RottenMom

Can You Dig It?

2012-02-02T16:08:00.000-05:00

It ain't nothin' but a white disco shoe thang.

You in your Daddy's letterman jacket.

And some super cool black wig

snug upon your close shaved head.

Cool has never looked so good.

Hump Day Wishes

2012-01-25T08:30:00.000-05:00

Today is Hump Day.
To celebrate the middle of the week and the beginning of the two day slide into the weekend, I give you my top 10 Wish List.
Enjoy.

I wish I could stop singing that Garth Brooks song "Beer Run". Like a B, double E, double R, U, N.
This is my laundry room anthem of the week. It used to be "The Star Spangled Banner" until Steven Tyler ruined that for me.
Thanks dude, I butchered it best, until you came along.

I wish I knew who put their thumb into the cream cheese. Unless that is a tongue mark.

I wish that my next door neighbor would go on vacation. His bird feeders would at some point in the week become empty and only then would the good birds come to my feeders. I covet thy neighbors birds.

I wish I could be the next contestant on the Price is Right! Or give the wheel a spin and win a Fortune. I look for the Cash Cab whenever I am in New York City. I am always a WINNER from the comfort of my couch. I do not, however, wish to be on that new game show where they drop people through the floor. I can't deal with that dropping stuff.

I wish I didn't love Cleveland so much. I want to turn my back on her icy cold clutches and run towards the sun, but I can't. I'd miss her too much. I would especially miss the Rock Hall Induction. Oh wait. Never mind, it's not held at the Rock Hall. Because that would make too much sense.

I wish that every time I check out at the grocery store that the front end manager wouldn't exclaim "are you here again!" loud enough for the shoppers in aisle 12 to hear.

I wish that I was brave enough to have LASIK surgery. If you see me out and about, I have my bifocal contacts in. At home, I wear my trifocal glasses. You will never see me wearing my glasses in public. I am that vain. Curse the day I sat next to an eye surgeon on an airplane who told me that 85% of his surgeries are from LASIK gone wrong.

I wish the stupid goldfish would croak already so that I do not have to have daily anxiety over it. How long do those things live anyway?

I wish I cared about the two inches of gray on my head right now. I am sure my Greekalicious Man does not find it all that attractive. I don't find his ass crack all that attractive, so I say we are about even.

I wish I could have chickens here. And a Llama. And of course a Panda. Who doesn't want a Panda? I would dress it in a purple tutu and take it with me when I pick up our Chinese food take out order. I bet I would get free spring rolls for showing up with my Panda. They already give out free pop just for ordering.

Okay.
Your turn.
What do you wish for?
And if anyone wishes for me to stop wishing, I will be all sad.
You know, because if wishes were fishes, we'd all cast nets.

Cast away.

His Facebook is My Facebook

2012-01-18T08:50:00.000-05:00

Well sort of.
I can't comment on it.
Or write on his wall.
Or post photos.
Or write updates about things like what I ate for dinner, how many loads of laundry I did and what time the mailman delivered the mail.
Important things like that.

I just might be the only person on Earth who does not have a Facebook.

For now, not having a way to let all my former classmates from High School and College know when I have to run to the store for milk,
is fine by me.

My Greekalicious man, however, has a Facebook account.

Which he graciously allows me to use when I want to check out photos of people we would not be friends with in real life
sunning themselves on the banks of the Nile.
Or wearing a very pushed up bra in a gratuitous boob shot.
Or fishing in the Keys with a sunburned bald head.
Or yodeling in the Swiss Alps.

My husband logged me in the other day so that I could see the new photos a friend of ours had posted of their first Grandchild.
Yes.
I said Grandchild.
This is what happens when you have babies in college. You get beautiful little Grandbabies while you are still young enough to chase after them. Not that I'm recommending that to anyone, because I sure do not want to be a Grandma anytime soon!
You hear that kids? College is not for lovey dovey! It's for learning!

Imagine my surprise to see that he had Friended someone I had been great friends with in College. We had remained friends up until we both married and had children. But I haven't spoken to her in about 17 years.
And for good reason.

The last time I had contact with her was as I waved bye-bye to her rude self as she pulled out of my driveway. She and her son had spent a few nights with us. We pulled out all the stops, treated them like royalty. My oldest even gave up his room to them and bunked with my husband and I.

We were the perfect hosts.
And she was the absolute rudest guest ever.

Even worse than the house guest that left used diapers all over my abode.

