The Check's in the Mail. Or *is* it?

I'm sure many of you don't know that I work in the direct mail business. Clients come to our company with letters, postcards and brochures that they want us to mail to you, the unsuspecting public. Sometimes the stuff is really cool, sometimes it's things people have asked for specifically, sometimes it's an appeal for money for their organization, and sometimes it really is just plain junk.

But - be that as it may - the expectation is that we will "guarantee" that their mail gets out.

We do everything we have to do here - put addresses on envelopes, print letters, insert the letters and any other materials into the envelopes, add wafer seals to self mailers that can't travel without them, we even have a handwork department that takes care of projects our machinery can't - like those hockey sticks that the team sends out to season ticket holders at Christmas time.

The bottom line is that at the end of the line, the mail has to go to the Post Office. And therein lies the problem. And I'm serious about that. A few months ago, a North Carolina postman was found to be burying standard class mail (what used to be called "bulk" or "3rd class") in his backyard. He just couldn't deliver it all in 8 hours, he said. He got probation, I think. And the public comment on Yahoo the day the story ran was "Yay, postman! No one wants that junk anyhow" or "He should get a medal, not a prison sentence!" Um...tampering with the mail is a FEDERAL offense...no matter WHAT you do to it.

I do understand...really, I do. BUT - I also see it from the other side. My livelihood depends on what ends up in your mailbox. My clients pay decent money to put their mail out. And some of the mail that goes out standard class is STUFF YOU ALL ASKED FOR! OK, sometimes it's not, but still. And a large part of my company's business are organizations that rely on donations from their members. If the mail isn't getting to the members, the money isn't getting to the organization!

Early last week, a client called and said that he was worried about his mailing - he'd gone to the website and checked his delivered mail (you can do that now), and only 7% was scanned after 15 days in the mail. Well... now we know why. This article is about our local postal distriution center, which is where a huge part of every mailing goes through. In case you're not up for the read, all mail enters, only some mail leaves. Maybe. And the managers know it and in fact encourage it. The lower the volume out per day, the less overtime they have to schedule. There are all manner of issues...and it affects what I do every day.

http://www.philly.com/dailynews/top_story/20081201_Left_at_the_post.html?viewAll=y

It's hard to do my job when the end of the production line is a huge black hole from which nothing ever escapes. And do you think clients accept that as a reason their mail doesn't get out? HELL no - SURELY it's something I've done, something I haven't done, something that I should have done but didn't...you get the picture.

So anyhow, if you're mailing Christmas cards to anyone over here in the Philadelphia area...be prepared for them to end up mouldering in a bin somewhere in the postal distriution center. You won't get a thank you card back for that gift either (if the gift even makes it), because they'll all be sitting side by side on the floor in the hallway of the Lindbergh Boulevard Postal Distribution Center.

The Eyes Have It...or not

Alright. I know I’ve said it before, but it’s just been confirmed.

I am officially OLD.

Yep, in capital letters. Beacuse those are the ones I can see.

How do I know this, you ask?

Well, you see, it all started with a trip to the eye doctor…and it will end next week with a pair of bifocals.

Yes, you read that correctly. Bifocals. The glasses your grandma wore. When she was OLD.

Me? I’m 42. In my head, I’m about 19. But chronologically, I’m 42. I should NOT be wearing bifocals at my age, but what can I tell you? I need a prescription for nearsightedness AND one for distance. I can’t win!

I’ve been wearing glasses for about 2 years for close work. I crochet and it was getting hard to see the yarn and read the patterns. Then I noticed that when I looked up from my work, I couldn’t see the TV. Well, I could SEE it, but it was blurry. So off to the eye doc I went. New glasses helped that, and I wear them like Madam Librarian – low on my nose, because if I try to walk through the house (or the plant at work), I can’t see across the room with my glasses on. BUT – I can see my computer screen at work and I can see my handwork! What a bonus! People won’t be getting mismatched socks!

July a year ago, I was diagnosed as Type 2 diabetic. And one of the things they told me to do was go get a “real” eye exam. The kind you get at the ophthalmologist, not the optometrist. I (obviously) didn’t do it for a while. I finally got around to making the appointment because it’s getting where I have trouble reading road signs at a distance.

Oh.
My.
God.

I had a friend at work warn me that if they dilated my eyes (which I knew was going to happen), that I would *barely* be able to see going home. I figured it was at night, it would be dark, how hard could it be? Besides, the doctor simply said “Be careful driving, it will be a little hard to see.”

UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE YEAR!!!

It was like driving through outer space – every headlight, every streetlight, every taillight, every EVERY light was a huge star. Like some photographer had just gotten his new star effects filter and decided everything looked better that way. There I was, with 2 lanes of oncoming traffic on the left and 2 lanes going my way…almost totally blinded by the light (to borrow a phrase). I must have looked like the world’s most incompetent driver.

So I call my girly, and tell her I’m getting hoagies from Wawa for dinner and to tell me what she wants. She says…”I’ll text it to you.” I say…”OK, sweetie. That’s a great idea.”

I’m an IDIOT. D’ya think I could read the phone?!? I couldn’t even tell there were letters on the screen – they all looked like lines of ants marching across. It’s bad enough I already need glasses to see the damn thing!

OH!! And did I tell you?!? Immediately after they put the dilation drops in, they tell you to pick out your new frames. I can’t wait to actually SEE what I picked out…’cause gods know I couldn’t see them last night – and I relied on the office manager to be my fashion police. And these I’ll have to wear all the time now…not just when I’m reading or crocheting. Oy.

Can’t wait to see what my girly thinks…I can hear her laughing now. “You let someone tell you those were OK?!? HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!”

*sigh*

Yep. I'm old.

I Blog For...

Who do you blog for? Who do you hope reads what you so carefully (or NOT so carefully) write each time you post?

Or better yet, here’s another question – who do you hope DOESN’T read what you write?

Do you censor yourself knowing that someone may read something they don’t like?

I blog for myself and whomever happens to find and read what I choose to write. I don’t censor, I write what I’m thinking as I think it. With a little creativity.

My fiancé reads my blog. In itself, that’s not a bad thing. Really, it’s not. We’ve been together 9 years and he should pretty much know what to expect at this point, right? As should I know what to expect from him. You’d think.

So why does it upset me when he (sometimes) comments unfavorably on the content of my posts?

Case in point: There was a line in my last entry where I said that the kids and I were tight, and it had been just the 3 of us through the hardest parts of our lives. The next line said “Well, add Bill too for the last 9 years.”

Apparently, I made him feel like an afterthought. The truth is that I’ve been with Bill for as long as I was with my kids’ father at this point. Well, almost – a year shy, since I was married for 9 years and 10 months, and Bill and I will be celebrating our 9th anniversary this year. I’m not sure if it’s a sense of insecurity on his part, or my taking for granted that he understands the depth of feeling I have, but whatever it was, it ended up in what passes for an argument between us.

Him: “I saw your blog. ‘Oh, and Bill too’?”

Me: “What? What I actually said was “And add Bill for the last 9 years. Nine Years.”

Him: “Yeah, but it was like ‘oh, and add Bill.’”

Me: “That’s it. I’m not writing to the blog anymore. It’s not like I post much anyhow."

Him: “Fine. I won’t read it anymore. You can keep posting.”

Me: “There’s no reason for you to stop reading…I just…I don’t know. I won’t have time to write much anyhow.”

We both know that neither of those things is going to happen. He could no more stop reading this than I could stop writing it. And the truth is (as I see it, anyhow), neither one of us WANTS to do those things.

In those 9 years I mentioned above, Bill’s put up with a lot. My mom passed away in 2004, and I don’t know what I would have done without him. He shopped for, cooked and served – single-handedly – the reception after the funeral. I don’t think funerals are his thing, but he was there through the wake and the service while I played hostess to those people who came to pay their respects. He and my son, who is not a funeral attendee either, sat together and did what men do when they’re somewhere they’d really rather not be. And that was fine. Better than fine. I was so grateful, and I don’t think I ever told him because I was so busy working through my own issues. For that event, he was the rock in the kitchen and in general for me at my mother’s home afterward – as I flitted amongst clusters of people, sharing memories and thoughts with them. He has been with me through tweenhood, puberty and adolescence. And as my daughter moves into adolescence now, he’s STILL with us, and that says an awful lot!

