MommyBest: Pays tribute to all moms who do their BEST!

"Real Housewives" gets REAL.

2012-02-21T11:13:00.000-05:00

     Interestingly enough, something unexpected happened to me when I watched The Reunion, Part 3 of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. After getting most of my work done for my job as a Writer and a Mom/Wife, I nestled into my favorite sweats and cuddled onto the couch with my dog for some long overdue entertainment. It wasn't long before I found myself checking e-mails and folding laundry while watching. I was BORED.
     What did I find so monotonous? It wasn't the clothes, hair or make-up which overall looked spot on. Loved all their shoes. Enjoyed some of the snide comments and banter...but I was there and done that with the interactions and pettiness of the conversation. And the truth is we all knew that Kim had a drinking problem at the very least, so Andy's interview with her wasn't as revealing as BRAVO must have thought it would be.
     The bottom line for me is this: Kyle and Kim's relationship as sisters is real and one that all siblings can relate to. In the midst of all this BS and TV farce, the one REAL element in this show is the struggles, hardships and bouts with happiness that family experiences. Like Kyle and Kim, families stick together in times of struggles and celebrate in times of triumph.
     This is why I truly understood the heartache that Kyle felt when Kim was absent during much of the Hawaiian trip because, regardless of all the "friends" who accompanied them, a sister's presence trumps them all. It's also why I understood Kyle's protectiveness and defensiveness when others, Brandi, in particular,were criticizing her sister. And why I totally get how embarrassing it was for Kyle when Kim didn't show up to events or even respond. A sister's love is a visceral thing, stronger than bonds we make with most, if not all, of the friends we make in a lifetime. It's a relationship as complex as those super, carbohydrate foods in the health store, yet as simple as sharing a chocolate ice cream cone with the sweetness of chocolate sprinkles--and a cherry on top!

"Real Housewives", Hollywood and Motherhood in 2012!

2012-02-06T21:14:00.002-05:00

     I have a guilty pleasure in watching the "Real" housewives shows, except for the DC and Miami lack luster seasons, which I couldn't even bring myself to view more than twice. Like all moms, I'm busy juggling career and home, so I watch as much as I am able to. For awhile, I liked the NY wives the best because I am a New Yorker and, like several of those housewives, tell it like it is. I can't stand phonies and there are plenty of them where I live, especially if they are trying to get an opportunity for their kids.
     But, an unexpected favorite of mine has become the Beverly Hills version because I feel (and I may be wrong) that the characters are less scripted than the other shows and are a bit more "real."
     Still, part of the lure for me, and I suspect for most moms, is the realization that all these "REAL Housewives" are so far from reality that we use them as a means of escaping to a different planet and vicariously living some of their outlandish experiences. I also have my favs, liking and loathing a few. My least favorite housewives are Brandi (Beverly Hills); NeNe (Atlanta); Gretchen (Orange County) and The Countess (NY). I believe each one of these women is so self absorbed she will do anything to get what she thinks she deserves, and that includes your husband and kids. Right now, Lisa Vanderpump, you truly better watch your step and I'm not referring to those new pumps you're wearing, but rather to being kicked by Brandi's pumps as she desperately tries to lure your husband to assume your matriarch role of fabulous.
     The recent episode of Brandi strutting around with a dental floss bathing suit showcased her insecurities and narcissistic need for attention. Yes, she has a nice body, a little thin and flat-chested in my humble opinion. But, I know from the years when I looked my bathing suit best, I was humble about it, especially not trying to flaunt my youth to older moms and, most despicable, is her constant attempt to seduce their husbands. Brandi's crude comments, sexual innuendos and ruthless remarks were evident in the first Reunion show last week. I'm going to watch the Reunion, Part 2 now, so I have to go...

*sorry if I misspelled any of the housewife's names, but I'm in a rush...to be continued......................

Holiday Memories

2011-12-19T13:40:00.001-05:00

Excerpt from MommyBest: 13 Inspirational Lessons… Lesson + Memoir + Reader Reflection = Ways to be your MommyBest!

Holiday Memories—

“Kitty” and Grandmothers.

Very rapidly, mothers ripen into glorious grandmothers

who leave indelible imprints on both their children’s and

their grandchildren’s lives.

I gleefully watch from the sidelines, letting “Granny

Lynn” become mere putty in my children’s tiny,

adoring hands. As she spoils my sons. I often tease

and question why I didn’t get this “VIP treatment”

while I was growing-up?

I believe one of Life’s great blessings is:

A grandma who always has an extra stash of

cookies she dotingly saves, eagerly awaiting her

grandchildren’s visits. Be prepared to see your own

mother transform into a grandmother and journey

with your children in wondrous ways!

Holiday Memories:

“Kitty” and Grandmothers

My mother, now in her sixties, loves being a grandma. After

hundreds of requests from my children, she recently

agreed to stay overnight. My toddler sons were so excited

to have their “Grandma Lynn” to themselves so she could

play with them, and especially, read a bedtime story. They

heartily laughed when my mother was unable to decipher

some of the words without her reading glasses on. Both boys

eagerly found her spectacles after digging like dogs through

her immense and cluttered purse.

But, the biggest hysteria came when they saw their

grandma clad in her brightly colored, ruffled pajamas—accented

by my father’s black socks. After lots more giggling

and snuggling, Grandma tucked them in with a promise of

“more fun tomorrow.”

I was awakened very early the next morning by the

sounds of scurrying footsteps and loud whispers—which

are my spirited children’s attempts to be “quiet.” I went to

see what all the commotion was and found my two sons

hanging over our guest bed, their heads downward, pressed

very close to my mother’s face. Their hands were covering

their mouths, in an attempt to contain their laughter.

Grandma Lynn was making a good amount of noise snoring,

although she calls it “heavy breathing.” Her eyes were

half-open—until she jolted up when I joined my sons in

their amusement.

“The kids were in here earlier this morning. I must have

dozed off again,” my mom groggily shared. It was 6:30 am

by the time I arrived, so I reprimanded my sons for going

into what had now be called, “grandma’s room.” Both boys explained they

had come back for a second visit because they were very

interested in seeing “Grandma’s teeth again.”

My mother was mortified when she learned my two

son’s return to her guest room was in response to their discovery

of her false teeth, sitting in a glass of water beside the

bed. My mother is old-fashioned and very private about

what she considers “personal,” and her teeth or lack thereof

falls into this category. Thankfully, after seeing and hearing

our laughter, Grandma joined in, now jokingly sliding her

teeth in and out of her mouth in a rhythmic pace.

The jesting continued as my sons observed and dissected

the contents in the glass as if they were investigating a science

experiment. The direct and innocent questions about

“where did her real teeth go,” “how did she get her teeth

out of her mouth if they were glued inside?” were wondrous.

My younger, mathematically-inclined son wanted

to know if the entire set of teeth cost “more than $100”

or did Grandma have to “buy one at a time.” The scenario

ended with my mother joyfully smiling while hugging my

sons—sporting a full set of gums.

I’m often able to use Grandma’s teeth to further instruct

my children on the importance of taking care of their pearly

whites when they complain, as they sometimes do, I make

them brush their teeth too much.

As I watched from the “sidelines,” I saw my two boys

wondrously playing games starting with “Go Fish” before

dragging Grandma outside, tossing a moving basketball

to her before returning for a snack inside. Each boy vied

for her attention and she didn’t disappoint them, bouncing

from one activity to the next…until I reminded them

Grandma Lynn needed a rest. I could tell my mom was exhausted,

yet enamored by all the attention my sons showered

her with.

While I continued to watch my boys snuggle with my

mom, I knew “Grandma Lynn” would be one of the most

important people in their lives; I began to reminisce about

my own grandma’s visits as a child and how special those

moments were, and continue to be, for me.

“Kitty” was a nickname we teasingly called my grandmother

as a shortened version of her name: Catherine. The

nickname was very fitting because she was playful and

youthful like a kitten. She and my grandfather, a New York

City Police Officer, had six children. My grandfather died

early, at the age of fifty, leaving my grandmother with some

very challenging times ahead of her. One of her first challenges,

which she enlisted the help of my father, was learning

to drive.

It wasn’t long before she was on the road, now able to

commute to her new job as a secretary in a religious high

school, as well as visit her family scattered throughout the

Northeast. Sometimes when Grandma came, we’d be playing out

side with friends as her car passed by. All of us raced home

to greet her and taste one of the many delectable cakes and

cookies she always brought fresh from, as my mother would

say, “the best bakeries in the Bronx.”

My friends, upon meeting her, often thought she was an

aunt because she didn’t look old enough to be a grandma. She

probably would attribute her youthful glow to her meticulous

hygiene rituals. Whenever Grandma slept over, she would

systematically wake early by 5:30a.m., dutifully cleanse her

face with a handful of cold cream and rinse it off .

