven't noticed, gift giving is often a two-way street. If anyone is interested, I have a very practical wish list of my own. Asking for it just may earn you some brownie points.
Despite what you may say, I have never told anyone anything Like sixteen thousand times!
I know better than to throw away the Christmas card from your boss and his wife. In your freakish 7:00 a.m. frenzy to find that card, I may have unwittingly misdirected you as to its ultimate whereabouts, but I never would have thrown it away.
Just hearing someone finally admit that You're the only one who ever puts anything away in this house, Liz! makes me feel strangely validated. . . even if it was quickly followed by any accusation of carelessly tossing an oh-so-important item away.
Saving bags of kitchen garbage to be fished through in a desperate search for a missing Christmas card may make one feel like he's the master of the house, but finding that card in a place earlier suggested by you after the the "master" has left for work feels a heck-of-a lot better than that!

The Bank of She-Who-Is-Most-Broke

2009-12-10T09:49:00.001-05:00

So Trigger's wallet, phone, debit card, and student I.D. were found the day after she called to tell me she lost them. . . They were at a different Frat house, Mom! I swear! I don't know how they got there!

And once she had them back in her possession, she promptly proceeded to overdraw her checking account once again. . .

____________________

She-Who-Works-Hard-for-the-Wampum: Trig! Stop overdrawing your bank account! I just checked it again and you were overdrawn by $1.57.

She-Who-Is-Most-Broke: I didn't! I took exactly the right amount of money out! I had $26 dollars in there to start with and I withdrew $20 from the machine and I even counted in the $2 withdrawal fee that the bank charged me and then I got like a $4 latte at Starbucks.

She-Who-Works-Hard-for-the-Wampum: But did you check your balance before you did?

She-Who-Is-Most-Broke: What?

She-Who-Works-Hard-for-the-Wampum: Did you check your balance. . . like at the machine. . . before you withdrew that $20?

She-Who-Is-Most-Broke: I guess so. . . that's how I knew how much money I could withdraw. Why?

She-Who-Works-Hard-for-the-Wampum: Well, I see here that the bank also charged you a $2 balance inquiry fee at the close of the business day, which left you overdrawn by $1.57! So that's it! You have no money! You are flat broke and will remain so until you come home for your Christmas break this Friday and start babysitting.

She-Who-Is-Most-Broke: No, I'm not broke, Mom!

She-Who-Works-Hard-for-the-Wampum: Yes you are broke, Trigger!

She-Who-Is-Most-Broke: No I'm not! I found out that I can sell my books back after exams. . . and then I'll have like a hundred bucks and I'll have all the money I need to buy Christmas presents!

She-Who-Works-Hard-for-the-Wampum: Aren't they the very same books that I paid $750 for at the start of the semester? I better get one heck of a Christmas present from you, young lady. . . .

Houston, We Have a Problem. . . of the coat kind . . .

2009-12-07T18:28:00.009-05:00

If there's one thing I try to teach my daughters, it's how to be a good listener.

Take note of the following two problems which cropped up this past weekend and my astute attempt to zero in on what really matters.

_____________________________

Ponzi: Mom, I think we have a bit of a problem. . .

Me: A problem? What is it?

Ponzi: Well I went to that concert on Friday night. . . and I had my coat with me. . .you know. . . my black Northface. . . and they made me check it. . . like to prove I didn't have any booze with me or anything like that . .and I gave Kathy my coat check ticket and she lost it. . . just like she did last week. . .and I had to wait until the firemen said it was alright to come back in . . . you know. . .after the fire alarm that we all thought was part of the show. . . and they made me wait 'til everyone else claimed their coats. . . and someone had taken my coat and it had your $30 in it and my train ticket home. . . and my school I.D. and perhaps my driver's license. . . I'm not really sure about that one. . . but somebody else left their black Northface and I took that one instead . . . and the good news is that . . . remember how you made me buy a child's XL 'cause the ladies' "small" was like fifty bucks more???. . . well. . . this coat is a ladies's "small". . .so I think we made out on the deal!

Me: Oh my God, Ponzi! You brought an unknown coat home from New York City? You better put in in the washer right away! You never know where a coat like that has been!

Which was quickly followed by this phone conversation on Sunday afternoon. . .

Trigger:   Mom! We have a problem!

Me: We do??? What is it?