At this stage of my life, with one in college and one home and more money going out than coming in, he’s here for us in SO many ways! Each week finds him coming through the door with cases of food for the cats, or gallons of heating oil. Or the ingredients for a fabulous meal that covers not only a night’s dinner, but several lunches, too! He’s invaluable, and I guess I don’t let him know that often enough. I wonder what my problem is…*sigh* I guess I expect him to be a mind reader and just understand what I’m thinking. I forget men can’t do that…

So, sweetheart…this one’s for you. I hope you understand how much I love you, and that you are NOT an afterthought in the least. You’re a part of who we are and what we do, and I hope it’s that way for a long, long time.

I Left My Heart...

… in Massachusetts.

Well, a piece of it, anyhow.

This past weekend, I delivered my anxious son to the campus of the Art Institute of Boston. Actually, he’s living at Lesley College, which in conjunction with AIB makes up Lesley University. He’s living on the 4th floor of a dorm in Cambridge, above the library.

It was much, much harder than I anticipated, leaving him there. I cried. A lot. And I’m still crying. I can’t imagine (well, actually, yes I can) what his girlfriend is feeling. She’s a senior at the High School this year. Her gift to him was an adorable photograph of the two of them, interspersed with all the tickets to all the movies they went to together. He and I BOTH cried over that one. And the mixed CD she gave him?? Oh. My. God. Tears in abundance. Before we left, he gave her the Vermont Teddy Bear that I gave him at Graduation with his name and year on it, a strip of photos that he took in a photo booth in Ocean City NJ (they’re adorable!) and his class ring. She cried, too.

After we got him all set up, we ate lunch and walked around campus some. Then there was a very nice convocation ceremony at 4 PM, which precluded our leaving (as originally scheduled) on Sunday. After that was over, we all proceeded to the campus for barbecue dinner, only to be met by a very loud woman proclaiming “The barbecue is for STUDENTS ONLY! Say goodbye to your parents!” over and over again.

He was fine, but I of course was a wreck, and he finally looked at me and said “Just go ahead and cry, mom, because you’re making the most RIDICULOUS faces trying not to!” And the floodgates opened – again.

To Meghan, he said “Don’t forget…it only costs me $2 to get home (Mega or Bolt bus), so don’t do anything stupid!”

So we walked back to the car, short one family member. We were in the elevator to our garage level, and the lady behind us was sniffling. Thank GOD I wasn't the only one! Megs had on her rockstar sunglasses, so I couldn't tell what she’s doing…but I knew. We ate dinner in Lexington at the most adorable little Italian restaurant (Mario’s) and spent the night, just the 2 of us, in the hotel, talking about him and missing him already.

I don’t get the people who are so thrilled to have their kids out of the house. I just don’t. And the folks who laughed at me when I said that, aside from burying my mom, this was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Why is that funny? I feel like someone’s died, to be honest. I hear a song that reminds me of him, and I tear up.

I guess it’s because our family is really tight. It was just the three of us through the hardest parts of our lives. Well…add Bill for the last 9 years, too. But the kids and I are closer than close. And I just spent the whole summer with just the boy-child. Megs was in Colorado with her dad, and he and I got to spend some quality time alone. Which I guess was good and bad. I got used to having him here. We got close again. Not that we were estranged, but he’s a teenaged boy and your parents aren’t cool when you’re 16 and 17 years old.

And seriously, it’s not like he died…he’s just a couple hundred miles away. A moment by text or phone call. But I won’t be “that” mom. I did ask him yesterday how the day was and remind him to send me the list of things he forgot…but now it’s up to him.

And again, I have to ask myself why I’m so sad. I’ve known this was coming since he got his acceptance letter in April. I helped him pack and made sure he had everything. Well…ALMOST everything. I bought him sheets and towels and Wellington boots. And ramen noodles and freeze pops. I drove 300+ miles without being able to see out the back window. I KNEW it. And yet, it still hurts. We’ll be seeing him in October for Friends and Family weekend. And November for Thanksgiving. And December for Christmas. So that’s what I’m holding on to. And I know in time, things will be better, and the wound will be less raw.

But until then, there’s a piece of my heart living in Cambridge. I just hope it stays safe and comes back to me when it’s ready.

Cha-CHING! It's Pay Day!

The two most beautiful words a working person knows – “Pay day!”

Especially, if – like me – you tend to live paycheck to paycheck.

It wasn’t always like this, but it used to be like this. Does that make any sense?

When I first got divorced, money was something that was in VERY short supply in my house. We (ALL of us) wore thrift store clothes and no-brand shoes. The kids had food (none of it brand name and a lot of it from the damaged/discount rack), shelter and transportation that was mostly reliable.

