As a kid, it was super cool to have a dad who was a fireman. Those awesome red trucks, the equipment, the uniforms and helmets. Everyone loves firefighters and I loved telling people about my dad. Firefighters are brave and strong. They are heros, and everyone knows it.

As a young girl, I was able to visit the various engine houses where my dad worked. I sat in the trucks, slide down the poles, and strutted around wearing oversized shielded helmets. I bragged about it at school. Kids were impressed. My dad was cool.

I remember when my dad would return home from a 24 hour shift, and I would greet him at the door because….

1. I couldn’t wait to see him.

2. Sometimes he brought home the best donuts from a bakery near the engine house where he worked.

3. I loved his fireman smell. His clothes and his hair would smell like fire and I would hug and sniff him all at the same time.

My brothers and I would ask him to tell us stories about the fires he had fought that night, and we would ask if he saved any ‘hurt guys’.

Being a firefighter comes with much sacrifice. If you know a fireman, chances are he has side jobs to bring home some extra money, because even though these men and women run into burning buildings to save people, pets, and property, they are not paid much.

My dad had many side jobs. He was a window washer, a delivery man and he used his van as an airport shuttle service…..just to name a few. He did all of these things in addition to being a heroic fireman and a great dad.

Firefighters sacrifice time with their families, too. There were many holidays when my dad was working. However, I can’t specifically remember us having a Christmas morning without him, I would have to ask my mom about that. There may have been a few extra early Christmas mornings, when he sat in his uniform, sipping on his coffee, watching the clock, while us kids opened our gifts. I do believe the firemen with older children would try to take those holiday shifts, so those with little ones could be with their families. Firemen sacrifice for each other too.

I knew of the dangers my dad faced being a fireman without anyone ever specifically telling me. I don’t remember my parents talking much about that part of the job in front of us kids. I guess they wanted to shield us from that worry. But, when your dad’s job requires him to speed an enormous truck through red lights, climb through broken windows, walk up half fallen stairways and into buildings and homes engulfed in flames, well, you figure out pretty quick that his job is risky and dangerous.

I can remember worrying about my dad when he was at work and being relieved when I would see or hear his van pull into our driveway. Then came the greeting at the door, smelling the clothes, and searching for those donuts.

There is a new documentary titled “Burn” which is bringing to light just what goes on during a Detroit firefighter’s shift. Click here to read about it in The Detroit News.

If you are interested in viewing the Burn trailer, click on the link below. You won’t be disappointed.

BURN trailer

As the daughter of a fireman who fought for 33 years to keep a city from crumbling, I feel it is important that the public understand just what these men and women do every single day.

My dad is now a grandfather to six. His grandchildren have received various pieces of their grandpa’s firefighter past……helmets, badges, photos, etc. My son has one of his grandpa’s helmets hanging on his bedroom wall.  They are proud of their “firefighter grandpa” too.  Once a hero, always a hero.

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I glanced over to the car on the right of us and noticed 3 boys looking over at me and smiling.  I would say they were ages 14-16.  Awwwwww. They were cute and young and smiling at me!  Wow, 40′s not so bad!

In a split second, just before I shot them a big smile back, it hit me.

They aren’t smiling at me.  They are NOT smiling at me.

I glanced at Lovey.  She was looking straight ahead, unaware of the dialogue going on in my head, but certainly horrified because she could tell I was looking out the window.

One more glance to the right and the cutie in the back was still looking………at Lovey, of course.

Ewwww.  What is wrong with me?  I really don’t flirt with teenage boys.  Seriously I don’t.   It just all happened so fast and honestly, sometimes I forget I’m not teenage worthy.  You know I just forget I’m aging…….

But, of course they were looking at Lovey.  She’s adorable.   Adorable and probably silently praying I wouldn’t do or say anything embarrassing at the longest red light ever.

So then, also staring straight ahead, I say to her, Those boys are looking you.

Mom stop.

They are and they’re so cute.  I actually thought they were looking at me.