She flung insults left and right during that last visit. Most of the insults were directed towards my baby girl who was all of seven months old then. Her biggest insult she saved for the boy who had given up his room for her comfort. She told me he was going to grow up to be just like the serial killer who was in the news at the time because he had, at my suggestion, stowed away one of his favorite toys given to him by his Uncle so that her son, who was two years younger, would not loose any of the intricate parts. She felt his unwillingness to share his favorite toy would lead to much bigger problems down the road.

Like, ummm I don't know, cutting people up and storing them in your refrigerator.

A serial killer.

Who says that about a five year old little boy?

I never spoke to her again.

Fast forward 17 years and the grand invention of the Internet, (thank you Al Gore) and this chick pops up on my husbands friends list.

I was all like WTF?
My man was all like, oh, I meant to tell you, she messaged me the other day and asked me to have you contact her.

I was all like WTF?

Unfriend her.

Now.

Clearly, if she wanted to contact me directly, she could easily have done that. I mean I use our real names here and on Twitter. I'm pretty sure I am easy to find. I even have a nifty little contact Email address.

Not that I would respond to her or anything.

I was more that a little disappointed that my husband didn't know the marriage code of ethics.
My enemies are your enemies.
Shouldn't he know that by know?

He swiftly remedied the situation and unfriended her.

I was all like, take that bitch.
I'll show you serial killer!
You have been unfriended!

Bwahahahahaha!

So you see?

There is really no reason for me to get a Facebook.

I told you.

His FaceBook is my FaceBook.

Artistic Expression? Yeah, Right.

2012-01-11T08:15:00.000-05:00

By now, I am sure that you are aware of the Colorado teen who is fighting for her right to include a racy photo of herself in her High School Yearbook. If you have yet to see the photo that this young lady would like to use as her Senior portrait, please feel free to google it.

Go ahead.

I'll wait.

I refuse to include a copy of it here because I would feel very uncomfortable publishing the half naked photo of a very misguided girl.

While it is disturbing to me that this girl is fighting for her right to publish a photo of herself wearing only a flimsy short skirt and a black scarf wrapped around her chest as a shirt, it is more disturbing that her mother is in full support of her daughter and her right to "artistic expression".

I understand the right to artistic expression, however, your senior portrait is not the place to appear partially dressed in a provocative pose.

Rather than making the morning talk show rounds with her daughter, this mother should perhaps be teaching her child about modesty.

And self respect.

And not to toot my own horn here, but I am the mother of a recent High School graduate. There wasn't much discussion needed on what was appropriate clothing for her Senior portrait. I trusted that my daughter would choose a perfectly appropriate outfit.

I think she made an excellent choice.

Don't you?

Orange You Glad

2012-01-08T17:45:00.000-05:00

This is all that is left of the 136 Clementines and 40 Oranges

I have purchased since Thursday afternoon.

That's right.

In 72 hours my youngest two children have

consumed 171 pieces of citrus.

I don't know if there is some kind of

secret sibling Vitamin C competition going on.

Or if it's a race to see who turns orange first.

I just hope whatever is going on is worth

the $41.92 I spent on the sunshiney goodness.

It's a New Year. Whew!

2012-01-01T18:32:00.000-05:00

I see you 2012. And I am so ready.

Last year, I wrote this gem of a letter to 2011. I am pretty certain that 2011 was really pissed about being on the receiving end of my crankiness because the year ended up being pretty twisted.

I won't be writing a "RottenMom's Year in Review" month by month post, giving you the details of the crappiest year of my life, because, well, I have already written about most of them.

If you want to read up on my cancer scare, my bio fathers family finding me after I wrote about him walking away and then telling me he still doesn't give a shit about us, the day I was responsible for poisoning my boy with Carbon Monoxide and missing my only daughter so much I had to buy her a plane ticket home, you can check it all out with the links or scroll through my years worth of pity party posts.

Oh sure, there were some really beautiful parts of 2011. Like the daily sightings of my Greekalicious Man's ass crack, hiding from my kids in the basement, allowing the youngest to fly solo, my adventures in extreme couponing and the death of our trampoline, but for the most part 2011 really kicked me in the ass.

I have never been one to make resolutions, though if I were to make one, it would be to try not to sneeze pee when I'm out in public. That would be so helpful if I could get a grip on that. And less embarrassing for my family I'm sure. Who wants be with their Mom in the middle of a family outing when she sneeze pees and then asks them to check to see if there is a wet spot?

Oh my God, who would do that?
Me.
I do that.

So in closing my un-year in review, I wish you a very Happy New Year!
I hope your year is full of love, health and happiness.
And free of tetanus shots, pee stains on your hotel sheets, stretch marks and medical tape!

But most of all, free of sneeze peeing!

Love you all!
And as always, THANK YOU so very much for reading here!