What *I* had was a mountain of debt and one paycheck. The money almost always ran out before the month did, and creative financing was new to me. There were those times when the paycheck didn’t make it before the straw that broke the camel’s back. That always meant a nasty-gram from the bank and a charge of $30 for overdraft protection. OK, so they KNEW I didn’t have any money, but they charged me MORE of it? I never understood that.

OK, so we lived like that for a while. Dinners at Mom’s a couple nights a week, strictly budgeted grocery trips, and now and again a S-T-R-E-T-C-H to cover school pictures or the field trip to the zoo.

Things turned for us, and I replaced my 1988 Chevy Cavalier that barely went from home to school to work. I actually got a loan on my own credit! Next step – I applied for a mortgage. And I was accepted! So we now had a house and a car that ran all the time instead of just some of the time. Through various other circumstances, we began to save money. We moved up to department store clothes and better footwear. The kids got iPods and cell phones. We had more than rice and ground meat and pasta in the pantry. We could afford field trips and gym suits and pictures and the occasional outing. Life was good. Christmas came and there was more than one gift apiece under the tree.

What’s happened since then? Well – a car payment. The last one had been paid off for some time. The new one is not. Credit card debt…good Gods, if I could just learn NOT to use the damn thing. “It’s for emergencies” I told myself. Must have been an awful lot of those lately. The usual bills – electric, water, cable, internet, etc. Oil in the winter, increased electric in the summer…you know the story!

Anyhow, today’s pay day. I should be thrilled, but the sad truth is that this check is already spent. As usual. And so the cycle begins again.

ER - This Time Boy-Child Style

Remember how I said if the girl-child had cut her finger here, I'd have had her go SOMEWHERE?

The gods must have been listening.

In a series of events that could only occur in my son's life, he broke his nose yesterday. Actually, he broke the *tip* of his nose. There's some swelling in one nostril, a bruise that makes him look like he dipped his nose in purple paint, and some residual pain.

It took a trip to the urgent care facility, a denial of referral from his doc, a trip to the ER, a 2.5 hour wait, 4 x-rays, almost a CT scan, and 15 minutes with the ER doc (c'mon, sing it with me..."and a patridge in a pear treeeee....") to determine that his nose was indeed broken.

Picture this - 2 strapping 18 (or 19) year old men wrestling around on the ground. His opponent's hand on his face, trying to force him into a headlock and him trying like hell not to end up in said headlock. The walk home going something like this:

"Good fight, dude - you've gotten better!"
"Thanks, man. But my nose kinda hurts."
"Lemme see. (looking at my son's face) "DUDE - it's really swollen!"
"Yeah, I think you broke it."
"No WAY!"
"Yeah, way, man. High five!"

*sigh*


Last night on the way home from the hospital:

Him: My first broken bone! And it's my NOSE! How cool is THAT?!?
Me: Yeah. Cool. Well, at least it doesn't show.
Him: I know. I'm bummed. What a conversation starter THAT could have been!
Me: Yeah, well...sorry it didn't work out for you.

God spare me from boy-children, please?

What price fun?

I'm not a martyr. Really, I'm not. Bill *did* ask me 3 times if I wanted sunscreen and I said no. So it's my own fault. No one to blame but ME. And a beautiful day at the beach.

I have a farmer's tan. Well, I HAD a farmer's tan. Also known as a planter's tan.

For those of you who don't know, it's when your arms are tanned from the elbows down because you've worn short sleeves all summer and never exposed your upper arms to the sun. So you're pasty white to the elbows (or however long your most often-worn short sleeves fall to), and tan from there down.

Well, let's just say THAT virgin's been deflowered. Bill and I spent the most wonderful weekend at the beach, walking, walking, walking. The sand was warm, the water was chilly, the sun was bright, and on we walked. Miles of beach one way and miles of boardwalk back. Spent time in the arcades, which Bill loves, throwing money at video poker and winning tickets for junk that we don't have room for. Buying a new cage for the hermit crab I got last year - complete with a friend (buy the cage, get the crab free!). But DAMN, skippy - we had a blast!

The catch is - I wore a sleeveless shirt and shorts for the first time all summer for this escapade. So instead of being pasty white from the elbows up, I am screaming red. Not quite the fashion statement I was going for. Oh yeah - the shirt was v-neck, so I have that tan/burn too. And the backs of my knees. OH yeah...you know it! And to cap it off, a flip-flop tan on my feet. Those didn't burn, but the straps of the flip-flops are now permanent.