Next, she would turn her head downside and frantically

tease her jet-black hair, before swooping and pinning it

into a high and tight twist.

Once her grooming was complete we would find her,

usually with eyes half-closed, sitting on the living room

couch waiting for everyone else to wake-up. She’d often

stay a few days doing our favorite things—shopping, talking

and eating—before she returned to her own home.

After years of living in the four-bedroom Colonial in

Mount Vernon, Westchester, with her youngest daughter

(my aunt), they were confronted by robbers one evening

after returning home from work. Boldly and brazenly,

Grandma ran after them as they took fleet!

Worried about Grandma’s safety, my mother had invited

her to live with us, as did some of her other children.

But, she confided in me she wanted to be independent and

not become a burden to her children. Instead, Grandma

decided to sell her house and downsize to an apartment.

I was sad when the house that represented some of my

earliest Christmas memories was sold. Grandma’s house

sat high above an incline with an entourage of trees;

ironically, most were Christmas evergreen. I vaguely recall

an enclosed porch with tiny glass windows. It was on this

porch I sat in front of an organ, slamming its keyboard,

pretending to be on-stage.

I can still sense the aroma of home cooking from visits I

had, and I especially remember eating the best homemade

macaroni and cheese I have ever tasted. As a child, I was scared

of the cellar that housed the infamous

“cat of nine tails” my grandmother teasingly threatened

she would have to take out if we didn’t behave well.

Also scary to me as a youngster was a recurring dream

I had about roller skating at an uncontrollably fast pace down

the house’s precipitous driveway, into oncoming

traffic and ultimately down under into a sewer drain gate.

On my way down, deeper into darkness, I would abruptly

wake-up with heart-racing palpitations.

But the most lasting impressions that still remain with

me are those from one Christmas gathering I recall: All Grandma’s

children and grandchildren were scattered throughout

the living room laughing, munching and eagerly awaiting

Grandma’s cue to sit down for present opening. Grandma

enthusiastically put her glasses on before selecting one from

many piles of gifts. Once each name on the gift tag was

read, the recipient raced to the front of the room and back

to his/her place before tearing open their prize.

Every gift I received from my grandmother was wonderful

because I felt—even as young as I was—she had spent

much time and consideration in her selection, personalizing

each present. Her gifts became even more meaningful

as I grew older and appreciated their sentimental value.

It was during this one Christmas celebration when Grandma

gave me a ceramic figurine of “Snow White” with a

matching watch clasped at the bottom of its dress; I was

enthralled! I wore the watch around my wrist and carefully

took it off when I showered and slept. I put the “Snow

White” statuette atop a shelf across from my bed so I could

see her before I went to sleep each night.

Following Christmas that year, Grandma moved to a

quaint, one-bedroom apartment in Park Chester, NY. It

was then when different Christmas traditions started and

my grandmother earned a new nickname: “Rudolph.”

Each Christmas season, she traveled to her six children’s

homes. Her car was the sleigh she maneuvered across the

Northeast.

Like the Christmases we celebrated at her home, we

continued to eat lots of food and desserts; we started our

own tradition: each child in our family took a turn sitting

in a designated chair to open presents while we all watched

in anticipation. It was as much fun to give as it was to receive.

Like a little kid, Grandma’s eyes widened as each gift

was opened.

During one visit, there was an “Elvis Presley” marathon

of movies on television. My grandmother and I, both adoring

fans, watched in delight. As the evening progressed, I

noticed my grandmother sitting on the couch, eyes closed

with head slightly tilted. I could hear her breathing heavily

(as my mother does when she sleeps).

“Go to bed, Grandma,” I called across the room. When

she didn’t answer, I giggled and repeated, “Go to bed, Grandma,

you’ve been up since 5:30 this morning.

“NOOOoo,”Grandma wailed, as she flung her head upright and lifted

her feet from the floor, vertically moving her legs in a scissor-like motion:

“I want to watch Elvis,” she demanded!

I could not argue with—nor could I ever forget—the

endearing and child-like protests she made!

My grandmother died the following year, on December 7, 1980, two and a

half weeks before Christmas. My family was deeply saddened by her sudden death.

We longed for a holiday visit from her.

To our surprise, my aunt delivered presents Grandma had

purchased before her death. I felt as if Grandma was watching

me as I opened them. Her spirit was with us that year

and remains with us—especially during the holiday season.

I often feel as if she is bestowing gifts upon us and guiding

our way with her light. Sometimes, when I wake-up in

the early morning—when it’s still dark out—I feel as if she

is sitting on my sofa, waiting for my family to wake-up.

“Snow White” continues to sit high, atop a shelf overlooking

my bedroom. The figurine, with its jet-black hair

(the color of my grandmas’) has aged: some of its smoother

surfaces scratched; some of its vibrant color faded.

Yet, like my grandmother, she has matured with dignity

and grace, while possessing a beauty that transcends time.

Both Grandma and Snow White represent magical

figures in my life and cherished moments from my childhood—

moments that become dearer with each visit and

every holiday my children share with their “Grandma

Lynn.”

Reader Reflection

• What’s your most powerful memory of your grandmother?

• How has your relationship with your own mother changed

now that she’s a grandmother?

• What’s her relationship with your children like, and what do

you cherish about it?

Important Health information for Women as a Gift to taking care of themselves.

2011-12-16T10:19:00.006-05:00

     This year as I've done for the past 11 years, I scheduled my mammogram, except with one distinction. Since I've been getting my testing performed at the same facility, I thought it would be a good idea to get a second opinion and try a new testing site where I recently had a wonderful experience getting an MRI on my knee. Before going to the new site, I picked-up my records, films and all from my previous breast exams so the new doctors and radiologists would have a good comparative baseline to use.
     Unfortunately, this time, the waiting room was jammed at the new site. After about an hour of sitting, a harried technician came to rush me in to get a sonogram of my breasts, which is what my doctor ordered, in addition to the mammogram, because I have many cysts.
     To succinctly sum up my experience, I can simply share that it was awful: I was rushed to change into the smock, while the "Tech" was still in the room ( I've always been given the privacy of changing solo, with the tech returning once I'm done). "Excuse ME," I said, which prompted her to at least turn her head while I changed, "rapido". I felt unimportant and unwelcome as she complained during much of the testing about how she didn't get a break and how the company doesn't care about her. The entire time, I was thinking, "I should have stayed with the much more professional staff where I had been getting my radiology work done prior."
     Even worse than the sonogram was the mammogram, which hurt more than it ever had before; my new technician, who shared my name, "Donna," was not only stressed and rushed, but she was also NASTY: "Could you put your left breast on the table and turn this way, not that way?" I can't repeat what I was thinking because this blog is rated "G"...okay, sometimes, "PG" lol.
     When the mammogram was complete, I was instructed to wait while nasty "Donna" went to chat with the doctor who reads the tests. Well, wouldn't you know something "didn't look right" and I had to get another couple of squeezes, if you know what I mean. Of course, when I nervously inquired as to what "didn't look right, " I was told, "I have no idea."
     After the second set of films were taken, I waited and was told I should call my doctor the next day as all my information would be sent to her. "Are you kidding? I'd like to talk to the doctor here who just read my test, " I inquired. But, the office staff responded, "the doctors don't talk to the patients." I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep that night if I didn't find something out. So they assured me they would send it to my doctor later that day. I felt sick to my stomach that something could be wrong, but my gut instinct felt that I was "okay" medically despite the scare I felt.
     I was confused as to why I wasn't allowed to talk to the doctor when at my previous testing site, the doctor personally consulted with me a few minutes after each visit. I later found out, and am sharing this with all women, that it is proper "medical protocol" now to get an explanation of your test results BEFORE you leave the facility and by law the patient is supposed to have something in writing sent to her doctor or patient within 24 hours of having these tests. I learned of this after I called the facility and left a message for the "Director" about how unpleasant my experience at his place of business was for me. He returned my call and couldn't have apologized more, adding he could understand exactly how I felt. "Really," I thought. There's no way having a prostate exam --with a few squeezes--could match getting my body parts crushed down to a fraction of their size, between two plates--and being treated like a cockroach the entire time, pestering them to do their job.
     He told me he didn't understand their doctor's notes either, so I should see my own physician for clarification. He ended saying he wished I had the opportunity to wear one of his new, plush robes during my visit, and that he was going to "fire" the women I dealt with because he's had "a few" other complaints from patients. All the while I was on the phone with him, I had a sense that he was part of the problem, along with his staff. Sorry, buddy, but the buck stops with you and overseeing your staff and all that is going on.
     I called my gynecologist, whom I treasure dearly and knew she would call me back. She did call that evening advising she couldn't interpret the test results because that's what the radiologist is supposed to do. My doctor shared the findings of " a more dense area of breast tissue" and some other information with me and advised she wasn't "concerned" but recommended I see a "breast specialist" just to confirm. I did see a breast specialist and she determined that (she believes) the changes are within normal range but we will check in six months.
     So here's why I'm sharing this experience with women and those who love them:
1. Verify when you schedule your mammogram if you can get the test results before you leave.
2. Ask for your privacy when changing into any smocks or medical garments. I won't allow what happened to me to ever occur again.
3. Follow-up on any vague medical explanation with the few doctors you trust.