Trigger:   Well you see . . . Last night I was at a Frat party. . . you know . . . and I had my coat. . . my black Northface. . . cause I told you we practically had like a blizzard. . . well I left my coat in Kimmie's bedroom and when I went back to get it at the end of the night it wasn't there.

Me: Tell me. . . what size was that coat? Was it a child's XL????

Trigger: Mom! Did you hear me? Do you know what was in my coat? My wallet! My ATM card!! My student I.D.!!! My PHONE!!!!

Me: Were there any firefighters there?

Trigger: Do you not even care?   This is serious! Do you even know what this means?

Me: What does this mean?

Trigger: I don't have any money! I can't talk to anyone!   I can't eat! Aren't you worried that someone is using my ATM card???

Me:   What? And withdrawing the grand total of $25 you begged me to put in your account yesterday? I'll just transfer it back to my account.

Trigger: But they could overdraw!

Me: Oh yes! I vaguely remember your sister doing that just last week. . . I tell you what. . . go steal someone else's Northface, get yourself a new student I.D., and eat in the dining hall until you come home for Christmas break.

Me (again): And Trig?

Trigger: Yes?

Me: Make sure your new coat is a ladies' "small" and don't forget to you wash it right away. You never know where a coat like that has been. . . but check the pockets first. . . there may be something good in there. . .

How to Cook a Celebratory Dinner Like A Mom on Spin

2009-12-02T21:20:00.005-05:00

So, after only one week in "The States", Veggie has landed a full-time-part-time-temporarily-permanent position with a pharmaceutical company . . . the news of which sent your favorite Mom on Spin rushing to the market after work to carefully choose organic-farm-raised-no-animals-were-killed-in-the-making-of-this (unless you count the free-range chicken) ingredients for a celebratory family dinner.

And if you - like so many others - have been aching to cook like A Mom on Spin, I suggest you follow these simple steps so that you, too, can serve her famous Family Stir-Fry.

Run to the grocery store like a chicken with her head cut off (but all indications are we'll get to that part of the recipe later. . . )
Enter the house and head straight to the basement to pick up the official rice steamer in order to prepare specialty rice you have just paid a premium for.
Encounter Ponzi upon entering kitchen - who promptly declares she must leave the house in one-half hour and that she just couldn't wait for you to come home so she made herself a small salad, but if the rest of the dinner is ready on time, she'd love to eat that too!
"Bag" the idea of the specialty rice and reach into freezer for bagged brown rice.
Cut up organic peppers and onions and begin to saute in frying pan.
Look for can of water chestnuts you swore resided in your pantry. Discover it's a can of tuna. Decide not to add to recipe (although - strictly speaking - it would qualify as vegetarian, now wouldn't it???)
Open fridge. Look for soy sauce. Find only two drops left in bottle. Scream like a banshee. Hear Ponzi blame Trigger for using up the family's store of soy sauce. Find remnants of other "sitr-fry" sauce in an unfamiliar-but-only-slightly-used bottle and decide that it will do.
Begin to heat up special Terriaki-flavored "Tofetti" bites in separate frying pan for vegetarian daughters.
Observe Veggie enter kitchen and hear her asking you to drive her to the train station so she can have a last overnight in New York before starting her big job. . . and, yes . . . she does have plans for dinner - but they're in "The City". . . you know. . . with her friend . . . who's in from California. . .
Put all frying pans on "low". Yell up to Ponzi that she must finish her own cooking and depart immediately for train station.
Allow Veggie to take $40 from you to pay for train fare, because the only other valid U.S. currency in her wallet is a $100 bill and - as she discovered last weekend - the conductors on the train won't be able to change that!
Ignore her requests to stay in your warm, dry car until the train arrives because your house is most-likely burning down as you speak (for you're beginning to be haunted by the fact that you're not really sure you ever heard Ponzi acknowledge your request to come down to the kitchen. . . )
Swear to yourself that you will make an appointment with the Opthamologist tomorrow because you can't see a damned thing in the dark . . .and it's pouring rain on the way back home.
Return home to an empty house. Assume that now no one but Drip Dry will be eating dinner with you.
Head to refrigerator and promptly pull out box of Pinot Grigio.
Pour wine into glass. Consume first glass quickly.
Throw caution to the wind and feed tofu to dog. . . .for once not thinking how much THAT just cost you!
Smile at the thought.
Cut up organic chicken (with head already cut off) and fry in already-used-but-no-longer-holding-tofu pan with stir-fry sauce.
Burn tip of tongue while trying to sample chicken prematurely.
Observe Ponzi return home, help herself to all of the brown rice and most of the veggies, and yell, Hey! What happened to the tofu???? but then proceed to head downstairs to eat her vegetarian meal and watch t.v. (She left you a message, you know. Did you not get it????)
Hear the garage door open, announcing Drip Dry's return home.
Separate onions from peppers (for don't you know they upset his delicate digestive system?) and pretend they never existed.
Pour more wine out of box.
Resort to heating pre-cooked minute rice in microwave and douse with remaining stir-fry sauce.
Serve dinner to Drip Dry.
Disassemble box in order to milk last of wine out of box and then proceed to blog.
Somehow validate Drip Dry's "observations" that no one else in the family likes the theme-related dessert items you purchased by consuming the entire pint of green tea ice cream and the box of ginger cookies by yourself despite the fact that the ice cream would almost qualify as "medicinal" on your burnt tongue. . . would it not????