All things being equal, I can't complain. As I said, he DID offer to buy me sunscreen, which I refused.

We had an awesome time visiting all the little Jersey beach towns. OC, Wildwood, Sea Isle, AC. We ate 3 Brothers Pizza, Shriver's Salt Water Taffy, Kohr Bros. ice cream and Bubba Dog's hot dogs. In AC, we gambled at the penny slot machines in Caesar's and Wild Wild West. We ate dinner in the casino and gambled some more (we're SUCH big spenders!). We talked and laughed and walked until we were so stiff we didn't think we'd be able to move.

It was the most awesome weekend of the summer so far and if I have to pay for it with the sunburn from hell that STILL hurts and is red and is going to peel like a rotten orange, then so be it!

ER - Girl-Child Style

OK, so I would have taken her to the ER whether I could see the bone or not. Yes, I realize it costs $100 in co-pay, but that much blood warrants something more than "If you can't see the bone, I'll put a bandaid on it and go home."

Let me back into this.

Megs lives with her dad over the summer, and this year, she's a CIT at the local day camp. As part of what they do there, the kids work on community service projects and earn karma points.

This year's project is deforestation of the camp, and since Denver's been under drought for so long, they can't run controlled burns. They have the older kids from camp (under supervision, of course) with hand saws, pruners, loppers and whatever else they need. Meghan's tool of choice was a set of pruners, since she was removing small branches from a Douglas Fir that someone else had cut down.

As she's pruning away, she is (as girls will) talking to her best friend out there, and, well, not *quite* paying enough attention to the work at hand (no pun intended).

That's when (according to her), she pruned her left index finger along with the branch on which she was working.

Me: OMG!! Are you OK?!?!?

Her: Yeah, at first I was really mad, but then I couldn't stop laughing.

Me: LAUGHING?!? Is something WRONG with you???

Her: No, it was just funny. But mom - I had NO idea how much fingers bled! Both my hands were COVERED in blood!

Me (trying not to be sick as I'm sitting in traffic on the way to the Kimberton Fair with her brother): Uh, yeah...there are lots of blood vessels and stuff in them. Did you have to get stitches?

Her: Nah...the ranger said if I couldn't see the bone, it was OK.

Me: See the BONE?!? How deep did you cut?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Her: Well, after I washed off all the blood and the ranger dropped half a bottle of ALCOHOL in it, which made me really MAD, we looked at it. It was deep. But we couldn't see, like, bone or muscles or anything. So he gave me a band-aid and some tape so it wouldn't get banged around.

Me (feeling slightly ill): Huh. Ok, did Dad look at it? (as if THAT would make a difference, since he doesn't *do* blood)

Her (laughing): Uh, that would be a "no." It's fine mom. Doesn't even really hurt anymore. Throbs a little, but it's not too bad.

Me: OK, sweetie. Make sure you keep Neosporin and bandaid on it.

Her brother (from the passenger seat): Tell her if she doesn't want a scar, it HAS to be Neosporin.

Me: Did you hear that?

Her: Yeah. I'm fine with a scar if it does - better story. Well, we're checking out at Barnes and Noble. Gotta go - love you!


Can I just tell you?? I would have had her butt SOMEWHERE...ER, doctor's office, whatever. "If you can't see the bone, it doesn't need stitches"?!? Oy.

I guess it could have been worse...she could have done it here and I would have made a scene and embarrassed her.

God forbid.

Make new friends, but keep the old...

Why is it that staying in touch with old friends is SO hard? What happens to us that we lose touch with people that we spent every day, or several days a week with in our past?

I was so blessed last week to have the opportunity to catch up with 3 old friends. Actually, catch up with one and reconnect with 2 (who happen to have married each other).

My friend Melissa moved to AZ to marry the man of her dreams. And honestly, he'd be the man of MY dreams if he wasn't married to her! Melissa and Nate have a fabulous marriage and a beautiful little boy, and the connection between them is amazing. She and I stay in touch through email and our blogs, and we send about half a novel to each other every couple months to catch each other up. And once a year, she comes back to Pennsylvania to get together with her family and friends. I was lucky enough to catch up with her and her family for a couple hours in a diner between where she was staying and where I live. It was JUST like old times - no one else could get a word in edgewise because we pick up where we left off. We both speak quickly and we still have that friends' "shorthand" that no one but us understands. It was a Friday night and the diner was empty, sort of, and I had a great time with the three of them. Unfortunately, my fiance and her husband just kinda had to sit back and watch, because, well, they're men and they don't bond the way women do.