I always pray for good doctors for myself and my family. And that goes for dentists as well. Have a healthy holiday!

And, Merry Christmas!!!.

A few of My Favorite Products/Gifts

2011-12-01T12:15:00.001-05:00

BEST Self-Care, affordable PRODUCTS/GIFTS for US GIRLS!

Recently some moms and girlfriends have asked me to share some of my favorite girly stuff. These items make great gifts and some you should simply treat yourself to. Guys, we love these very affordable items too--especially if yo buy them for us "just because." I will share these with you, and I AM NOT being paid by any of these manufacturers. You have my MommyBest word on it! : )

~ I love Bare Minerals which I purchase at the Sephora Store or at their on-line website. I use their 3-part process of: Foundation (which you choose the color based on your skin type) Warmth (a bronzer I love) and Mineral Veil (which sets the first two products).
What I also love about Sephora is that they provide a ton of promotions including free product samples when you go into the store and on-line. I sometimes am hesitant when I go to the cosmetic counter and see a group of teenage girls because I wonder how knowledgeable they are regarding my skin care--and because they don't have a wrinkle on their face: )During college, I worked at the Clinique counter, where many women shared their uneasiness with me when they visited. I truly tried to ease their concerns by helping them using a minimalist approach. To that end I have experienced the same approach from Sephora, with their very helpful and complimentary staff--for the most part.The main problem I have when I visit Sephora is that I want to buy everything.

~My favorite shampoo now is Avenno Active Naturals, I get the Color Preserving type, but you may choose whatever suits your hair. It's very gentle, smells great and is very soothing. You may purchase it at CVS or any pharmacy or food store.
On a side note, I also love Aveeno's gentle oatmeal bath and face soap, which has been around for quite a long time!

~Cetaphil Cleanser & Moisturizer are the most gentle of all creams. Both are non-comedogenic which means they won't clog any pores, which can cause blemishes. Also purchased at food stores; BJ's Warehouse, Walmart, drugsstores, Target etc.
These products have also been recommended to me by my dermatologist to rival much more expensive brands.

~Wen Sweet Almond Mint Texture Balm has the most amazing calming effect on unruly hair. I've never found a product like this. You simply rub a little into your hands and then run your hands through dry hair.
I have to confess that I don't like Wen shampoo or conditioner--and I get upset when companies make us sign-up for continuous future shipments of an entire product line, which is very costly. I cancelled my auto ship on this kit, but I purchased this texture balm separately from them--which is hard to do because the customer service reps are persistent. But you can hold your ground and even try the shampoo to see if you like it because everyone's hair is different.

~Aromatic Elixir perfume spray by Clinique. There's no scent like this and everyone always asks me what fragrance I'm wearing. It's fruity and sensual. And yes, I once worked at Clinique during college, but I have no allegiance to them as I don't wear any of their make-up products.
Most of the people I've met share that this perfume either smells heavenly on some women or it doesn't. My husband still loves this fragrance and did when we started dating. Once, I gave him a stuffed animal and sprayed it with this scent so he could bring it when he had to go away on business--Awww, I'm such a romantic, right?

Next blog, I'm going to share a few favorite recipes. Please let me know what you think if you try these products and feel welcome in sharing a few of your favorites here as well.

Some facebook advice for moms to follow with their kids!

2011-10-25T16:37:00.000-04:00

I'm sharing because I made one (well, maybe a few lol) of these mistakes, especially "liking" my kids' comments too much on facebook : )

http://http//shine.yahoo.com/event/techtools/11-biggest-mistakes-for-parents-who-are-facebook-friends-with-their-kids-2595503

Blessing Pets

2011-10-05T11:37:00.000-04:00

Blessing our Dog at Church...

Soon after we got her for Christmas. Several "know it all" told us Natalia wouldn't keep her red hair as most of it would turn to black...Well, see below.

Resting she still keeps a watchful eye-as I do given my Bronx roots.

Playing outside : )

I attended Mass yesterday seeking some guidance from God and Mary. In addition to my Heavenly Father, I have looked to the Blessed Mother as another Mom from the time I was a child. I always feel better about life after I attend a Mass and connect with their message.

This week it was a surprise when the Monsignor announced he would be "blessing" all pets during an outdoor ceremony later in the day; I knew I had to change my schedule to attend. I later read the weekly church bulletin and thought it was a great idea to also include stuffed animals in the blessing. I took a few from our stash and put them in my purse to attend the ceremony too.

Everyone else in my home was busy, so I took Natalia myself to the church parking lot, filled with at least 100 dogs, all shapes and sizes-- barking, going potty and even howling. My dog is certainly not used to this type of surrounding and looked quite frightened. But I continued to pet her and stay close, so she felt more comfortable. I wanted to especially bring her to this ceremony so she could socialize with more dogs, something we haven't been able to do.When our family went away this past summer on vacation, prior to our trip, at the suggestion of several of my neighbors whose dogs attend, we took Natalia to a kindergarten for dogs to help her get acclimated and become more socialized. This way we'd have a place to leave her and feel she was in good hands (or paws--lol) while we were away.

I was so excited for Natalia to have some dogie pals. She absolutely LOVES people but is only fond of a few dogs in the neighborhood. The others who she barks at are bigger so I think she's scared and pretends to be tough. Anyway, after an in-depth interview with the director at the kindergarten, my younger son and I watched Natalia, from a camera in the main lobby, as she was brought into the room with a few dogs and then soon transferred into the larger group. We did this for several days, and contrary to a few of my neighbor's experiences, our dog was miserable. She even cried the third day when we arrived at the kindergarten. She hid in the corner while all the other, mostly larger, dogs played. I could tell she was overwhelmed and frightened. I truly felt as I did when I was leaving my boys at nursery school, and I started to tear-up. I went to one of the workers and asked if my dog could be acclimated for a few hours with only a few dogs, which I thought would ease the transition. The worker told me that wasn't the policy, and if they did this, it would make the other dogs jealous. I should mention this kindergarten is very expensive as well.

Hence, I did what I did in looking for the "appropriate" nursery school. I took Natalia out of this environment and have discovered from many pet owners that there are pet schools which will work with our dog and with us to make a much more pleasant experience.We don't want her to be away from us a lot, just in case we have an emergency or a summer vacation.

Interestingly, the owner of the school never contacted me after I left with tears in my eyes : ( However, when I wrote a negative review on their facebook page, she called me many times, even leaving her cell phone number. I finally called her back and she advised that our dog is "shy" and may only be a "people dog." Well, maybe that's true. Time will tell...

But when I took Natalia to the church parking lot and she started barking and seemed scared, I held her leash tight and calmly told her I was with her. God was with her. Soon, she was relaxed and was happily walking with the other dogs. Yes, there were a few little mishaps. Still, I felt the same inner calm I did when I followed my instincts with my kids, regardless of what the so called "experts" told me. My dog Natalia and I have a mother daughter bond, and I will follow that like she follows the scent of beef-flavored raw hide--in making life decisions for our newest family member!

Men and Cheating. I waited to write this post and had more to say than I thought...

2011-09-26T17:52:00.001-04:00

September 2011

What did Arnold say to the fine Senator from N.Y.?