GRATITUDE

2011-12-24T10:51:00.000-05:00

All three of my babes are wrapped up in the cozy warmth of our home.

This makes the Greekalicious man and I incredibly happy.

Here's hoping that whatever makes you HAPPY is coming your way.

Or maybe it's already there.

And like me, you are so grateful for it.

It's Only Biology

2011-12-19T19:53:00.000-05:00

Every day on the drive in I tell him.
As long as you try your best, your best is good enough.
Please don't be stressed.
I believe in you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

Every day.
These are the words of the daily pep talk given on the way to school.

These are the words needed to make it through Honors Biology.

He just turned 15 years old.
He is in 9th grade.
But he is in 10th grade Honors Biology class.
Not 10th grade regular Biology class.

Imagine, if you will, being expected to preform at a college level Biology Course for four periods a day, when you are still four years away from entering college.

Now imagine if all of your other classes are also Honors Classes.

Imagine, the pressure to preform.

Imagine the 10 page xeroxed study guide to be completed that comes home every week along with the additional Biology homework for each evening. Imagine the twice weekly tests and the labs to be finished.

Imagine not having any time to ride your bike, or shoot some hoops, or start up the car you will be driving next year, because you have hours and hours of homework each night.

Imagine going to bed way past the time you should.

Every night.

Imagine going to bed so late because in addition to your Biology homework, you have to complete a Power Point for Honors English, study for a test in Geometry and finish your German assignment that you started in the car on the drive home from school.

Imagine waking up still tired because there aren't enough hours in the day.

And you're 15.
Just a boy.
Not a Rocket Scientist working for pay.
Not working for the man and punching the time clock.

Not the one who will find a cure for some horrid disease,

given that queasy feeling you get when we discuss the time you got your
tonsils removed.

Just a boy.
Who would love to skateboard with his friends.
Walk to the Circle K and get a Mountain Dew Icee.
Hang in his room and listen to vinyls loud enough shake the doors.

It took some aggressive emails from me
that may have included the words "isn't it your job to advocate for the student".
And over three weeks of time.
But finally the change will be made to 10th grade regular Biology when he returns from winter break.
We weren't taking no for an answer.
This is about HIS best interest.
Not your school rating.

And then I told him.

Because he was so very troubled by his inner voice.
No, you are not a failure.
You did not quit.
This is nothing to be ashamed of.
Or fret over.
Or stress about one minute longer.
You are amazing.
And wonderful.
And perfect.
You gave it your all, each and every day.
That's all anyone can ask.
And now it's time to be
just a boy.

Imagine.
Just a 15 year old boy.

77 North

2011-12-15T06:39:00.000-05:00

Baby you can look at my car

Yes I think I am a star

Baby you can look at my car

And maybe I'll wink at you

Beep beep'm beep beep yeah

Pink & Blue, Ewwww

2011-12-08T06:30:00.000-05:00

Barely, just barely, can I look at this.

Who does crazy stuff like this?

I'll tell you.

Crazy people in Times Square.

And just in case you are wondering if I took this photo, surely you must be on

some type of strong flu medication to even allow that thought to enter your mind.

Because not only did I NOT take this snapshot, I actually ran and hid in the bathroom at the stinking 42 Street McDonalds until the coast was clear.

Let's all think about that for a moment.

I hid in probably the filthiest bathroom in the world to get as far away

as I could from this!

And the irony in that?

Well, I am pretty sure a few of their friends frequent that disgusting bathroom.

And often.

Every Day I Learn Something New

2011-12-06T08:02:00.000-05:00

Fair warning.

What you are about to read is some married text smut.

This is a sad but true example of the

communication between two adults

who have been married for a super damn long time.

One of the adults might be on the immature side.

That one might be me.

Me: Bwhahahahahahahah! Look what I can text!

8========D ~~~~~

Him: ?

Me: 8========D ~~~~~

Him: What the hell?

Me: Look at it what is it? OMg!

Me: 8========D ~~~~~

Him: I have no idea. A butt?

Me: Honey for realz? U think that's a butt? Look again!

Him: I give up. I'm trying to work here.

Me: Do you have ur glasses on? Put them on!

Him: An 8 and equal signs. Have no idea.

Me: Honey plz. ur killin me here. LOOK at it again.

8========D ~~~~~

Him: I have a conference call in a few.

Me: R u serious? I was so proud of that. It's a PENIS.

Him: Oh.

Him: Are you interested in seeing a real one?

Me: Why do you always make it about sex? Geez.

Him: I'm just offering.

Me: On another note, my truck just hit 95,000 miles.

Him: Oh wow! Congrats or something!