Moooom…….

I almost smiled back and I might have waved too, you never know what I might do on a whim.

Silence.  So I look over at her……….

Mom, I can see you looking at me.

Lovey I thought the teenage boys liked me.  Is that weird?

Yes, Mom. You’re a creep.

OK then.  Well, lesson learned.  Teenage boys do not like me.  Repeat to self as needed.

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I recently turned 40.  I am so happy to be 40.  Really!!!  That is not sarcasm.

A lot of nonsense went on during my 30s and I’ve come to learn that my mind can play tricks on me.  My brain likes to create boundaries and I’ve had a hard time breaking through them.

So for me, my 30s were a time of transition.  Some good things of course, I would never claim that an entire decade of my life went to hell.  That would be unnecessarily dramatic!  I mean my sweet boy was born when I was 30 after all!

But much of it was…..hmmmm……what’s a good word?  Challenging.  Yes, there were many challenges.

Officially turning 40 and being able to mentally close the chapter on my 30s is very liberating to me!

Unfortunately, all of life’s challenges didn’t vanish in a puff of smoke the moment I turned 40, but I’m feeling all Hakuna Matata…..you know, “no worries” from The Lion King.

Money problems suck and this I can say without hesitation.  When you have worried about finding money to put gas in your car, you know what I’m talking about.  (Dear friends and family – Not a cry for help…just a statement….Hi Mom!)

I have 3 degrees, including a master’s degree and I have struggled month after month with forsaken money.  But Hakuna Matata (no I haven’t been drinking), it will all work out!  It sure is frustrating though that having a master’s degree doesn’t seem to impress these days, especially if you are a teacher.

I am 100% ready to do whatever it takes to positively change my financial situation.  If it means a drastic career change, then that’s what I’ll do.  If it means teaching, plus tutoring hours and hours each week, that’s what I’ll do.

I’m beginning to think that years of inconsistent child support might just be a blessing in disguise after all.  I have really struggled with the courage to go it alone, to really accept that if I want change, I need to make it happen.  But waiting for others to keep me and my kids afloat isn’t panning out so……….yeah.  The arrearages of child support owed to me are the most it’s ever been and guess what?  Hakuna Matata.

Oh and it is the Year of Barb.  I haven’t forgotten.

I would say finances and the dating scene are top priority for making YOB a success.

So, let’s talk about dating for a minute.  I don’t meet single men in my daily “goings on” and I don’t get set up or introduced to anyone, so once again, if I want to make it happen, I need to venture out, which at the age of 40 means online dating.

Here’s a snippet of that scene:   This is a little something from a creep I kindly declined……

“well……*ducking hoping he won’t get slapped*

Friend with benefit potential while you look for love?  I’d love to have my world rocked by ya   586-***-**** if interested…..I don’t mean for that to be forward or offensive….you’re just that hot to trot that I’d like to kiss ya alot!”

Awesome, right?  Does anyone else cringe when people write “alot” instead of “a lot”?

Normal.  I just want normal.

Oh and I must say that my friends and family are THE BEST!  They threw me the perfect 40th birthday party.  Intimate and filled with LOVE.  I felt like a queen!

So I’m certain my 40s are going to be a decade of positive change.  I am wiser, more confident and eager for good things.  I have to embed these great thoughts in my mind, so it knows what to prepare for.  So bring it on 40s….I have really mentally talked you up, so it is time to shine!

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1.  While recently talking to a cell phone salesman, I repeatedly pawed at my chest to find a stray hair that I could feel dangling on my skin.  No one else could see the hair of course, but I was mindlessly pawing to no avail.  My daughter was witness to it all, and insists the salesman was giving me a “What the?” look, but I’m not so sure.  I think she is just sensitive to my every move.