Answer: I want my “Weiner” “back.” (Get-it? from “I’ll be back)—I always over-explain lol)

     Finally, these tabloid stories have lost some of their luster, which is why I wanted to write about them now, on a more serious note—although, as you can see from my intro, I too couldn’t resist “poking” (my favorite facebook word which I recently tried to use in a family Scrabble game). I, like so many of you, feel compelled by the number of smart, seemingly happy and fulfilled committed men who are secretly leading a double life. I’m sure the actual number of these successful, educated and publicly pious married men, most of whom, we’d-- “never in a million years”--guess would partake in these sexually deviant behaviors, is actually in the millions.
     And, I believe, most often these men are the most unlikely candidates for this Hall of Shame because they so coyly know how to mask their "dirty laundry." Most notably in my mind is the ever so prudent, anti-prostitution superhero, our former 54^th Governor of New York and New York State Attorney General, Eliot Spitzer. Here is an egotistical, self-righteous and staunch crime opponent, especially focusing on humiliating anyone involved in or with prostitution rings. In fact, his successful conviction rate was so high, it played a major role in acquiring his gubernatorial seat.
     Years later, when he was caught with his pants down, after snubbing his nose at those convicted on the same crime, he smirked at the podium when he resigned—his wife’s tormented eyes gazed away as she stood beside him. And Spitzer didn’t just partake in the typical prostitution pool; he went first class into the elite, prime pickings, engaging with someone about his daughter’s age, using traceable, state funds to pay for his extracurricular activities.
     The irony of the entire incident is how adamantly he opposed this behavior and how fervently he took down others for the partaking in it. Did he think he was too powerful to get caught? Was it the old adage, “Me thinks you protest too much.” I don’t have all of the answers, but I do know his wife was visibly in pain and will probably question the integrity of their marriage forever, and his daughters will never see their father in the same light.
     Like Hillary and Chelsea, they carry the residual effects. How can they ever trust a man who can lie so well and live such a hidden life, denying his deeds until forced by the evidence? The State had all the evidence on Spitzer; the media also shared all the evidence on Weiner so that he could no longer deny any accusations, but he continued to linger in his position, like rotten Chinese food in the fridge for too long. When his own party turned against him, he had nowhere to go, except to leave. What about his poor pregnant, wife who is standing beside another scorn woman, Hillary Clinton, in a foreign country, when she first learns of her husband’s sexting and who knows, what else. Hillary knows too well what lengths a man, even the President of the United States, will go to hide his stain. And even worse, Arnold Schwartzenegger had the audacity to have an affair with the maid who worked in their home, using his bedroom as their sanctuary. He even had a baby with her and no one even questioned the obvious resemblance to Arnold.
     The reason, according to many, that Anthony Weiner was massacred by the media, while Arnold was handled with kid gloves, is because Weiner adamantly attacked the media for spreading libelous stories. Arnold, in contrast, had always put Maria up on a public pedestal, often sharing that he was the “luckiest” man in the world, coming to America with little possession, reaching box-office fame, marrying into our American aristocracy
     Arnold, in contrast to the other cheaters I’ve mentioned, didn’t deceive his wife and family with a younger, more attractive woman—although I’m sure he has in some of his other transgressions. But, in this case, I think it was his power in the home. I also need to note here that the Kennedy men are no strangers to infidelity and scandal—and, in my humble opinion, some way or another our sins can boomerang back to hurt us or those we love.
     During the last six months, I have encountered (given the sensitive nature, I will not mention any names to protect the children) many middle-aged women who were deceived by their husbands using technology with its ease in access and lure of anonymity to betray women their children call “Mom.” What all these women have in common is that they feel a betrayal so deep that they are having trouble moving forward in their lives: One woman shared she was divorcing her husband after she discovered phone numbers programmed into her spouses cell phone; from there, she learned and her husband confirmed he was having several affairs. Other moms I know have found on-line chat room conversations, pornographic web sites in the browser history and even e-mails from past girlfriends. One wife even shared her son found some “inappropriate” messages his dad (her husband) was sending on a dating site he joined pretending to be single. For months, he had conversations with women sharing fact and fiction. Interestingly, he felt he didn’t “cheat” because there was no “physical relationship.”
     One good friend in particular said she doesn’t see herself in her husband’s eyes anymore and that he’s changed in his forties. Is this part of the male middle age crisis? And women feel less than because they can’t compete with 20 or even 30 something’s. My girlfriend’s fiance always tells her how amazing the Victoria Secret’s models are, and I tell her, “There’s no way you can compete with them—and you shouldn’t have to.” That’s it! But society doesn’t promote aging women—just look at any advertising. Even the wrinkle cream ads feature young women pretending to be older.
     I recall older, often married, men hitting on me in my teens—and then at college and the office. I was disgusted by this and often hid my goods—and still do. I was raised in a very conservative household and dressed accordingly. I think I was too proper so I am glad to see the generations now are more comfortable showing a little cleavage; But, I still don’t approve of letting it all hang-out as many young girls do today—as they encourage men to look at them as they flaunt their stuff. I want us parents to teach our girls to value themselves and their brains, in particular. And society should have some respect for all women, recognizing that we should stick together—instead of feuding over men.
     Why is it that, very often, as a man ages, he becomes more desirable if he has a lot of money, power or connections. The Donald is a prime example of this, and if anyone cares to refute that his wife or Marla Mason would still have married him if he was a pauper, bring it on. Larry King and his suspenders offer another example of women hovering over someone-- not because he looks good-- but his bank account does.
     Yet, do women become less desirable because they age? Well, let’s take a look at Hollywood, and I think I can safely say that our society mimics the big screen in many ways. As women, we can only be the best we can for whatever age we are. We must nurture our insides along with our outsides.
     From the time I was a little girl, I wanted to independently make my own money; I didn’t want to be with someone for the “wrong” reasons. And, I would never give the satisfaction to a married guy who “hit on me” or even flirted because, to me, he was low-class for disrespecting his woman. I think most of us girls are all too familiar with the guys at the office making inappropriate gestures and comments—and often minimizing our work by saying we were able to accomplish certain feats because of our looks or other related gender issues.
     I know some men who will read this post and say that women do the same. Yes, some women are “cougars,” but the overall perspective of our society is such that you also KNOW women are judged much more harshly for how they look that men are. But, I believe, there are great men out there with integrity who have committed relationships with women/wives they adore.
     I think a good rule to follow is one I always tell my kids, “Try to have the same honor you show at school to your teachers---when no one is looking.”

Radio Interview on WHUD And Kasey on the Radio

2011-08-19T11:19:00.001-04:00

Check out MommyBest today on Kasey's Page and also on WHUD this Sunday, August 21st. http://kaceyontheradio.com/?s=mommy+best

Motherhood: Later than Sooner--interview

2011-07-19T14:31:00.000-04:00

http://blog.motherhoodlaterthansooner.com/2011/07/cyma-shapiro-chats-with-author-donna.html

Here's a sample question from the wonderful interview:

Q: You chart an interesting course from professional woman to CEO of your house. Can you describe this change?A: Moving up the homemaker ladder of success takes time as it took time to climb the corporate ladder. In exchange for a business plan, you’ll be following a different set of guidelines orchestrating your Life plan—preparing for your greatest investment ever: your child. During the first few months of staying at home with my son, I was in overdrive. I set tangible goals including reading several books daily to him, in order to feel as if I was accomplishing some measurable level of success, as I had at my job. Although others were urging me to rest when my baby slept, I continued to run on autopilot. I was programmed to perform on an efficiency schedule at work, so I transferred that mindset to my motherhood role, even trying to bake homemade cookies for my guests who visited. In contrast to my job, I felt completely scattered in my homemaker role at first. There was no job description, paycheck or accolades from my boss/coworkers; no power lunches or even coffee breaks. In fact, I didn’t even know when to eat lunch and had very little social interaction. It took me a long time to learn how to simply enjoy the time with my son and celebrate the many intangible moments of play and wonder.

Youtube on a book, a dog and a pillow

2011-07-04T21:01:00.000-04:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PjqIs6L1yNc

Journal News Interview in Weekend Edition

2011-06-23T12:10:00.000-04:00

http://www.lohud.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/201106230230/NEWS02/106230325

WHO AM I is a question that I was asked to answer today...

2011-05-23T23:32:00.000-04:00

What kind of a question is that, I wonder, even sneer at? Aren’t we all the sum products of our frame of reference—from where we came, who are parents are, where our family name originated, what our ancestors fought for? Then much, if not all, of our lives-- and who I am-- has been predetermined. I certainly think not since I am a firm believer in free will and the power we have in the choices we make.

Still, there are so many obvious answers to what my identity is: On the surface, I am a woman, now wife and mother—categorized by the Census as a “Caucasian Female.” To the onlooker, and to myself, I have a physical persona that continuously changes and ages on the outside. The tasks and social forums that I participate are, in part, dictated by my position in life and that of my husband, children and extended family.

I also ponder the changes going on inside my brain, heart and soul? My emotional side of ups and downs and in-betweens must also define me, right? I certainly can’t exclude my spiritual growth or the struggles I have shared and turned-over to God, often questioning my belief system countless times—and still struggle with my faith? How apparent are they to me and to others. This is hard to measure and quantify.

But it is my hope that like a vacuum, I am inhaling beautifully magical moments and finding all sorts of extraordinary in what we define as ordinary; I also harbor sadness from those painful life experiences, trying to bury them deep down under, until they rear their thorny heads and prick at my skin and I react, often taking my anger out on someone or something else. I, like you, pick myself up each day, scouring the earth, and exhale as much of the impurities that have accrued. I know for sure some dust and dirt have settled and will remain in the crevices of my interior, again, surfacing at the most inopportune times in life.