The Story of She-Who-Works-Hard-For-The-Wampum

2009-11-29T21:24:00.009-05:00

Only. . . and I mean O-N-L-Y. . . in A Mom on Spin's tee-pee could the following happen over the Thanksgiving weekend:

_____________________

After preparing (okay, serving . . .I may not have actually prepared all of it. . . ) the grand Thanksgiving feast, the overworked, overtired, and over-all over-spun mother of three daughters finds it necessary to report to work on the day after Thanksgiving in order to attend to a ill-timed funeral (for aren't the old folks supposed to die after the holidays, not before????) and to complete a project the likes of which will no-doubt be seen one day on To Catch a Predator. And - since all three of her daughters are flat-broke at the present time - this mother offers to pay a salary to her college-aged daughter (a.k.a. She-Who-Is-Most-Broke) to come in and help her.

But - alas - when push comes to shove the next morning, She-Who-Is-Most-Broke cannot rouse herself out of bed on time (tell me.. . . are we still wondering why she's having a wee-bit of attendance trouble with her 8:00 a.m class????) and the wild war-cries of her mother. . . . offering the salary to anyone within earshot . . .are then broadcast loudly throughout the tee-pee.

And so it was that a younger, more-industrious-and-you-might-say-sometimes-scheming-daughter (who also happens to be without income. . . ) heard her mother's plea and, although she was dressed to go to a spin class at the local gym (I know, ironic. . . isn't it???) agrees to report to work with her mother.

It is now abundantly clear that She-Who-Is-Industrious has found favor in her mother's eye, and after a most-productive day, mother and daughter return home.

The mother and Chief-Who-Dries-By-Dripping then proceed to travel to a nearby tribal family's wigwam to drink the peace-wine and eat the newly-killed-pizza.

While She-Who-Is-Industrious quickly discovers that she - too - wants to go to a pow wow, but is in need of a quick infusion of wampum to fund her "activities".

But then - while in the midst of stealing the right regalia to wear for the night - She-Who-Is-Industrious-But-Sometimes-Duplicitous then spies a debit card on She-Who-Is-Most-Broke's bedroom floor.

And because it looks exactly like She-Who-Is-An-Unsuspecting-Mom-on-Spin's debit card, She-Who-Is-Now-Totally-Duplicitous takes it . . .rationalizing that if her sister had possession of Mom's card, then no one could possibly blame her for a little withdrawal while in the sister's supposed possession. . . .and after-all. . . her mother is going to pay her for her day's work. . . and she'll just view this as a little advance. . .

And She-Who-Is-No-Longer-Industrious-but-Solely-Duplicitous withdraws a grand total of $10 from what she thinks is her mother's account.

But, alas, it turns out the card Ponzi (I mean . . .She-Who-Was-At-One-Time-Viewed-As-Industrious-and-In-Favor ) lifted belonged to She-Who-Was-Most-Broke who, coincidentally, chose the same PIN number her mother had always employed (because we'd be well-within our rights to also refer to her as She-Who-Is-Most-Lazy. . . stay with me here. . . this stuff is important!!!!!!) and who, earlier that day, had used that very same card in a local diner and knowingly depleted the last of the savings from her summer job - leaving a grand total of three (that's right. . . T-H-R-E-E!!!) dollars in her account to get her through to next summer.