Saturday was spent with extended family at the annual reunion picnic. Once a year, my mother's family gets together so we see each other outside of the occasional wedding and/or funeral. And trust me, the funerals are far outnumbering the weddings as we all age (gracefully, of course!). This gives us a chance to catch up on everyone and their families, and it's a lot of fun.

Saturday night, I got a phone call from a girl with whom I was friendly most of my high school years. I'd gone to her wedding, kept in touch after her son was born and she divorced the @$$ that was his father, through her second marriage I think I saw her once, and then all of a sudden - WHAM - we lost touch. Through a networking website, she found me and we began emailing. Next thing I know, I get a phone call from her and we spent 2 hours on the phone reminiscing, catching up on old times and each others' families and laughing til I thought we'd burst. I'm thrilled to have heard from her and her husband, who was also part of the group with whom we associated in high school. It's funny how all the old social crap falls away, and we're all just parents and homeowners with more in common than you'd ever have thought way back when.

There's something about reconnecting with old friends that just makes me happy. Perhaps it's the lack of "new" friends in my life, or the fact that I really never had a chance to stay in touch with them because when I married my (now ex) husband, his friends became our friends, and there wasn't room for mine anymore. Who knows? And now, who cares? I'm happier than I've ever been and reconnecting with old friends is just the icing on the cake.

SO - Donna and Melissa, if you read this, know that you both hold a special place in my heart, and it is my intention to NEVER allow us to lose touch.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end...

It's the end of another school year, and this one's a little bittersweet. To be a little dramatic, it's the end of my son’s childhood.

He’s graduating from high school this year. In 3 days, actually.

I won’t lie – it’s a miracle, almost, that he’s made it. That it’s actually going to happen was in doubt until late last week. But as of this moment, without his final exam grades entered, there are no failures this quarter. God willing and the creek don’t rise, my son will wear the purple and white of Phoenixville Area High School this Friday, and when he returns that stunning fashion statement, he will receive a piece of paper that says he’s ready to go to college.

Academically, that is.

It’s a huge step for me as a parent, and as a single parent for the last 10 years, to be able to say that it’s fine for him to take his leave and head off to the great white North (in the form of the Art Institute of Boston). Yes, he’s 18 years old. The age of majority in our great state. (And elsewhere, too, I suppose) He can pretty much do whatever he wants (as long as it’s legal) and not have to answer to me. He has a tattoo. (I did take him to get it, but still – further proof that he’s allowed to be an adult!) He spends more time out of the house than in, and according to our fine borough, he doesn’t have a curfew. He’s old enough to buy tobacco products, and apparently LOOKS old enough that he’s not often questioned.

It wasn’t that long ago that I was agonizing over whether he was old enough to come home on the school bus by himself and let himself into the apartment until I got home from work 2 hours later. And surely, it wasn’t THAT long ago that he spent his first (tearful, though he won't admit it!) night away from home with the Cub Scouts, was it?

How did that short, chubby, awkward, shy 10-year old child turn into this tall, fearless, handsome, funny, giving young man? The one with the omnipresent camera whose name is well known and often shouted out as we walk or drive through our town? The one who can still surprise me by offering his kid sister a super-warm, totally loving hug only 2 hours after they’ve been verbally sparring with such heat I was afraid my house would burn down? The one who drives me to distraction because he won’t take the trash out, but cleans his room without being asked? This young, eloquent man with the devil’s own smile who can make me laugh no matter how mad I am at him? When did this happen?

And why am I so sad about it? I did my job. He turned out the best possible person he could be, and it’s partially my fault. Nothing sad about it...except that he's not "my little boy" anymore.

CJ, I am so proud of you I can’t stand it, and when you walk in procession on Friday, no one there will be happier for you than I will be. I taught you to reach for your dreams, and you did – and now you’ll walk into the world as ready as I could make you – to live your life no longer a child, but always my baby.

I love you.

It's Happened!!!

OK, so it finally happened. I'm officially OLD. Yep. O-L-D. How do I know this?

I am the parent of a college student.