If I do have only one life to live, then to define it seems to be almost inexplicable, almost painful because no one thing can ever define anyone who wants to live forever and do so much and so many things, as I do. Sometimes I wake and tear thinking that time may run out, and I wouldn’t have checked off all my dreams on the infamous “bucket list.” And will I die in utter sadness with the cloud of death raising me up to the heavens above? Dam, “NO,” I protest!

So, to answer this question, I must simply start by saying I am a good person who would genuinely like me as her friend. I need to be a best friend to myself more than I have been. I am a woman who never imagined the indescribable bond I felt the moment I first held my boys, my joys when they were born. It was the biggest shock to this career-driven lady to yearn to become a stay-at-home mom to raise her most valuable of all long-term investments—although my older son, now growing into his teens, is like a sharp fingernail scratching a blackboard in my ear, countering everything I say. My children helped me re-discover my passion to write about my most prized possession: them. The end result is the birth of my first book: MommyBest: 13 Inspirational Lessons Derek & Dylan’s Mom (and maybe yours) Never Learned in School. So along with the birth of a mother, came the birth of an Author.

So, in addition to being a good person, Mommy and author who else am I? I am a wife, but have never been comfortable with the subservient role that women have been placed in and have often found myself defending our rights of equality at all levels—except with regard to certain physical limitations. To that end, my husband would definitely say that I have been challenge and a pain in the ass at times. To which, I reply, “a good pain in the ass”—who has always been honest and held much integrity with the expectation of getting all back in return.

I am also an identical twin and would be remiss not to include my “better half” in defining myself. Today, for example, I had to get a shot of cortisone in my knee; my twin, states away from me, texted at least 15 times to find out if I was “okay” and offered support, as no one else had. We’ve gone from diapers to changing our own kids’ diapers together, so it doesn’t get much closer than that.

At the end of the day, we all have roles to play. We can assign titles to everything that we do. But, it’s the little quiet genuine gestures which make us “superhuman.” One of my proudest moments in life happened during a graduate writing class I took: A harried, black woman entered the class, obviously shaken as she shared she came from her brother’s funeral. The teacher repeatedly told her she couldn’t stay in class because she forgot her notebook. The woman pleaded, almost cried as over a hundred classmates watched in complete SILENCE. I stood-up, walked to the teacher and whispered in her ear that I would give her some of my paper and a pencil. The teacher still insisted this woman had to go to the office and get a notebook. I took the woman’s arm and escorted her to the office and tried to comfort her.

At the end of the class, she told me that no one has ever done something as kind as I did. I have heard this statement a few times in my lifeJ. On a side note, the teacher was so mean to me the remainder of the class. Even the other members of the class agreed. But they didn’t stick up for me eitherL

News12 MommyBest Interview

2011-05-16T11:31:00.003-04:00

This is an Interview with Channel 12 News about some of the 13 lessons I learned as shared in MommyBest... Hope you all enjoy : ) I was very nervous, when the lights went on and the camera man started, 10, 9, 8--it was unscripted and no make-up person or anything!

The Birth of a Mother: Each Woman's Journey into Motherhood is Unique! Dedicated to all the moms around the world: Happy Mother's Day!

2011-05-06T10:58:00.000-04:00

I'm sharing the first memoir from my book, MommmyBest! The lesson/reader reflection pages are in the book for moms/dads/grandmas to record their own memoir to cherish alwayshttp://www.mommybestbook.com/

Ever since I was a little girl, I had big dreams. I would spend hours each day listening to my radio imagining how all my dreams would come true. As the music played, my heart raced as I saw myself traveling to faraway places, becoming famous and rich, and most importantly—emerging as an independent woman.

Sometimes, before bedtime, I would share my dreams with my mother who always listened with eager and excited ears. All my dreams were a stark contrast to my Mom’s childhood dream of getting married and raising children. I couldn’t understand, given all the opportunities I had, how my mother could derive such pleasure and fulfillment from motherhood. And, since I knew all about life, so I thought, I often advised my Mom to do “more” with hers,’ besides “just being a mother.”

As I grew and went to school, I often watched my mother throughout the day. With her eyes half-opened and what we would describe today as a really “bad hair day,” she would scurry in the morning to prepare breakfast for her five children, pack our lunches, find lost items we were distraught about and mediate our arguments, not to mention the house cleaning and chauffeuring she constantly did. Mom repeated her mother’s dance of caring for everyone else’s needs throughout the day—two steps here, two steps there. I was determined not to follow her lead, especially after she had to be hospitalized several times due to a medical condition, related to exhaustion. As a youngster, unable to fully understand my mom’s bouts of exhaustion, I struggled blaming myself and even her for the times she was absent when I needed her.

So, each evening while I listened to my music, I orchestrated the course of my life—and becoming a Mom was not part of my score. Instead, I imagined traveling to faraway places while becoming a famous movie star or a powerful businesswoman.

I studied and practiced my entrepreneurial skills early on by charging my siblings a few cents for cooking such delicious breakfast meals as Mayonnaise sandwiches. I often babysat for the younger children in the neighborhood who I loved to boss around. Sometimes, I’d even help my brother deliver newspapers, especially on Sundays when I could browse through all the fashion magazines before shopping. Often, the persuasive headlines lured me into reading many of the amazing stories. The words, like music, stirred my emotions long after they were read and lingered like flavors savored after a delicious meal. I was compelled to add becoming a famous writer to my collection of dreams, a collection I examined, revised, admired and cherished in my mind each time I listened to the lyrics and rhythm of my favorite melodies.

My entrepreneurial skills strengthened as I finished high school and went on to college, continuing to work after school and waitress some nights and weekends. During my junior year, it was difficult to select a Major; I vacillated as to which career to pursue, and with so many choices, like items on a menu, I wanted to try them all.

Then, during my junior year, I saw an ad in the campus newspaper seeking Staff Reporters. With nervous excitement, I applied and was given the opportunity to cover the events affecting campus life. Each story that I covered, like parts of my life, had different pieces to fit together. I agonized for hours piecing my words together like a quilt. The first time I saw my name flashing above my words, I felt dizzy with a sense of accomplishment. So when I listened to my music, I felt as if shots of adrenalin were traveling throughout my veins at the thought of becoming a Writer.

As time went on, a few professors persuaded me, given my enthusiasm to become “independent,” to seek a more financially rewarding career. I followed their advice and decided to pursue a career in Advertising.

Still, I loved the attention my stories received from other students and faculty alike. I also felt important interviewing and reporting on the school’s major social events, and especially enjoyed receiving recognition from my boyfriend of three years and his teammates at their soccer games. Unfortunately, by my senior year, I knew that my boyfriend wanted a “traditional” wife instead of someone who wanted to explore her options, as I did.

So, as many of my friends graduated college and moved out on their own pursuing their careers and/or marriage, I returned to my parent’s home—unable to find my coveted advertising job and not really sure which direction to turn. All my other siblings moved out of “the nest” and my Dad was still working full time plus extra hours.

I began to spend time with my Mom, the one person I had really drifted apart from during my rebellious teenage years. At first, it was awkward connecting with her. We talked many nights about how I felt when, during my growing years, she had been sick several times and away from the family. It was painfully obvious that she was devastated recalling the times when she was recovering in the hospital. Now mature, I was finally able to better understand how exhausted my Mom was having five children—one right after the other, including twins. She did the best she could under some very stressful conditions. From our discussion and some tears, we were able to move to a deeper relationship. We started having late night talks again as we had when I was younger; but now it felt as if we were girlfriends sharing our secrets. She became my cheerleader, always excited about what was going on in my life.

After countless interviews and several “in-between” jobs, a lucrative advertising company hired me as a Sales Representative; Ecstatic about my opportunity, Mom shopped for days with me for a new wardrobe. As she scavenged through all the racks of clothes, I reminisced about all our shopping trips we went on while I was growing up. Each year before school started, Mom would take my sisters and I to the department stores to buy five new outfits, one for each day of the school week. And she would buy us “only the best of shoes” because she didn’t want us to become “flat-footed.”

Yet, Mom rarely bought any clothes for herself or for my father, a New York City Firefighter who often worked 24-hour shifts, always graciously handing most of his earnings to Mom each week. As I watched him place money into her hand, I made a conscious decision to strive to become fiscally self-reliant.

Although my parents financially struggled, neither of them ever complained about their lack of material things, or for the amount of money they spent on us. Sometimes, during the holiday season, my mother’s favorite time of the year, my parents would secure a bank loan so we could have a lot of the things that “they never had as kids.” Even though we were far from rich, friends who saw our clothes and bicycles, for example, thought we were.