And, before you know it, the unsympathetic, unfeeling, and uncompromising bank had the nerve to levy a whopping $34 in overdraft fees on the unknowing, unwitting, and unsuspecting She-Who-Is-Now-More-Broke-Than-Ever's account - leaving her $41 in the negative.

And . . . when all of the above was discovered earlier today by She-Who-Works-Hard-For-the-Wampum (a.k.a. A Mom on Spin. . .) let's just say that She-Who-Was-At-One-Time-Viewed-As-Industrious will - from this day forward - be known as She-Who-Is-Now-Forever-In-The-Doghouse. . .

And as to She-Who-Is-Most-Veggie. . . . if you think she survived this weekend unscathed, let me just tell you that her new name is She-Who-Travels-Long-Distances-To-March-In-Silly-Peace-Rally-Instead-Of-Hunting-For-Job.

How? You say.

Now that's a tribal legend to be told another day. . .

Hello God? I Just Wanna Say Thanks for Giving

2009-11-25T17:30:00.001-05:00

Hello God?

Being, the positive, appreciative, energetic, glass-half-full kind of gal that I am, I decided to come up with a list of things I'm grateful for on this Thanksgiving Eve.

So I just wanted to say Thanks for Giving me the following. . .

Thanks for Giving me siblings who go to their inlaws for Thanksgiving dinner - 'cause feeding any more than 13 people tomorrow might just put me over the edge.

Thanks for Giving me three vegetarian daughters. At Thanksgiving. Yes, thank you for those.

Thanks for Giving me the number 66 - the sum total of the money those daughters have in their bank accounts at the present time.

Thanks for Giving me co-workers who obviously have so much respect for my abilities that they are content to skip on off to prepare their own thanksgiving dinners while leaving me behind drowning in a pile of fingerprints.

Oh, and Thanks for Giving that 96-year-old lady a chance to reunite with her beloved husband just in time for that big Thanksgiving dinner in the sky, leaving me with last-minute funeral preparations today and the opportunity to come to work on the day after the holiday. (It is "Black Friday" after all, you know.)

Thanks for Giving me bedroom doors that close so that I don't have to look into the chaos that now lurks in my daughters' bedrooms - even though they were spotless just days ago.

Thanks for Giving me cranky people . . .for without them, where would I direct my own pent-up feelings of anger?

Thanks for Giving me three daughters with driver's licenses - although it appears at times that they view them as a license to drive me crazy.

Thanks for Giving me two arms to wipe their damned hair off of their shower wall, although I'm wondering - just the tiniest bit, mind you - why you couldn't have made me an octopus so the whole cleaning thing would be easier.

Oh, and God? One last thing. . .

Thanks for Giving me the eyesight to read the sign in the grocery store which read "Let us cook your Thanksgiving dinner for you!" 'cause if I had not been able to take the easy way out and order-in tomorrow, I'd really be freaking out right now!

Any Port in the Storm

2009-11-23T21:51:00.001-05:00

Tonight I have discovered one ultimate truth, my friends.

Any port in a storm will do. . . .

Veggie returned home from the U.K. today after five months abroad. And, as you all know, Trigger arrived back home over the weekend for her Thanksgiving break from her first semester in college.

And so, after an early (and I mean E-A-R-L-Y) morning visit to Trigger's pediatric rhematologist in New York and and a hurried run to Newark Airport, I had planned to prepare a gourmet vegetarian feast of Tofu and Black Bean Enchiladas as a fitting welcome-home dinner for them both.

But somewhere around 6:00 p.m., I realized that the recipe called for a quarter-cup of sherry.

Sherry?

The only thing I knew about sherry was that it came in a bottle that my mother used to uncork at about 5:00 p.m. each night as I was growing up, and - although she still lives next-door - I know for a fact that she moved onto Vodka at 6:00 somewhere when I was still in my twenties. . .

Sherry?

A call to Mr. Drip Dry solved my problem.

Try the Port, he said.

The Port?

Yes, the Port wine in the liquor cabinet. It's probably the closest thing to sherry we have.

And so I did.

And damn! I'm here to tell you that that Port-in-the-Storm was good. . . .both inside the enchiladas and out. For who - in their right mind - could resist pouring themselves a glass after carelessly sloshing it into their gourmet recipe?????

One quarter-cup for the recipe. . . .one glassful for me. . . .