Me: Serves us well doesn't it? so many road trips.

Beautiful, perfect, garage kept, paid 4.

I love my truck soooooo much.

Him: Like you.

Me: Like me what? Are you comparing me to a truck?

Him: No. Meant it's a good one. Like you.

Me: ummmmm okay. a comparison?

Him: No. Just meant served us well. u know.

Me: no. I don't know.

You can forget me wanting to see the real thing.

Him: oh crap.

Some Things We Loved in New York City

2011-12-02T18:52:00.000-05:00

Kermit the Frog!

He was sniffing Yes, Virginia's feet the evening

before the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Bad frog.

Balloons!

All along the fence of the Natural History Museum.

Raise your hand if you want to pop them with a hat pin.
Who even owns a hat pin anymore?

They were certainly less frightening to look at than

the Japanese Spider Crab inside the Museum!

"Mom, Mom, look!
That huge crab you are afraid of is here!"

It was all dead though.

Whew!

The Chrysler Building!

This was the daytime view from our room.

And this blurry, fuzzy thing is what it looked like at night.

If you squint, it looks better.

Go ahead, squint, no one is looking.

Eggs Benedict!

Eggs Benedict would be my last meal request if I was ever

on Death Row for stabbing my husband in the leg

with one of those super long ass straws from Sheetz.

I think being forced to drive 8.5 hours without

being allowed to turn on the heat in the truck

is reason enough to stab your spouse with a straw.

Don't you?

Bowery and Houston Street Art!

I may or may not have taken two subway trains

with my boy to see this.

I may have said, "your art is just as good as this",

causing him to discuss getting his GED and leaving high school

to become a hoodlum the entire drive home.

Oh crap.

Rope Lights!

Decorating the fence outside of my Brooklyn Boy's apartment.

Sure they're super cute, but you better check that

they aren't connected to your electric meter!
Uh-oh, I see an extension cord.

Lobby!

This is the lobby in the Brooklyn Boy's new apartment.

A lobby free of garbage, crack heads, rat droppings and bullet holes.

A lobby with clean shiny floors and a usable mailbox.

Unlike the last apartment where laying on the floor

with the lights out during the weekly

gunfire in the middle of the night was routine.

View!

The view of Manhattan from his apartment is beautiful.

But not beautiful enough to pay so much money

for such a small space.

In Ohio, for the same amount,
he would be the owner of a

3 bedroom home with 2.5 baths.

And a man cave.
And a driveway.
With a car parked in it.

Little Italy!

So many great restaurants and dessert places.
Nothing tastes better than a slice of New York City pizza.

However, I really don't care how cute your Christmas sign is,

I'm not paying $6.50 for a cup of Hot Chocolate.

Window Washers Extraordinaire!

24 story building.

Yes.
He is leaning over the edge.

Connected to nothing.

They scaled the wall all Spidermany.

I was so anxious watching them that I had to get into

the stash of super expensive tiny little bottles of alcohol that

cost something like three hundred dollars each.

These workers could never be paid enough.

They put their lives on the line every single day

for spoiled visitors like me.

I paid for the view of the Chrysler Building and

dammit, I better be able to see it.

I salute the Window Washers of Manhattan.

And there you have it.
The things we loved in New York City.

Some Things We Learned in New York City

2011-11-28T16:32:00.000-05:00

• The toll booth attendant at the Lincoln Tunnel will not think it's funny when your husband asks "how much is it?" despite all of the giant five foot tall signs posted all over the place stating the $12.00 rate. Not even if you laugh and say "we're tourists from Ohio, we don't have tunnels there!" She won't even crack a smile.

• Don't think that the Security Guard three feet away from the entrance to the restroom at the Guggenheim will allow you to use the facilities while your husband is standing in the very long line to purchase your tickets. He won't. And don't expect the Guggenheim to be worth the cost of admission. It's not.

• Do not hold onto the pole on the subway train and then touch your face or rub your eyes. Ever. Also, never touch the handrails or lean against the wall or sit on the benches in the station. And never tell the MTA employee that your card isn't working unless you like to be yelled at in a public place.

• People will fart all up in your personal air space in New York. In the museums, on the subway platform. While waiting in line for tickets to a show. The smell will permeate your nostrils deep. Farts. Everywhere.

• There is a language barrier between me and China town. I tried to communicate to the Mother at the table beside us that there was a changing station in the ladies room. She communicated to us that she didn't care as she changed her baby on the chair 8 inches from our table. The diaper contents looked very similar to what was on our Lazy Susan.

• Milk that cost $4.25 a QUART does not taste any better than the milk that cost $2.88 a GALLON back home.