Once I started my new job, I began to feel like a kid again. Mom would have dinner and her listening ears waiting when I got home. She wanted to know all about my day: the people I met; the sales I made; and the places I visited. I knew Mom was vicariously living some of my experiences; I enjoyed all the attention. When I had enough money to buy a place of my own, it was difficult to leave.

So, in preparation of my independence-- and for a much needed break from working days and evenings, making sales quotas and meeting deadlines- I planned the European trip I dreamt of as a little girl watching movies of women traveling abroad, often discovering themselves and romance.

Even though my Mom, like me, is petrified to fly, she offered to accompany me on my journey. I knew I had to go alone. I booked the trip as part of a tour group so I would have some direction and companionship. Days before my scheduled departure, I listened for hours to my favorite Italian songs, including “Three Coins in a Fountain” and “Volare.” Although I was advised to travel “light,’ I spent days before my trip shopping with my Mom.

When the departure time came, I was petrified. There was a lot of turbulence during the beginning of the flight, but the ride became calmer, as did I.

It wasn’t long before I was standing in Saint Mark’s Square in Venice with pigeons adorning my head and shoulders. When I sat down for a cup of cappuccino, I was part of a magnificent audience serenaded by string instruments. As I listened to the music, my own heartstrings were strummed. I remembered how I longed for this moment since I was a little girl listening to music and dreaming of traveling to faraway places – except now those places were near.

As my soul soared, a waiter graciously placed a complimentary cup of cappuccino in front of me. An admirer sitting nearby had ordered it. I raised my head and looked for the wealthy European I dreamt of meeting. A young man stood before me. He was an American tourist who, ironically, thought I was European. There were no romantic sparks, but I had met a friend. We shared some highlights from our trip with each other before I returned to my hotel to prepare for the scheduled gondolier ride with my tour group.

Under the glow of the moon, the other tourists and I boarded the gondolier. We were all relaxed sitting beside the glistening waters as we were serenaded. I felt vitalized and tranquil at the same time. I also had the feeling someone was staring at me; it was the same feeling I had for much of the tour, but I was too busy to acknowledge it. But this night, the watchful gaze—against the starlight and music—was recognized. The azure eyes did belong to a European this time. Still, he wasn’t the rich man I dreamt about either. The admirer was our tour bus driver. Even though he spoke only a few words of English, we spent the remainder of my stay together. As the bus driver resided in Rome, he gave me a personal tour of all the sights, ending with the Trevi Fountain, which, ironically, was under construction, as I felt I had been.

I threw in many coins in and made many wishes—as well as expressions of gratitude for the experiences I shared with some wonderful people, especially the bus driver from Rome! Needless to say, weeks passed as if they were only days and my departure came. It was difficult boarding the plane, saying goodbye to my European adventure and my personal tour guide.

Like a kid looking in a candy store window, Mom was waiting at the airport for me. Her eyes scoped the crowd at the arrival gate. “Donna, Donna,” she screamed! “You’re glowing.” I was aglow! Weeks after my trip, coworkers continued to tell me that I looked different, and I felt different.

Without realizing it, I was ready to journey within and see my life anew. Once I listened to my inner voice, the one that’s connected to my heart and guides me to joyful places, my life, like dominoes, began to fall into place.

Soon, I moved out of my childhood home and purchased a two-bedroom condominium. My Mom and I were very emotional on moving day, but we both understood the closeness we established would always be near, even when we are apart.

Filled with so much vitality and excitement, I pursued my career, working well into the evenings. One night while working late, a new sales representative called the office for his messages. I answered and we talked for over two hours. He asked if he could see the photos I had taken in Europe. I obliged.

For our date, he arrived with a single white rose. We went to a restaurant similar to the ones I had visited in Europe—filled with the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. The cozy, round tables were covered with paper clothes; each table had a container filled with crayons. After several hours of conversation, accompanied by scrumptious food, we sipped our cappuccinos while viewing the photos. My date asked me to use one of the crayons to make a list of the important qualities I want in a husband and he would do the same for a wife. Amazingly, when we compared our lists, they were almost identical.

With paper in hand, we went for a drive to a nearby park for a brisk walk. I was given a piggyback ride through a beautifully wooded forest where a white-tailed deer leaped out in front of us just as my date kissed me. Without speaking, we looked at each other knowing this deer was somehow symbolic, even magical.

That evening when I listened to my music, I thought about the romance I sought on my European vacation, around the world. Then, practically in my own backyard, I met the man of “my dreams.” In contrast with my lavish trip, my date and I were in a park filled with greenery and the beauty of nature and its amazing creatures. The clusters of trees, all leading to different paths seemed to hold many surprises and many hopes.

One surprise was finding myself back at school pursuing a Masters Degree in Education. Teaching, a profession women stereotypically work at, was not the occupation I dreamt about as a young businesswoman. Yet, it was a profession that I now felt would allow me to contribute more to the world on behalf of children. I soon learned my students often taught me lessons about life. I was amazed by how intelligent and genuine they are. They became my family with whom I shared much of my life with.

When I accepted a marriage proposal from the man who kissed me in the park, my students were so happy, as was my mother. My Mom understood I wasn’t like several of my friends who began planning for their weddings when they were teenagers. I never dreamt of getting married. And the men who I had thought I might possible wed one day, soon wanted me to change myself, in some way—whether it was to sacrifice my career aspirations or distance myself from my girlfriends. Now I met someone who loved me exactly as I am and supported my goals—whatever they were. Some call it kismet, others destiny?

I soon learned why some women start early in life planning their weddings. I discovered it was exciting yet exhausting planning for “the Big Day.” The entire event was surreal until I found myself walking down the aisle. As I moved forward I walked along a path, viewing as I would a movie, many of the important people in my life, including some of my students, to the altar where my husband-to-be waited for us to embark on our journey.

The following year, we decided to start a family and instantly everything just “fell into place:” My husband and I were having a baby! Unlike many of my previous business decisions I often contemplated, analyzing lots of information, I simply followed my instincts; it felt “right “. The news prompted my students to plan a surprise shower for me. I couldn’t believe (nor could my mother) I was going to be a Mom. Since I was absolutely positive I would be having a girl, it was the biggest surprise of my life when I gave birth to a son.

The instant I held him, I felt a bond like no other—a bond that reached into the depths of my soul, beyond expression, beyond comprehension. I realized along with a baby, a mother had been born-- a parent was in the making.

As I looked into my son’s innocent eyes, I knew I had always been destined to become a mother, even though I hadn’t been ready to acknowledge this while I was achieving all the goals I was determined to accomplish. I was too scared of losing my own identity and too busy proving I was someone “more” and something “else.”

Although I had taken a different road than the one my mother followed toward motherhood, I realized we both arrived at our destinations on time-- the time that was right for each of us. We are two women, similar in some ways and different in others, somewhat products of the eras that we grew-up in, somewhat products of our unique personas.

Now, as I listen to my music, my heart soars as I dream dreams for my son:

Who will he become? What will he enjoy doing? Which paths will he follow? How shall I guide him? How will he guide me?

As his mother, I am embarking upon an amazing journey-like no other journey I’ve been on-- one toward true self-discovery! I begin this journey with a deep love, gratitude and respect for one who has traveled through the precarious terrain and rough waters of motherhood before me, my own mother. I understand her sacrifice and love –and now perceive her as a woman of greatness for all she has given to her children.

I also recognize I am becoming more of an independent person by pursuing my dreams-as my son has helped me to find a new voice in my writing. I must bring to him the best person I can be first, and then I’ll be the best “Mommy” to him-- when my choices reflect who I am at any given moment in my life. No matter which direction my path turns, I am a mother. I am Derek’s Mom—now and forever!

Moms and those who care about them: Bring this list for your annual physical. It helped me discover a health concern.