And quickly, its heady aroma made me forget that early morning passage over the Tappen Zee Bridge. . . and the doctor's cautious warnings to Trigger. . . . about her clotting antibodies. . . and their potential for a blood clot. . .and the dangers of her OVER-tanning on her autoimmune system. . .

And it also somehow managed to soften the memories of me waiting anxiously in Terminal "C" to meet Veggie's flight - only to discover, after it landed, that Terminal "B" was its ultimate destination. . .

And it somehow made me forget that - although I had worked for over ten straight days without a day of rest - I was still bothered a total of three times today by the I-know-you-can't-believe-it-but-ever-pressing-church-business (folks die, you know. . . it's just part of my job. . . .)

Yeah, it helped with all of the above. . .

Why didn't anyone ever teach me how to cook with this stuff before?????

To Catch a Thief

2009-11-23T00:32:00.002-05:00

One of my lovely daughters lifted $20 from my wallet on Saturday.

I'm quite certain of it.

For after I returned from a fundraising breakfast for a young mother with terminal cancer, a stint at work delivering Thanksgiving baskets to the homes of the area's poor, and attending my 27-year-old cousin's profoundly sad and troubling wake. . . .well, the only thing in life I was sure of was the fact that I had a total of $80 in my wallet.

And yet, later in the evening, when I pulled out my wallet to pay the take-out-delivery guy (What? Don't tell me you would cook after a day like that????) there were clearly only three twenties in there.

And so I proceeded to launch an investigation - starting with the most-likely culprit first:

____________________

Me: Ponzi, did you, by chance, take a twenty dollar bill from my wallet this afternoon?

Ponzi: No, I asked you for five dollars. Remember? And you told me I couldn't take it and you told me to get a job.

Me: Exactly. . . .

Ponzi: But I didn't, Mom! Wouldn't that have been stupid of my to ask for five and take twenty instead?

Me: But I only had twenties in my wallet. And remember how you told me you couldn't apply for a job now. . . you know. . . cause who would hire someone with a big black eye???

Ponzi: I didn't take it, Mom! I swear! It must have been Trigger!

And so the scope of my investigation widened to another bedroom.

Me: Trigger?   Did you, by chance, take $20 from my wallet this afternoon?

Trigger: No Mom! Why would I do a think like that? You know I came home from college broke with no money left in my bank account!

Me: Exactly. . . .

Trigger:   So if I went and bought something you would have seen it and then you would have known that I didn't have the money for it and you probably would have thought that I stole the money from you and I don't care what you think but I'm not that stupid Mom!

Me: Not if you used it on coffee. . . or tanning. . . or makeup. . . how would I notice a thing like that? You were gone an awfully long time after you dropped Ponzi off at her friend's house.   For all I know, it could still be in your wallet.

Trigger: Oh. My. God!!! You can look in my wallet if you want to. You already know I'm broke. . .

So there you have it, my friends. The investigation is at a stand still. I'm thinking of running fingerprint checks on both of them (you know. . . like I do with all the unwitting church volunteers.) And the dog. I'm considering having her paw-printed too while I'm at it . . .

Alright.. . I know you all have a theory as to where that $20 went. So you might-as-well go ahead and say it here. . .

When you live in a den with liars and thieves, you can no longer afford to be proud.

Quite literally. . .

My Future's So Bright, Ponzi Has to Wear Shades. . . .

2009-11-22T08:51:00.001-05:00

Be careful what you wish for. . . one astute reader commented as I bemoaned my new-found "boring" existence and - ergo - my daughters' lack of bad behavior in my last post. (Yes, yes, I know. . . two negatives make a positive. . . therefore a "lack" of "bad" behavior must mean "good" behavior. . . but don't you see??? Good behavior translates to B-O-R-I-N-G in bloggese. . .)

Where had the good old days gone? I wondered to myself. The days of bold-faced lying, curfew infractions, and brushes with the law???? You know. . . the kind of stuff that made me who I am today. . . A Mom on Spin!

Well, I'm here now to ask you. Does a black eye count?

'Cause Ponzi has one. All signs point to the elbow in the eye she got while doing God-knows-what in the center of the "mosh" pit of the concert she went to on Thursday night. But, although it looks pretty nasty, the overall "wow" effect of a big old shiner on a beautiful teenager is less than life-altering - for she is proudly sporting it as a badge of courage after all.