• A shady waiter in a pizza joint will double charge you for your $17 pitcher of beer, add the bill up wrong in his chicken scratch writing and then give himself a 25% gratuity, hoping that you don't notice. I noticed.

• Pee stains discovered at 1 o'clock in the morning on the sheets of the bed in your 4.5 star hotel room upon check in will get you a voucher for a free breakfast at the attached restaurant. You will still have to pay for hash browns and orange juice. And you will still have visions of the pee pee bed each night as you try to fall asleep.

• Just because it's 2011, don't expect the Internet to be included with your room rate. Also don't expect the front desk to allow you to use the "business center" printer to print a one page document. And don't expect the person working the front desk to NOT roll her eyes at you when you complain that you have just spent five days in their overpriced hotel and you want Internet dammit. Just don't expect anything at all.

• Be aware that everyone expecting a tip from you, the bellhops, the taxi drivers, the concierge and your waiter, will tell you that you and your Daughter look like sisters and how incredibly hard it is to believe you are her Mother in order to butter you up for a bigger tip. I may be from Ohio, but I know what a 30 year age difference looks like. It looks a lot like 30 years.

Next post:
Some Things We Love in New York City.
I just had to get this out of my system first.

Update: You can read my follow up post Some Things we Loved here , which surprisingly sounds like another list of complaints. There were some happy non complaining moments. Shocking coming from me, I know. And people, we saw Kermit, even if he was busy sniffing!

Confession: I Sold Gold

2011-11-18T06:35:00.001-05:00

I am almost embarrassed to tell you this.

Almost.

After years of driving past the little "WE BUY GOLD" store in my hood and the onslaught of very poorly directed commercials across my late night television viewing screen, I finally did it.

Oh yes I did.

I sold my GOLD!

What? They make cute little coins like this?
Photo Credit: GoldPrices. com

I'm not really a jewelry wearer.
In fact, most days all I wear is my original plain wedding band.
When the Greekalicious man and I got married, it was a simple affair at the Justice of the Peace.
We bought our wedding bands the day before we got hitched.
My ring cost $37.
His was $54.
Did I ever tell you we were married with a prisoner in an orange jumpsuit as a witness?
Well, now you know.

Over the years, we have added anniversary rings.
Like really pretty ones with some really big ass diamonds in them.
I figure they are payment for putting up with his malarkey for all these years.
But I am not one who likes to be bedazzled, so most days they stay in the velvet boxes they came in.

In digging through my jewelry drawer, I came up with two broken chains and a couple of rarely worn bracelets. None of the pieces had any sentimental value, so into the Ziploc snack bag they went for transportation to the "WE BUY GOLD" store.

I don't know why, but I was nervous to walk into the store.
I sat in the car for a few minutes to compose myself.
I had done all of my research online and had a pretty good idea of what to expect for the six pieces I had in my possession. But still, I was worried that I would be ripped off or that I would panic and sell it all for something like 27 bucks.

There was a very sweet older lady holding down the gold fort.
In hindsight, I'm pretty sure that's part of the plan.
You know, how can you not trust a Granny?

I was surprised at how businesslike and organized the whole thing was.
Scales and big magnifying glasses and calculators.
And a desk.
We sat at a desk for our little business transaction.

I was picturing some big scary intimidating man.
With big scary gold teeth.
And maybe a dirty carpet with some big scary stains.

I have to tell you, as much as I researched ahead of time, I gasped very loudly when the Keeper of the Fort gave me an offer.

I was all like WHAT?
And she was all like, yes indeed!

Let's just say that what I made on a few pieces of forgotten jewelry at the bottom of the drawer will go a long way for some NYU girl that has just about spent my last few pennies on darkroom supplies.

Lesson for you in my confession:
Dig deep in your drawers.
Put what appears to be broken junk in a Ziploc bag.
Make small talk with the cute little old lady.
Walk away with a smile on your face and a fat check in your hand.

Optional:
Skip the whole way back to your car.

Memories in the Corner of His Mind

2011-11-09T09:11:00.000-05:00

We didn't go apple picking this year!

Huh?

Is it too late to go apple picking?
Can we still go?

Why?

I love to go apple picking!
Fresh apples right off the tree!
It's fun!

It is?

Yeah, the kids love it!

What kids?

Our kids!

When have our kids gone apple picking?

Don't we go like every year?

We have never gone apple picking.

Don't we usually go in the fall?

Where have you been living?

What do you mean?
I thought we went apple picking.

Last time I checked we have a child with bad, bad allergies to, ummm, I don't know....trees and fields and leaves! Not to mention that I am deathly allergic to bees and have to carry and epipen in case one of those lethargic fat ass Indian Summer bees decides to try and kill me.