2.  I learned the hard way that venturing out into the front yard, unshowered, wearing pajama pants and a tank top, minus a bra is a steadfast no-no.   It was however, my teenager who called me outside to investigate a lost kitten we had found.  Once I was firmly standing in the middle of the yard, a Google Earth car slowly drove by recording the street and of course, our house.  So any day now, my unsupported top, and unshowered body will be online for all the world to see.  Oh, and the jammie pants are bright blue with pictures of margaritas and daiquiris on them.  Mother of the Year…….

3.  Finally,  while recently shopping at a local sporting goods store, I came across a tent all set up for display.  My kids were looking at equipment nearby, so I took advantage and went into the tent.  I happily discovered that I could see them through one of the unzipped screen windows.  So naturally I started calling out “Good night, good night!” as though I were actually camping and getting ready for a little shut eye.  Fun right?  After several rounds of “good night-ing”, a smirk from my son, a few eye rolls and a suspicious look from the teenager, I exited the tent.  My daughter came to me all bug-eyed and informed me there was a “cute” man standing at a display, near the tent, looking over while I was calling out my pretend night time farewell.

So, clearly I am on the path to old maid status due to my “I kinda don’t really care what other people think” attitude.  Oh well.  There must be some men out there who can appreciate that.  Right?

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So other than the hosts, we wouldn’t know anyone.

My daughter had plans already with friends for the night, so it would just be Handsome and I attending,

I could have easily declined, stating some sort of conflict for the reason.

I could have even easier, dropped off my son to hang with his friend, and given some excuse as to why I couldn’t stay.

And believe me, I toyed with both of those ideas.

It might not sound like a big deal to some, but going to a party, as a single person, where odds are the other attendees will all be couples you have never met, is a tad bit intimidating.

However, I responded with a cheerful “yes”, that both Handsome and I would be coming.

Surprisingly, I realized how much I use my daughter as a social crutch in situations like these.  If she were coming, it would have been a breeze.  She would have been by my side the entire night….someone for me to sit with, someone for me eat with, someone for me to chat with.  But she wasn’t coming and know looking back, I am glad.

We arrived with goodies in hand and Handsome immediately ran off with his friend while I graciously accepted a margarita from the host.  I helped a bit in the kitchen and slowly the “others” started to arrive.

I kept waiting for someone to ask about my husband, but no one did.  Whew.  I always hate having to say “I’m divorced”, because people usually respond with “Oh, I’m sorry” and then I say “There’s nothing to be sorry about” and it’s just awkward from there.

The hosts have backyard chickens, and they were a great conversation piece while a group of us went out to investigate them.  I kept myself in the mix, chatting and meeting all sorts of new people and it was actually fun and easy!

I have to say with all honesty, there was not one single minute that I felt out of place, uncomfortable or awkward at all.  Everyone was nice and easy to talk to and my social confidence quickly returned.

I ended up having a heart-to-heart with a woman in her fifties who was a single mom for 15 years.  I don’t meet many single women and I could have been brought to tears talking to her because she just totally got it all.  It was really an encouraging conversation.

I am so glad, and actually proud of myself for going to this party solo.  Well, relatively solo………Handsome was there, but off all night doing 9-year-old boy things, of course.

I’m going to say this is a Year of Barb success.  I didn’t have this on my mental list of things to accomplish, but it deserves a big check!

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We are freckles galore, my kids and I.

Their sweet Irish faces are a freckled fiesta! 

Mother’s Day is approaching and I’ve been thinking…. that it’s true what they say.

You know the whole “they grow so quickly” business.  It’s not just some crazy old lady urban legend……

Those mothers who are beginning to see wrinkles in the mirror……those gray haired women who smile longingly at you and your little ones at the grocery store…..

They are on the other side of motherhood, probably wondering where it all went.

A spring cleaning session recently found me two hours deep into old photo albums, staring at my chubby faced babies with their sippy cups, slowly transforming into young people.  One wearing a dress, the other a tie, one holding a soccer ball, the other a football…..gaining inches and independence.

I am currently in the trenches of the middle years of motherhood.  My kids and I are eyeballs deep in school, homework, sports, and social growth.  We are ”on” from sunup to sundown.