No, my friends, this little blip on the radar screen is clearly not enough to get my life back spinning again.

I promise to get back to you the minute something more exciting happens. . . .

Doggie Printing. . . Our Hope for the Future

2009-11-17T20:23:00.010-05:00

If you have been wondering why I have been a bit of a poor correspondent lately, it may be due to the fact that I have been working overtime on a project that has been spawned by a failed diocesan audit on child abuse safety practices, combined with a gruesome murder of a priest in a nearby town by an about-to-be-discovered child predator.

None of this is fun.

But - as is often the knee-jerk reaction to such things - we have now taken our new safety precautions to the E-X-T-R-E-M-E. Don't tell the auditors, but some of us are refusing to fingerprint the nonagenarians in our ranks (people over 90 . . .did you not know that term????) and volunteers without sight. Turns out, I did subject the blind lady to fingerprinting once-upon-a-time, but the results came back "unreadable" and so I am now giving her a pass and opting to paw-print her guide dog instead. Paw-printing the guide dog ultimately makes more sense than fingerprinting the blind lady who sings in the choir - don't you think? We'll finally get a chance to find out what kind of sh*t that dog has actually been through . . . .

Of course, the other reason I may be a bit lacking in the blogging department is that I'm bored and my life - as a result - has also become quite B-O-R-I-N-G. . .without any head-spinning events to officially report.

But for all who care/wonder/or/have been losing sleep. . . Veggie has resurfaced in Scotland and will be landing back home next Monday at noon. . . .Trigger is due home on Friday for a week-long Thanksgiving break. . . and Ponzi is going to a concert in the city on Thursday night.

Keep your fingers crossed for some curfew infractions, alcohol violations, checking account overdrafts, bodily possessions, or a "hit" on the dog's paw prints. . . would 'ya????

Until then, I nominally remain . . . .

Think about it. . . Do you think the State Police performed that fingerprint check in Braille? And, if they had, do you think her results would still come out "unreadable"???

Or. . . consider this. . . if we let the police dogs perform the background check on all of us. . . couldn't they just do a "smell test" and declare us safe?

Just wondering. . . .

Despite Ponzi's Best Efforts, this Little Piggy Stayed Home

2009-11-15T17:47:00.010-05:00

Overheard in A Mom on Spin's kitchen this weekend. . .(And, by the way, don't I look a wee-bit curvaceous over there >>>>>>> )

____________________

Ponzi: Mom! I have a great idea!

Me: No.

Ponzi: No? I didn't even tell you my idea yet!

Me: I can't help it.   Every idea you've ever had involves spending my money. . . but I suppose you can go ahead and tell me anyway. . . .

Ponzi: I have a great idea for something we can do together! You know. . . like mother/daughter bonding.

Me: Oh, do you like taking naps too?

Ponzi: Naps? No! I was thinking we could get pedicures.

Me: Well I was thinking that the day is all rainy and dreary and I'm kind of tired after that early morning meeting I needed to set up for.   And I thought I would go get a good book. One that I can cuddle up with this afternoon and fall asleep reading. And then I could take a good long nap before I have to go to that fundraising dinner tonight. How about you come to Barnes and Noble with me instead?

Ponzi: Barnes and Noble? It takes you like a half-hour to pick out a book there . . .

Me: But you could pick out a book too.   And we can even sit in the Starbucks inside and get a coffee. . . . you know a mother/daughter coffee. Perhaps we could even split it.

Ponzi: Split a coffee?   Are you crazy?    Plus. . . you know I hate to read!

Me: Well you know I hate pedicures.

Ponzi: You don't really hate pedicures. You're just saying that!

Me: Oh no, I'm not.   I do hate pedicures. . . it's like an invasion of my privacy or something. . . what with all the slapping and tickling. . . . Plus. . . it's November you know. No one's going to even see my toes for like another six months.   I'm not paying for a pedicure - correction - Two pedicures . . . . right now!

Ponzi: Well I'm not going with you to buy a book.

Me: Well I suppose that settles it! I've changed my mind. I'm heading straight to the nap part instead!

Ponzi: Fine! And since you won't hang out with me, I'm going tanning with Kimmy. . . .

Me: Fine!

And there you have it folks.

Another stellar moment of motherhood by,

One Poor Correspondant

2009-11-14T12:20:00.004-05:00

Dearest Veggie,

I'm sorry to be a meddling parent, but I have a quick question for you.