I don't remember ever taking the kids apple picking.

Not ever.

Are you sure?

Now, I am married to a man whom I would describe as an excellent father.
In fact, I think it's what I love most about him.
Next to his soul patch.
An excellent father who would REMEMBER if we took our kids apple picking.
OR NOT.

This apple picking stuff is just something I can't make sense of.
I mean, the dude seriously thought that we had gone apple picking every fall.
So now I'm worried that he has some secret apple picking family on the side.
I don't know when he would have the time to have a secret apple picking family because I am one of those wives who keeps tabs on her man.

Maybe on the way to put gas in my truck or pick up a gallon of milk, he picks up his secret apple picking family and they all go freakin' apple picking in record time and he gets back home before I get suspicious.

I bet they wear adorable matching fall sweaters and never complain about his swervy driving.
They probably never have to stop to pee or get hungry.
Or whine that they have better things to do than apple pick.

I don't want to one be of those paranoid wives who is constantly worried about where her man is and if he's out apple picking with his apple picking family, which by the way is different than a tab keeper wife, but the next time he walks in the the door later than expected, I'll be checking his breath for some apple smell.

Just in case.

This is Halloween 2

2011-10-31T20:25:00.000-04:00

This is what happens to the children that grow up

in a home where the parents are the fun suckers of Halloween.

It figures.

I post how much I loathe the creepy factor of the day

and he sends me this on his way to a party.

This is Halloween

2011-10-31T07:45:00.000-04:00

We're those people.
The ones who aren't all that into Halloween.
The fun suckers of spooky.
I would have loved to have skipped Halloween all together over the years, but seeing as my children went to public school, that was not a possibility.

Those public school kids ruin everything.

Our kids were allowed to participate in Halloween activities as long as it was "cute" Halloween. Meaning no scary costumes, no weapons, no blood and gore, no skeletons hanging from the light post and none of that vampire stuff. And just to be really mean, there were no store bought costumes either. No siree, we made all of their costumes. And trust me, we did not just grab a sheet and make a homemade ghost, their costumes were complex works of art.

It was a curse bestowed upon my children at birth. Having not one, but two parents with an Art Degree was certainly a hardship for them when all they wanted was a plastic store bought mask and one of those polyester things you pull on over your clothes.

The no gore rule lasted until our third child discovered fake blood when he was in 4th grade. That year he dressed as a butcher with a pig head on a tray and a gallon of blood all over the place. That stuff never comes out. There is still a large stain on my garage floor where he stood and doused himself.

This is the first year that all I have to do for Halloween is hand out some candy and carve a damn pumpkin. As a fun sucker of Halloween, this is a huge relief to me.

No class room treats to make.
No costume to complete.
No stupid adult party to attend where everyone dresses up as hookers and pimps.

It took all of the energy I had in my Halloweenless body to put up a few shoddy decorations brought up from the basement for the occasion.

Don't you worry though, if you happen to show up at my door on Halloween, despite my loathing the creepiness of the day, you'll be very happy.

We give out the good stuff.

Oh Sorry Yeah Sure It's Okay

2011-10-28T19:00:00.000-04:00

It's that time again.

Where I post a video of my boy singing

and then you allow me to be all proud and everything.

This was shot in August, remember the Tetanus shot incident ?

It was released for a few seconds and then due to

some very important stuff

and all kinds of yada, yada, yada, it was pulled until today.

So yeah, it's up again.

And ain't nobody gonna tell this mama that she can't post it on her blog.

Funeral, Birthday, Anniversary. A week of Life.

2011-10-22T19:15:00.000-04:00

One of the hardest things I have ever had to do as a parent was to help my son deal with the loss of a very good friend. We had only lived here a year when she took her life. I will keep the details private, as it is not my story to tell. She was just 14 years old and her death left a huge hole in the hearts of many. During the crowded service at the church, I sat in one of the last pews with tears running down my face as I watched my sweet son sitting a few rows up from me weep in pain. The long drive to the cemetery on that rainy, windy day was with seven young boys in dark suits and ties all piled into the truck. All wanting answers that I didn't have.

And here we are again.
The memorial service for our friend was held on Wednesday.
He chose to tragically, violently, end his life.
He took his beloved dog with him.

I have no answers.

I have no comforting motherly advice.

I have nothing.

Though I try and make sense of it all for my children, I just can't.

We never saw it coming. The person we knew was so very different from the hurting man he must have been to do what he did.

There was no cry for help.
There was no unusual behavior.
There was no inkling of what was to become the evening news.