2011-04-15T16:53:00.000-04:00

     We all hear so much about the importance of women, moms in particular, putting their own health on the infamous "to do" list. The phrase, "you have to take care of yourself first," has almost become cliche for us ladies who constantly hear this advice from doctors. But the simple truth is we often don't; moms frequently ignore symptoms of ill-health, usually addressing them only when they impact their ability to care for others.
     Several years ago, I experienced constant and severe stomach bloating and pain--which occasionally still persists. To recount my experience with the many doctors and myriad of tests, along with conflicting diagnosis would not only bore you, but put me in a depressed state, which is not what this blog post it all about. It's about empowering you and those you love to take charge, at least to some degree, of your own health.
     Still, I have to briefly share a little of my history in order to explain my current perspective of trusting your Mother's Instinct in researching your own health--and understanding sometimes we have to wait for answers: When, after two years of repeat endoscopies, ultra sounds and scans of all sorts, the doctors disagreed on whether the cause of my pain was a hiatel hernia they discovered, gastric polyps, Celiac's disease or Irritable Bowel Syndrome (a common diagnosis when doctors don't know what's causing stomach upset), I became immobilized about how to get help for my pain. Nothing was working so I stopped seeing doctors for many months. I often couldn't sleep because my stomach was in so much pain, not to mention my mind-wandering thoughts, wondering if I had an undetected fatal disease that would one day rear its ugly cells.
     In an effort to take charge of my health, I started seeing an acupuncturist. I felt more relaxed afterwards for sure, but I struggled with the placement of some of the needles as they were so uncomfortable. I went for eleven visits while also taking several herbal concoctions they created for me. Unfortunately, many of the herbs made my stomach even more upset. Although I do believe in the philosophy and merits of acupuncture, I stopped my treatments because they weren't helping my stomach pain--and they were very expensive, not covered by my insurance.
     So began a lifestyle of trial and error in my avoidance of different foods, along with eating smaller meals. I started taking a probiotic, and after many more months, had more blood work taken which revealed I had untreated Lyme's disease. Whether or not this caused my stomach upset is still undetermined. But, along with the dietary changes I've made, and the antibiotics to treat the Lyme, I have more relief. My doctor doesn't believe in prolonged treatment with antibiotics, so I'm finished for now. Still, to say there are many theories and "specialists" who charge thousands of dollars for treating Lyme's Disease in an understatement.
     I also read several health books, including those written by Dr. Amen (seen on public television). I copied a list of blood work he recommended for female patients. I brought this list to my general physician and he ordered all but the food allergy tests.
     Interestingly I, for the first time, had a Vitamin D deficiency (maybe from all the cloudy days here in the Northeast?) So, now I'm taking a supplement to balance my "sunshine" level. I have come to the conclusion that managing my health is a constantly-changing, ever-evolving state of being as is our existence. I will have to modify my regimen by paying close attention to my own needs. I also pray for good doctors--and dentists to come into my life when I, or anyone in my family, needs them.
     Since I have met so many moms who are having health issues, I'm listing the blood work I had done as a reference point (you too can check Dr. Amen's books for this) for my readers here. Of course, verify with your doctors and get their professional advice. I simply want to help other women get as much empowering information as possible to SPRING into health this season:
**Lab Work to test for:
~Complete blood count
~Fasting Chemistry--metabolic panel
~B12
~Folate
~25-Hydroxy Vitamin D
~C-Reactive Protein
~Homocysteine
~Lipid Panel
~Fasting Insulin
~Hemoglobin AIC
~Thyroid Panel--TSH, Free T3, Free T4, Thyroid Antibodies gland, Thyroid antibodies hormone
~DHEA-5
~Food allergy
~Fatty acid profile to check omega 3 fatty acids
~Free and total serum testosterone
~Estradiol and Progesterone levels* Women 45 and over for this test.

**This list is copied and not intended as "expert" medical advice, so everyone check with your doctors.

2011-04-06T16:35:00.001-04:00

Saying Goodbye to Papa "J"

2011-03-30T11:19:00.000-04:00

     When my sister-in-law called to share Papa "J" wanted us to visit him, we knew it was time. It was time for my husband and I to take our kids to spend some precious moments with him, moments he may never recall. You see, Papa "J" is in the grips of a mentally, emotionally and physically debilitating disease that overcomes even the fiercest men and women, notably including one of our nation's former Presidents, Ronald Reagan. Alzheimer's disease is heartbreaking for it's victims and the families they often don't even recognize as time goes by.
     We knew for a while that Papa "J" was becoming more and more forgetful and seemingly lost. His wife, my childrens' grandma who past away over a year ago, helped by often reminding him of his fleeting thoughts. While his long term memory remains in tact, his short-term memory fails him. Before our visit, we hadn't experienced first-hand the impact this has on his daily routine and in the scheme of his entire livelihood.
      We were ill-prepared and unsure what to expect upon arrival. Great start when we were greeted by Papa "J" waiting for us outside his home. There he was sitting with his cane in hand--he wears braces on both legs as a result of having a dual operation for prostate cancer and several herniated discs. He became immobilized and lost feeling in parts of both legs so the braces were added for stabilization.
     "HEY, you guys are finally here; Let's go to the local seafood restaurant for dinner," chanted Papa "J." He was the picture of health--for an 81 year old that is. And our dog, who we brought on her first long distance trip, fell instantly in love with this man with the cane. He reciprocated barking back and teasing her with his "walking stick."
     Once we got settled in, we happily drove to the restaurant, and I recall thinking, "maybe some of our fears resulting from incidents involving Papa "J"s memory loss could be allayed for awhile given his seemingly confident, cogent and relaxed demeanor." He didn't seem like the man who paid disreputable landscape contractors thousands of dollars for work they never did because they lied to him-knowing he is easy prey for a good con. Nor did he seem like the man who, a few months earlier, drove to Georgia to visit my sister-in-law, arrived at her home, then immediately left and drove the entire way back home because he forgot why, what, and where he was supposed to be? These incidents had prompted us to contact the police and served as a wake-up call to how lost Papa "J" often is.
     Now, he didn't seem lost at all. I listened as he explained to my husband where the restaurant was and about all the different activities in the area. He shared lots about his past with my kids and was able to recall so much of his history.
     Once inside the restaurant, the situation changed. Papa "J" asked us several times where we were. At first, my children giggled because they thought he was kidding. Once we told him where we were, he responded the same way he would the next week we spent with him--each time he didn't know what was going on, "Oh, yeah, that's what I thought."
     And so began the realization and understanding that although it appears that Papa "Js" long-term memory is in tact, his short-term memory is not, and at times is worse than others. Worst of all, I can see his fear and sadness, and occasionally, the anger, each time he's unable to recollect who, what or where we are.
     Each day he'd awake spirited like a little kid, asking what we were going to do, followed by what we wanted to eat for dinner. These same questions were repeatedly asked throughout the day--as were many other inquiries he continued to echo. At times, he even forgot my children's names.
     We had to throw out much of the expired food in the refrigerator and buy many daily items he didn't have, including laundry detergent. Surprisingly, his extra refrigerator in the garage housed about 200 frozen prepared meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner, which he eats on a daily basis--when he remembers to eat.
     Yet, this once World War II Vet, fondly remembers times with his wife--and even guided us to her gravesite to visit, two hours away. We spent several joyous moments laughing at silly things in life including mimicking our dog. We shopped and went out to dinner often and watched a few movies with him. Although he shared he loves to go on walks, when we went with him, he could only walk down one block before having to sit down. I could see how disappointed he was--this former long-distance track star! As always, I joked with him about eating more fiber to get his legs moving next time, and we giggled : )
     When it was time to leave, it was difficult. He asked if we could stay, maybe come back in a week or so. We all knew that our next visit would be to move him out of this home he loves to an assisited living facility, closer to family. Watching our parents, grow old, is so very "hard to do."

Mommybest: 13 Inspirational Lessons Derek & Dylan's Mom (and Maybe Yours) Never Learned in School by Donna Lynn Scrima-Black

2011-03-22T13:48:00.000-04:00

http://www.mommybestbook.com/

From Disney to Dying: Saying Goodbye

2011-03-07T21:03:00.000-05:00

When I was in High School, our family took a vacation to Florida, which was my first encounter with Disney World. It was unforgettable. So much so that once I was old enough to travel on my own, I continued to visit with friends and even my college boyfriend during Spring Break. What I loved most was the feeling of childlike wonder and awe that everyone there seems to experience regardless of their age.

I vividly recall going to Florida with my BFF, sitting in the parking lot trolley when the tour guide announced, “Hello all, you are now in the Goofy Parking lot. Get ready for your magical adventure to begin.” Well, us 22-year-old girls couldn’t stop giggling anticipating the blast we were going to have. And, girl, was it fun!

Several years later, while my husband and I were dating, he suggested we go on our own magical trip to Disney to visit some sites that neither one of us had traveled to, including Universal and Epcot. Our trip there was wonderful, with the highlight being going to Universal where I was chosen from the audience to participate in a live show. Combine that with all the amazing shops, behind the scene tours and rides such as “Back to the Future” and “Earthquake,” I was enthralled.

So with all these amazing moments spent in Florida, why have I incongruously titled this blog post, “From Disney to Dying? Well, after our family’s recent trip to the Sunny State, I was forced to acknowledge the backdrop of sadness for me in Florida—sadness I have always been able to keep at the backburner of my mind. Yet now, the light is burning bright—keeping me up at night, causing many moments of reflection and contemplation about my past trips there and crossroads we have faced and still have to address.