My car engine seems to never cool completely.  We are busy, to say the least.

And I enjoy them so much at these ages of 9 and 13.

They are no longer clingy-needy.  They bathe themselves, dress themselves, and cut up their own food.  We can have real conversations.  They make me laugh and they make me proud and they worry me, too.  I am beginning to see them as real people and not just my babies.

Is that good?  Yes.

And no.

I think about mothering and schedules and what sorts of things will become cherished memories.

Looking back on my own childhood, it’s the simple, free, family moments that I remember the most.

We have a nighttime routine here at our house.

I lay down with each of my kids every single night for a little chit chat and snuggle time.

Yes at 9 and 13, I still get to tuck them in and I love it.

Usually, when I am in with my 9-year-old, the lights are on because we are either looking at a book, playing a DS game, or counting his money.  He is the likes of Mr. Crabs and is a tad money obsessed.

I often find myself staring at him while he tells me a story or reads from a page or organizes his coins.  He stills lets me get up close and personal.  Those days are numbered though, I just know it.  So, while I still can, sometimes, I pretend to count his freckles.  He is swimming in freckles, so actually counting them would be truly impossible, but I adore them.

He is an all American freckle faced kid and he’s cool with it.

So I stare at that face, those freckles upon freckles, and I just want to squeeze him.

When his “tuck in” wraps up I get a hug, and a kiss, and off I go to nestle in with my teenager to get the latest news and views of middle school life.

The dog finds her spot in between us and demands petting while we chat.  People who think they’re cool and engineering class and track and soccer and the straightening of hair are hot topics.  She looks a lot like me, freckles and all.  She is a deep thinker and has a tender heart.

She’s safe and sound and tucked in for the night.  And that is a blessing all on it’s own.  Another hug and kiss and off I go to close up the house for the night.

I try really hard to savor the little moments of motherhood.

The ballooned cheeks of my boy playing the recorder.

The sight of my 13-year-old, fast asleep in her bed surrounded by mountains of stuffed animals.

The sound of the basketball thumping on the pavement.

Pitching a wiffle ball, taking a bike ride.

Listening to the ever running washing machine and dishwasher.

The backpacks, the lunches, the smelly shoes.

And so I see those two freckled faces and feel love beyond words and want the clock to slow just a bit.

The freckles……yes, for sure, they are my countless blessings.

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The bedroom window was open wide.  The curtains swayed, just like you see in the movies.

The ceiling fan allowed a perfect cool breeze to fall across my exposed arm and the side of my face.

The deep, rolling sound of an approaching storm worked to lull me to sleep.

The quick, steady pace of my mind, began to slow and fall into a soothing rhythmic dream.

My ideal night for sleeping.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. My heavy eyelids opened to see the silhouette of a nine-year-old boy.

I lifted the covers and in he slid.

He moved closer to me,  invading my side of the bed.

The rolling thunder peaked his nerves and his body was warm.

I fumbled for the fan remote and turned the speed up a notch.

The air through the open window, the hum of the blades, the sound of the rain hitting the leaves, mellowed us both and again I felt the beginning stages of dreamland.

The sound of a gallop, as the dog lurched herself onto my bed, stirred me.

She found a perfect spot for herself.  On my side of the bed.

The one time crackle of lightning, the rumbling right overhead, the increasing intensity of the rain, frightened her.

Her body trembled.  She inched closer.  Her breath was hot.  Her body was warm.

My sheets tangled.  The back of my neck began to get sticky.  I couldn’t move.

A small relief was felt when I hung my leg off the edge of the bed.  A momentary fresh swoop of cool air on my skin.

Another crack of lightning.  Two bodies jolt and both tuck tighter into me.

I’ll be tired and crabby in the morning………….

It was a dark and stormy night.

It was a dark and stormy night…….. was this week’s writing prompt at  .

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Very vague, I know.

One thing led to another, and I met with the coordinators of the project several times, both face to face and via phone conferences.

The project was somewhat groundbreaking and sounded exciting!