And so we are left numb and in disbelief.

He was one of the good guys.
Someone you could count on to be there when you needed him.
He was happy and kind and loving.
Giving and honest and sweet.

Nicholas was the last person to talk to him the night before he took his life.
After their phone conversation, Nicholas wrote him a long letter about their friendship and all that he meant to him and sent it to him through Facebook. He didn't respond until the following morning, 45 minutes before he took his life.

He simply replied "I love you Nico".

Nicholas and Eric
Photo Credit: Tom Megalis

Once Nicholas realized something might be wrong he frantically did everything he could from three states away. Everything. He needs to know that, and trust me, we've told him 1,000 times over.

And you know, you may not think it's right and you might think it's selfish, but I am a little angry about that. I wish that burden of being the last person to talk to him would not have been put upon my son. That's a heavy load to carry. Especially when some want answers and there are none to give.

In this past week of sorrow and sadness there have been some bright moments.

On Tuesday, Zachary celebrated his 15th Birthday and on that same day, Tom and I celebrated our 26th Anniversary. Nicholas flew in that afternoon and was here in time to squeeze into our booth at our favorite Italian place for a Birthday dinner. Olivia's school work kept her in Manhattan so we skyped with her when it was time to sing Happy Birthday to the Birthday Boy. A lot of love was baked into an egg less pumpkin pie by the Mamacita.

It tasted so much better than it looked.

And one of the brightest moments of the week, besides the reenactment of Zachary's birth that I made everyone participate in at exactly 6:57 on October 18th, was that I allowed Zachary to stay home from school on Thursday for some much needed brother time before Nicholas had to fly back to Brooklyn.

Okay, so I lied, there was no reenactment.
They refused to do it.
But I might have wished he was still my little baby.
If only for the week.
If only to protect him from his hurting heart.

Gone too Long for Her

2011-09-30T09:31:00.000-04:00

Thirty three days.
Thirty three days since we've seen our baby bird.
We call her our baby bird because she was born too early.
So tiny and frail and yellow.
We thought it was the Greek in her.
It wasn't.
The phone calls home are becoming more frequent each day.
She misses her little brother.
Desperately.
She misses my black bean veggie burgers.
She misses being alone in her room so she can peacefully sleep at night.
She has never had to share a bedroom.
Or a dorm floor with many loud occupants.
But living in Manhattan gives an Ohio girl the opportunity to steep in her dream.
Galleries and museums galore.
Subject matter for assignments.
Boys from France with cute little accents.
$2 bracelets from Chinatown.
She's in her element.

But still, she's homesick, tired and a little overwhelmed by it all.

"I'm not complaining Mamacita,

I'm so grateful to you and Daddy for allowing me to come here."

Like there was any stopping her.

She first laid eyes on her new world three Decembers ago.

I must have seen the fire in her eyes back then to predict a future in NYC.

Funny, how that goes.

Our Brooklyn Boy moved there just one short month later.

His move hadn't been planned at the time I wrote about the Chrysler Building as our night light.

And I'm pretty certain in four years, when this thing called high school is over, Zachary will find a way to be with them.

Because nothing.

Nothing.

Will ever break the bond that the three of them have.

They will be together always, no matter where that always is.

I can feel it.

Deep in my heart.

In the meantime, I have done what every good Mamacita should do when she hears the lump in her baby bird's throat when she speaks to her.

I bought a plane ticket for a quick trip home.

Because sometimes, all a baby bird needs, is a little bit of time back in the nest squished in next to her little brother to make everything good again.

Quick! Cross Your Legs!

2011-09-16T00:00:00.000-04:00

As you may remember, I was in the Biology class for dumb kids and subsequently, I never learned about all the really yucky things invading our Earth.

Good thing I popped out one of those smart kids. It's like I get to attend Biology Class all over again, only this time, I get to hear the really important stuff they only tell the brainiacs!

I pick Zachary up from school every day. Usually we start our ride home with another addition of all the goofy things he and his friends did in study hall. I patiently wait while he describes in great detail the antics of a bunch of 14 year old boys.

Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh.
Dude, enough about study hall already, WHAT DID YOU DO IN BIOLOGY CLASS TODAY?

I really wish I would have let him go on about how he and the other boys blow kisses to the elderly study hall monitor behind her back.

Photo Credit: all over the Internet

Mom, get this, there is a fish called a Candiru, a parasite that is found in the Amazon River, that enters your body through your urethra.

What?
Ewwwww!

Apparently, they are so small and translucent that you don't see them and they just swim right up your urethra.

Ewwwww!
Cross your legs!

Mom.
We are in the car.