My husband’s parents moved to Florida 10 years ago due to my mother-in-laws failing health. She suffered from emphysema and needed to move to a warmer climate. Before going to Orlando for our trip many years ago, we visited my husband’s parents at the retirement community where they now lived, only an hour away from Orlando. The community was filled with activities from golf to dancing classes to archery, fun from dawn to dusk. Although my in-laws lived quiet lives, the social calendar of many of the people we met there was full, almost as if the members were children again: spending time with friends and relaxing at the pool all day—and they deserved it after working so hard for much of their lives.

Still, the sadness I experienced came from seeing so many senior citizens with physical ailments and emotional struggles. Some of them shared that they had waited too long to enjoy their lives—and they didn’t have much time to make-up for it. In just the few days that we were there, the ambulances sounded often. We listened to many stories about elders in community who recently died or had illnesses and hardships: worst of all, as I chatted with the seniors, I looked into many sad and lonely eyes.

It reminded me of the time when I was in high school and my own family came to Florida for Disney, and we visited my Nana & Papa who retired in Fort Lauderdale. I recall my dad sharing with us that it was painful to watch his parents slowly hobble getting on the plane, their age taking its toll on their bodies. My Nana, known for her delicious culinary dishes no longer had the stamina to cook.

Each time I would visit Florida, while my grandparents were alive, I would spend a few days with them. I have some poignant memories and much thanks for all those special moments. One in particular that always makes me smile is recalling visiting them with my BFF. Upon our arrival, my Papa gave us our very own radio, an old-fashioned one which he programmed to all the Big Band stations. He was so excited when he turned on the music that we pretended to be just as elated. The truth is we didn’t know any of the songs!

When my Papa died, my Nana had to sell the house and come live closer to family. She was devastated.

Two years ago, my mother-in-law died in Florida. One day she was coming home from the hospital and the next day we received a call that she died. The saddest part was, besides her husband, no other family was at her bedside. We were too far away to get there with such short notice. The one consolation we had was that my husband told her how much he loved her and appreciated all she had done for him when he spoke with her on the phone the evening before. Since she couldn’t talk, she hit the phone with her breathing mask to let him know she heard him.

Her untimely death made us much more appreciative that we had taken the kids to see her a few years prior and she treated us to a day at Disney—while she stayed at home, barely 90 pounds in weight, suffering terribly, shadowed by the rolling oxygen tank that had become her salvation. At that time, my husband and I had vacillated on whether it would be appropriate for our kids to see her in such a weakened state and opted that it would be better to spend some time with her especially since she expressed a desire to see her grandkids. We ended the visit with the gift she gave us spending a day at Disney.

Going to the Magical Kingdom as a parent is special in a totally new dimension as our children were wowed by all the characters, rides and performances—not to mention the amazing night-time fireworks display that illuminates the entire park in a new way! It helped ease the sadness of seeing their grandma in such a sickly state.

I know death is a reality in life. It’s just so hard to deal with when its forceful hand comes knocking at your door at an ungodly hour. It’s awful when someone you love and see in one way transforms and deteriorates into an unrecognizable person.

. In good health, I love the fun Florida represents; the childlike wonder and adventure for those of us who are able to enjoy it. For those who I’ve known and have died there, it has become a dark and frightening ride that I want to get off of, but I’m locked in.

Last Year's Christmas Present

2011-02-01T15:01:00.000-05:00

Since many families are sharing their experiences with getting a new pet this year as a gift, I thought I share our family's experience with "Natalia."

Last Year’s Best Christmas Present: Part 1

Our boys, now 14 and 12, started asking Santa for a dog since they were toddlers. And yes, so many years ago that they began asking us–since they (for some strange reason) started believing my husband and I became “Mr. & Mrs. Claus.” I continue to tell my boys I believe in Santa’s magic–and they better believe in it too, or else they will receive the infamous stocking filled with coal, the booby prize my parents threatened my brothers, sisters and I with for dissing Santa.

Unfortunately, I was diagnosed with a severe allergy to dogs, so that limited our selection as well as our intent to “rescue” a dog from an animal shelter because there’s a long wait for what’s labeled “hypoallergenic” breeds. Plus, our lives for many years became so chaotic, running from school and sports activities while managing my husband’s full-time career with juggling my profession. I often felt as if I was “missing” some sort of parenting gene because I just couldn’t handle so many tasks and do them WELL. So, once our family adjusted our lifestyle and our boys became pre-teens, my husband and I began entertaining this dog idea.

When we told other parents about our wishes, we received tons of advice on where to buy our puppy, what type of dog to buy, and, of course, I, as the MOM, was barraged by warnings of how much of the responsibility would become mine: “It’s like having another baby, you’ll see,” was echoed often. Still, I am the type of person and mother who likes to find out things for herself. A new addition to our family seemed “right,” so two Christmases ago we started our search, and, as is often the case in life, I began meeting people to guide me. Most influential was a pet store owner who also did dog rescue. She educated me about different breeds and dog care, and I could sense immediately that she truly LOVED animals; the pets were not caged in her store. Instead, they roamed freely and were grouped with each other for sleeping in comfortable areas. Also, I met another mom dropping her child off at school. She had an adorable dog sitting in the passenger’s seat. When I asked her where she purchased the white furry puppy, she shared her wonderful experience at the pet store I’m referring to.

Ready to buy that “puppy in the window,” we took a few trips to this pet store and others with our kids to get a sense of which dogs they were drawn to from the list of breeds that were allergy friendly. At first, our boys only wanted a white dog called a Havanese, which we couldn’t find. Then they started loving a few Yorkies we held. I really liked some of the puppies, but I have to admit, I am a romantic in the true sense of the word. I told my husband I wanted the dog to “pick us” and we would pick her (him). I can’t explain what I was expecting; it would sort of be as if we were drawn to each other immediately.

That didn’t happen for me or for my husband the first Christmas we went without the kids–who we wanted to surprise desperately. I know the boys would have loved almost any dog they received, but it had to be a family affair. That Christmas, our boys were very excited by the gifts we bought for them to compensate as much as we could for not getting them the puppy. Still, something was missing! We promised them they would-- one day--have a family dog.

Fast forward (it comes that quickly anyway) to last Christmas. After a few trips to the pet stores again with little success, I urged my husband to take me to my favorite pet store one more time, the week before Christmas. I just had that feeling, mother’s instinct, Santa’s magic….that we would find our dog. I shared my feelings with my husband who gave me that look he always shares when he thinks I’m being unrealistic.

I literally took a deep breath as I looked into the store’s front window where a group of puppies were huddled together sleeping. All of them were black except one who had reddish, auburn hair with blond highlights (the same as mine with no gray)LOL. My mouth was agape and my heart was racing with excitement. I looked at my husband who was so smitten wearing a smile wider than the “Joker.” I warned him to “wipe that grin off your face, so the price doesn’t go up.”

We gathered our composure and entered the store. That pet smell was everywhere, and I immediately became congested. Calm and cool, I waved to the store owner, who recognized my familiar face and thinks I am there for yet another one of my non-purchasing visits. Ahhh, she doesn’t know this one is different. I calmly walked over the the window to look at the new arrivals. MY little puppy dashed over to me so fast that she spilled the water dish. The store owner called out, “That’s Red! We just got her yesterday.” And I said to myself, “She’s not ‘Red,” She’s MINE!

Mommy Lessons--like borrowing a cup of sugar from thy neighbor...

2011-01-20T11:02:00.000-05:00

     As I’m sure is the case with most writers, especially if they have published books and/or “write for a living,” they have little time to do what they love best: WRITE for themselves–and hopefully, to speak with their audience! My writer’s voice has been lost among stacks of files I have created in an effort to sort, what’s been for me, a wave of technological mayhem from e-books to social media venues and the rules of engagement for each. For someone who is still learning the magical appts (oops, I think it’s apts or apps?) that her cell phone is capable of, I truly feel as if I’m under water gasping for breath from HTML, to links, to RSS –okay that’s enough,…I’m already hyperventillating–or is it hyperlinking LOL. (I used to think LOL meant lots of love).
     So, for me, back to basics. This MommyBest Blog will be a way for me and all of you to share our experiences growing as a mom and as a human being, always evolving and learning life lessons. My first book, MommyBest: 13 Inspirational Lessons Derek & Dylan’s Mom (and maybe yours) Never Learned in School…Book 1 is a combination of heartfelt motherhood stories along with the lessons I learned. Unique to my book are “Reader Reflection” pages which allow moms to share their own notes to save or later use as a springboard in creating their own mommy memoir to share with their children. In this way, I will use the MommyBest Blog as a stepping stone to develop longer prose, possibly for my MommyBest…Book 2…
     I invite all of you to share your insights, triumphs and struggles on your journey to becoming your MommyBest or in encouraging someone else to….Maybe we could be neighbors in spirit. And maybe, just maybe, I could borrow a cup of sugar or at least share a cup of coffee as we chat together on here : )Donna