Yeah, that happened, too. My son got accepted to his #1 choice of schools, the Art Institute of Boston. I am (in all seriousness) as happy as I can be for him. He's been dreaming of Boston for MONTHS! I even put him on a bus by himself from King of Prussia to Boston in February. Yep...let him loose in the city by himself for a day before he met up with family and toured AIB during their open house event.

SO - we hear on Thursday that he's accepted. AND that he got a scholarship!! YAY, boy-child!!!! The scholarship covers most of his room and board. Hip, hip, HOORAY!!! We go on through the packet and find out that accepted student open house is SUNDAY. So he, the girl-child and I all packed into the car at noon on Saturday and made a road trip to Boston.

I'm glad I did...I got to see the AIB building again, and this time, I got to see the campus on which he'll be living. Housing for AIB is at Lesley College in Cambridge. There's a free shuttle for students back and forth, so I don't have to worry about that, but I really wanted to see the whole place. I like it. He likes it. Now all I need to do is figure out how I'm going to pay for it, considering his father makes less money than I do and wanted to know "How're you going to pay for that" when I told him the child was accepted. There's been more emotion in my shoes when I buy new laces. But that's a story for another time.

SO - congratulations to my boy-child, and please wish me luck in the financial arena...I think I see a part-time job in my future.

I’m a Grown-Up!

You will NOT believe what I did last night.

Well, yes, actually, you will – since yesterday I talked about the Car Blues.

So here’s the STUPID stuff I did this past month:

A) re-registered the Plymouth Breeze at a cost of $36.00
B) dropped over $400 into fixing the Plymouth Breeze – EGR valve and sensor and Idle motor
C) Filled the gas tank on the Breeze yesterday to the tune of $30.30.

Here’s the smart thing I did yesterday – unless, of course, you add up A through C above and then you may consider this the MOST stupid.

I bought a “new” car. New to me – 2 years old, 10,000 miles. So far, it’s wonderful, but I’ve only actually driven it from the dealership home and from home to work. It’s a mid-sized SUV and it’s a little bigger than the Breeze. Taller, by FAR. Not quite sure how long or wide it is yet, hence the park job at the office this morning – about 3 feet too far from the building! But – to my credit – I am in the middle of the lines of the parking space! Gotta give me points for that!

I will indeed miss driving stick shift. I’ve had 2 cars in my life that were stick. One I drove for 10 years and one I drove for 6. So out of 25 years of driving, the majority was done stick shift. But hey, the radio works and there’s a moon roof!

My girl child went with me for the ultimate car-buying experience. She’s 13, and it’s all about the image, you know? This time, it was all about how comfortable the car was. She is afraid of the front seat, so she rode in the back seat and let me know how comfortable (or not) each car was and what neat gadgets there were, and whether or not there was an available data port (for recharging the omnipresent iPod) in the back. Then it was text messages to her brother to ask HIS opinion of each vehicle. He was at the movies with friends…how thrilled do you think he was to get texts during the film from his sister?

Once we decided on a vehicle, she kept saying “MOM – you’re buying a car!” And I kept saying “Girly – we’re buying a CAR!” Of course, she’s excited beyond belief and I’m sitting there calculating whether or not I can REALLY afford this. And what’s my insurance going up to? And OMG, I have to call and get money transferred for the down-payment.

So all that’s done, my finances are not in *too* much of a shambles, and I did it without ANYONE’s help – of the adult persuasion, anyhow! And I have a smart new ride to show for my trouble!

The End of an Era

OK, so my car’s been giving me trouble. LOTS of trouble. I mean, I’ve had it for a number of years, it’s paid off, and suddenly, one thing after another is wrong. So there I was in Firestone this morning, waiting to see what the latest problem is and how much it’s going to cost.

The bottom line is that *right now* there’s nothing wrong, so they re-set the “check engine” light and sent me on my merry way, 45 minutes late for work. The next line up (from the bottom line) is that there’s “the beginning” of an exhaust leak at the front of the system where it meets the engine, and this could be causing a vacuum leak and hence the rough idle when the engine’s cold, so “we’ll keep an eye” on that.

The very next line is…

“That’s a lotta miles for that car, and you might want to think about…”

GASP!

“…another vehicle.”

He’s the second person in 3 days to say that to me. The first was my dad when I told him I’d had the car in the shop 3 times in the past month. You know dads, though – took that one with a grain of salt, I did.