ARE YOU ALIVE?

The last time we spoke - which I believe was somewhere around Halloweenish - we discussed making a reservation for your flight home from the U.K. And I can't help but notice that Continental withdrew a large sum of money from your bank account in early November. And I do remember you said something about visiting Prague . . . and Dresden. . . and Berlin before leaving Europe. Oh yes, and you also said you were going to squeeze in one last trip to the Old Sod . . .

But could you possibly give me the date of your return?

Or just drop me a little line to let me know you're alive?

Keep in mind. . .because you're no longer using your U.S. debit card, I have lost my only means of knowing where you are. Little did I think I ever miss the days of my virtual vacation - piecing together your life on the continent by watching account withdrawals - the fish and chips in London. . . . sweater in Dublin. . . pub in Paris. . . I felt like I was right there with you.

And to be brutally honest, Trigger's new life at college is not nearly as interesting as yours. From the looks of her spending habits, it seems she only goes to tanning salons and drinks coffee. B-O-R-I-N-G!

So, you know I don't like to be a buttinsky . . . nor do I wish to meddle in your affairs. . . And it's not like I'm asking you if you've eaten your vegetables or gone to church or anything. . . .I just want to know that you're alive.

And, assuming that you are, I'd like to know when you're coming home.

'Cause I'll have to give up my blogging room. And I want to know when I have to move out all my stuff. Like the elephant. But perhaps you'll like the elephant and find yourself wanting to keep it. . . and the fake orchid. . . I bet you'll like that. . .and the photo of the lotus blossom. . . in fact, you may find you want to leave the room exactly as it is until you move back out of the house again. (And do you know when - exactly - that will be? 'Cause if you do, I'll like to know that too. . .)

p.s. Your return home comes just in time. Ponzi is growing frightfully bored being an "only"child. She's forcing me to get pedicures and go out for sushi. I've tried to pawn her off on your father, but he says real men don't get pedicures . . . or put on little goggles and go tanning. Wimp.

You'll have to take over for me.

My Dog Is Fat , My Cat Threw Up, and the Cow Jumped over the Moon. . .

2009-11-10T21:37:00.006-05:00

So after three canceled appointments, I finally took my pets to the much-dreaded vet yesterday.

Now last year, in a corporal act of mercy, Veggie took the cat to the vet for me. But, despite my wise counsel Not to let the vet know that she's no longer an indoor cat because they'll be wanting to give her all sorts of extra tests and shots, Veggie found herself spilling the beans and returned home with a $300 vet bill and a rabies certificate that was good for only one year.

And so this year, subscribing to the theory that You should never send a mere child to do a Mom-on-Spin's work (combined with the fact that Veggie is currently out of the country) it quickly became evident that it was my turn to wrestle with that cat, stuff that little furball into the dog carrier against her will (yes, I said dog. . . .do you have a problem with that?) zipper her whiskers into the cramped designer-fru-fru-doggie space, and listen to her sad lament the whole way to the vet's.

But that's okay, because the dog was panting like . . . Hey! She hasn't let my shedding body in this car in like forever! We must be going some place really cool. . .

It was also my turn to get the the immunization sales pitch.

And to feel like a crazy cold-hearted animal-hater when I opted out.

Opted out of the feline leukemia test and vaccine, despite being warned of the dire consequences in doing so. . . opted out of the one-year rabies shot and electing one with three-year effectiveness - even though it required me to sign a disclaimer . . . . foregoing the kennel cough immunization when I have never once boarded my dog in her four years of human existence which translates to practically FOREVER in doggie years . . . and requesting a six-month supply of the heartworm tablets because I only remember to administer them about every-other-month anyway. . . ( I did - however - offer to pay for extra distemper shots if they could be made available to teenage daughters and/or grumpy husbands. . . for some reason they wouldn't let me. . . . )

And then, despite my best efforts, I was handed a $383 bill on my way out.

And the cat gladly hopped back into the very carrier that she had so vehemently despised just a half-hour earlier.

And the dog had a strange fixation with licking her butt.

And the cat threw up all over my living room couch the minute we got home.

And then I think - but I'm not certain - I saw the dish run away with the spoon. . .

Oh. . . and who knew that labs should have waistlines? Come to think of it, so should middle-aged-women, but that doesn't mean I have one, now does it?