I was very eager to be a part of it and was even more thrilled to actually get my first shot at writing for someone else and get paid for it!

We poured over a written proposal, which very specifically outlined what was expected of me and what I would receive in return.

The project involved numerous speakers and presenters who would be convening at an event several months down the road.

My job was to take a given topic, which would be assigned to me, write a blog post about my personal experience regarding said topic, and also include a bit of information to promote a specific speaker for the event.

Since the event was focused on a sensitive, emotional circumstance, my main objective was to be a comforting, real person resource for potential attendees.  The event coordinators wanted me to provide an empathetic, yet encouraging welcome and I was very capable of doing just that.

It all seemed almost too good to be true.  And, well, we all know what they say about that.

So, I got my name and bio on their website and my first post went up.

There was some back and forth about what was written and specific word and phrasing requests were given.  I tweaked and tweaked some more and finally hit publish.

Blog post number two went up and after some more back and forth, I started to wonder if we had somehow misinterpreted each others’ expectations.  I was experiencing micromanagement at it’s best…..or worst.  Depends on how you view micromanagement.

Blog post number three was more of the same and so I professionally inquired whether this arrangement was really working for the both of us or not?  I was encouraged to continue and told we would find our flow in no time.

Posts number four and five were published and that took us to the end of our first month’s agreement.  It was at this time that I should have received some payment.

And yes, I’m sure you guessed it, I didn’t receive one cent.

As awkward as it was, I again contacted the coordinator and was told, “Lots to do, not enough resources to do it with.”

So that was the end of that.

I would really love to look into some more freelance writing opportunities, but am obviously leery about the professionalism of it all.

What a shame that my very first freelance attempt was such a disappointment!

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I cut out the dairy because once again I was having skin issues, mostly breakouts around my mouth.  After some online research, I discovered that the hormones in dairy combined with your female hormones can sometimes cause acne.  So, I took the dairy out and my face really cleared up.  Miraculous! 

But I hate restrictions.  So there have been several occasions where I have tried to un-gluten and un-dairy free myself.

Almost every time I have some sort of “unfortunate” reaction.

Stomach bloating, where I seriously look like I am 6 months pregnant, cramps, gas, diarrhea, constipation….the works, or some onslaught of skin issues.  Or, if I’m lucky, some of both.

Is it any wonder I am still single?

So I always proclaim to accept the dietary limitations and carry on, but for some reason I never fully seem to learn my lesson.

Last week, on my first date in 2 years, I drank a couple of beers and nothing bad happened as a result.

So, I decided to test the waters a bit more.

A cookie…….

A handful of cheez-its………

A piece of chocolate………

Then on Wednesday, I pulled out the big guns and had 2….oh, OK 3 pieces of pizza.

Thick, greasy, crispy crust.

Stringy cheese, pepperoni, black olives.

It was divine.

Seriously it was so good, I was in a bit of trance as I devoured those 2….I mean 3 slices of gluten and dairy abundance.

Today is Saturday and I am miserable.

It all started that Wednesday night.

My stomach felt a little “off”.  Kinda heavy and unsettled.

Thursday was bloating and gassy.

Friday was heavy, crampy, nausea and for anyone who experienced butt labor during pregnancy, yep I had that feeling too last night.  It was awful!

I fell asleep with a heating pad on my lower gut and woke up this morning continuing to feel nausea.  I still have major lower gut (no not butt, just gut) cramping and am vowing to never eat anything ever again.

All of this for a couple….I mean, a few slices of pizza.

Ugh, my stomach churns just typing that.

I seriously feel sick thinking about that forsaken stringy cheese.

I kinda wonder if it is more dairy than gluten that gets me, but the thought of either is making me want to puke.

So I guess, once again, I have proven to myself that I need to steer clear of the stuff.

So when I do eat again, which I’m sure will be before the clock strikes noon, I will reach for some nuts, fruits or veggies.

No gluten or disgusting dairy.  Blah.

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