Why do they swim up your urethra?
Do they also enter other open orifices, like your ears or nose?
Or your hiney?

I don't know, my teacher just said our urethra.
And it can happen to women too!
They are supposed to be attracted to the smell of urine.

Ewwwww!
I feel like one just crawled in me!

Mom.
We are in the car.

I am never letting you swim in Lake Erie again.
Ever.

Mom.
They are found in the Amazon River, not our Lake.

Still.
Ewwwww!

Remember that time we saw a dead mole floating near us?
You still let us swim after that.

I know but something crawling into you is different than floating by your head.

And what about all the times we find plastic food wrappers and tampon dispensers on the beach?
You let us go in after that.

I know, I know, but what if they are in there? There are the Asian Carp sightings, what if we don't know it and there are Candiru in there too?

They aren't in Lake Erie.

Oh God, I hope I don't sneeze pee.
Now I'm all itchy and I feel like I have a Candiru in me!!!

Mom, you sneeze pee?
That is so disgusting.
You do not have a Candiru in you.
We are in the car.

When we arrived home, I promptly researched this evil predator.

Photo Credit: Amazon.com

Ewwwww!
People, they are lurking in the waters of the Amazon!
Or maybe in a lake near you!
How would we even know?
They are all translucent and shit.

So take the advice of someone who is pretty much considered to be in the Biology class she always deserved to be in, cross your legs when swimming in our rivers and lakes.
At the very least, don't be peeing in the water for Christ sakes.

Get out and pee in the weeds like I do.

Remembering

2011-09-11T10:04:00.000-04:00

Everyone has a connection.

Brian Dale was on Flight 11.
He graduated 4 years ahead of me.
One of my good friends was his best man at his wedding.
He left behind a wife and three young children.

Dave Kovalcin was on Flight 11.
He graduated 3 years ahead of me.
I remember that his Mom had died young as well.
He left behind a wife and two young daughters.

My cousin worked for the Secret Service at The Pentagon.
He had the day off on September 11th 2001.
He made a career change after that fateful day.
He is now an Air Marshal.

Our New York City friend lost his Church in the rubble.

We lived about 50 miles from Shanksville.
According to flight patterns later published, Flight 93 flew over our community.

Interesting fact, considering almost one year later we moved to a community where Flight 93 also flew over after it turned around at Hopkins.

Everyone has a connection.

The Bottom of the Hill

2011-09-08T06:25:00.002-04:00

It's happened.
Much, much sooner than I expected it.
The last one out of the womb started high school this year.
High school.
When did all of this growing up happen?

Seems like just yesterday he allowed me to kiss him goodbye on the top of his fuzzy little head.
Because, in fact, it was just yesterday!
Today, he leaned over towards me and said, "okay, bye mom" as soon as we pulled onto campus. We still had the long drive to the top of the hill before he had to depart the comfort of his mother's undying love.

You want me to say goodbye here? At the bottom of the hill?

Could you?

Oh.
Oh.
I get it.
You don't want anyone to see me kiss you.

Kind of.
Mom, I'm 14.

I understand honey.
It's cool.

And so I kissed his buzz cut head at the bottom of the hill and wished him a great day.

6:53 AM and the boy is walking into the high school to begin his day and I am driving back down the hill feeling proud of him for the man he is becoming, but so missing the little boy he's leaving behind.

It's Official

2011-09-01T00:11:00.001-04:00

Could she look any happier?

Well, she could if she had the option to move her little brother into her dorm room with her.

Since that is not going to happen,

they will have to make due with an extraordinary amount

of texts and phone calls back and forth.

I've lost count on how many have

occurred between them since Monday morning.

I say she looks like a girl whose dream just came true.

I'd like to thank the S.W.A.T guy we hired to keep tabs

on her for doing his job.

Keeping It Alive

2011-08-29T09:40:00.000-04:00

My daughter went to college this morning and all I got was this stinkin' fish.

We are not exactly a pet family.
I am hoping I can keep it alive for at least a week.

It is not beyond my moral barometer to replace it with another similar looking fish if need be.

Moving Olivia to her dorm room took an unexpected turn.
Her name was Irene and she messed up our plans.
I'm not going to be too upset with Irene as she was very kind to my Brooklyn Boy, just like I asked.

Zachary and I were not able to make the trip, instead we stood in the driveway and cried big sloppy tears as we waved goodbye to our college bound girl this morning.

As the truck pulled away, Olivia stuck her head out of the window for what I thought would be one last "I love you"!

Instead, her parting words filled me with fear.

Don't forget to feed my fish!
He better be alive when I come back!

Or else!