Winning the Lottery

2009-11-08T20:39:00.000-05:00

So this morning I met Roberto.

He makes and sells bracelets to support his family. He sells necklaces too. And purses, and shawls, and placemats.

The only problem is that Roberto has just turned 14.

You see, Roberto is a Mayan boy who lives in a tiny corn-stalk house in Guatemala with his mother and sister on one of the most beautiful lakes God ever placed on the face of the earth. But Roberto's family is painfully poor, and Roberto's mother - like most Guatemalan mothers - planned on withdrawing him from school so that he could work to support the family.

Until a chance encounter changed Roberto's life.

For one day, in a town far from his home, Roberto sold a bracelet to a man. This man happened to be the founder of not-for-profit organization that builds one-room cement homes for poor Guatemalans. Something clicked. The man spoke to Roberto's mother and she agreed to let her son stay in school if the man would help her sell the family's textile goods. Against all odds, the man somehow arranged for Roberto to get a visa to come to the U.S.

I can only imagine that Roberto must feel as though he's won the lottery. . . being allowed to attend Junior High. . . traveling on an airplane. . .discovering the joys of riding an escalator in a shopping mall. . .

Yes, the lottery.

And just yesterday I chanced to encounter a long-time-family friend who - after raising four strong boys - had both the good sense and heart to adopt a tiny young girl from Guatemala. And this friend brought his children today to meet Roberto.

And I quickly realized how - in this game we call Life - this particular orphaned little girl had somehow won the Mega Millions.

I don't know how many of you remember that Veggie went to Guatemala last Christmas to volunteer to build houses with From Houses to Homes, Guatemala. And I don't know if you recall how she returned there again for her Spring Break later that year - her senior year in college. And I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned that Veggie - at this very minute - is in . . . oh, I don't know. . . someplace like Prague. . .or Dresdin . . .or Berlin. . . with the very volunteers she met while in Guatemala. . . and that she has been living with them in the U.K. since her graduation last summer. . .

But I'm quite sure that I have never stated how proud I am of Veggie for her volunteer efforts in Guatemala. And how thankful I am to this wonderful family in the U.K. who have embraced her and allowed her to experience an awesome overseas living adventure.

Veggie is due to return home in two short weeks.

And, yes, I feel as if I - too - have won the lottery.

That couldn't be a tear I'm choking back. . . now could it?

And don't forget to visit Roberto's website. Once you read his story and that of From Houses to Homes, you - too - will suddenly realize that you are more fortunate than you have ever known.

I'm Not That Classy. . . and also a post where I make use of a whole lot of hyphenated phrases

2009-11-04T21:44:00.008-05:00

This very morning I opened my linen closet and chanted a prayer of thanksgiving.

For there, hapazardly stacked inside, were 21 bath towels - brand spanking clean and available for use.

Thank you, God.

And because the l et-me-just-state-for-the-record-that-I'm-not-a-rich-bitch-and-what-do-you-expect-for-this-is-Jersey-where-it-seems-that-everyone-and-their-mother-employs-the-help-of-a-domestic-sanitary-engineer-of-which-I-just-happen-to-employ-a-feng-shui-leaning -version-every-other-feng-shuing-week cleaning lady happened to pay a visit to my house today, I had the good sense to revel in my great fortune when I returned home late from work to a clean, peaceful, and hair-and-fur-free environment.

But the tranquility will not last, my friends.

For tomorrow I enter Trigger World for the first time.

Yes, dear readers, I will be traveling to a distant state to see what I imagine to be her chaos-induced-cyclone-of-a-dorm room for the first time.

Oh, and her bathroom. I will be taking the virgin voyage into what I further imagine to be her hair-and-tap-tap-make-up-induced-swill-of-a-bathing-parlor for the first time too.

And I just may find out exactly how she has survived for the past two-and-and-half-months with just two bath towels when she used to insist on two freshly-laundered towels a day. . .

Funny. . .

I once read a story about Jacqueline Kennedy Onnasis visiting her famous son while he was a student at Brown and wading through the mounds of clothing strewn about the floor in order to make his bed.

I may have an every-other-week-cleaning-lady and possession of a wicker-table-that-once-belonged-to-her, but since we're on the record here, let me state, my friends: I'm just not the Jackie O' kind of classy.

And, yes, even my mother - much to her great dismay - employs a cleaning service every other week.

It's the law.

This is Jersey.