But that said, I’ve been perusing used car websites as well as the Saturn and Kia new car sites. I want a VUE or a Sportage or something else along those lines. Girl-child wants to go shopping with me because she says the car “has to be comfortable.” Oy. I’ll let you all know how it goes.

Say Goodbye to a Piece of History!

They closed the Vale Rio Diner on Sunday. After 60 years, they just up and closed the doors to make way for a Walgreen’s. Do we really NEED a Walgreen’s? What historical value is there in Walgreen’s? Seriously…next year’s high school kids are all going to be asking – Hey! After the homecoming, wanna go hang out at Walgreen’s??

I don’t think so.

The Vale Rio was open 24/7/365. I think they closed a couple hours on Christmas. It has 2 halves – the front is a 1948 Paramount Diner. You know, the ones that look like air-stream trailers and have a few stools at the counter and booths with cracked upholstery and juke boxes at the window? The back is (was?) the dining room – traditional tables with 2-4 chairs where larger parties could dine. And dine we did. As a family. With the kids after the prom. At 1:30 AM after picking someone up at the airport. Just for shits and grins at 2 AM to get the best burger in Phoenixville. (Burger Royale, of course!) When we couldn’t think of someplace to eat. When we didn’t want to eat anywhere else. For breakfast on Saturday morning. Hell, for breakfast any time. And you wanted Alex to wait your table. He’s Egyptian and funny as hell. Has a knack for making everyone feel welcome. Even my shy daughter loved him!

I have pictures of friends in the Vale Rio when my girl-child was 2. I was meeting them in person for the first time after knowing them for a while on the internet, and “The Val” was the place to go. The girl-child ate lemons. Yep – picked ‘em outta the iced tea glasses and, totally unfazed, sucked the juice out of them without benefit of sugar. That’s my girly!

My son frequented the Val most often. The high school kids love it! After 2nd night of the 3 night runs of Fall Play and Spring Musical, the whole cast and a good number of the crew would descend upon the Val and enjoy a good meal and a post-mortem of the night’s performance. It was the place to go after dances, football games and any other school event that needed a little “more”. You never worried about them when they were there. You knew they were getting good food at a price that wouldn’t have them coming back to you asking for an advance on the week’s allowance. And you knew the staff would keep them in line. It was a family place like that.

Next to the Val is the Fountain Inn. Used to be called the Lazy Dog. Maybe it still is – we didn’t go there much. They’re closing, too – hello, Starbuck’s! C’mon, now…we have a coffee house in town, and a bakery/café as well. We do NOT need the commercialization of Starbuck’s. Hey, we even have McDonald’s, and their coffee’s not half bad now!

Anyhow, when they move the Val, it will sit on a lot at Nutt Road and Starr Street. They won’t be serving there for a while. There will be a borough meeting (whether it will occur in my lifetime remains to be seen) to discuss rezoning the property for restaurants. If it happens like anything else political, the diner will be another 60 years old by then.

It’s too bad, really. I’ll miss the place.

Weekend Recap

I spent Saturday sitting at a table at the Mid-Winter Scottish Irish Music Festival (at the Valley Forge Convention Center) listening to 45 minute acts of Scottish and Irish music for eight hours. OK, six. From 11 AM until 5 PM. I came away with a couple realizations.

1) Most bagpipe bands sound the same.
2) “Scotland the Brave” and “Amazing Grace” are the 2 songs that most bagpipe bands play really well, so they play them often.
3) Celtic Rock is really cool, but those 2 guys with digiree doos and a set of bagpipes just wasn’t my cup of tea.
4) Albannach KICKS ASS!! Too bad their CD’s are all sold out online. I’d do the digital download, but I’m not sure if you can play it in iTunes, and I’d hate to pay for something I can’t use. But DAMN, do I want their music in my collection!
5) My daughter is amazing and woe betide the young man who makes an inappropriate pass at her. She’ll likely break him in half.

My girl-child takes swordfighting classes. NOT fencing, swordfighting. We’re talking two-handed, cut someone’s arm off swordfighting. (www.livesteelfightacademy.com) She’s been doing it since she was 12.

She doesn’t use steel yet, as she’s not had enough years of training. But she’s something with wood!! I mentioned this schooling to the mother of a friend of mine and she asked if she should report me. I couldn’t tell if she were kidding or not. Needless to say she and I didn’t talk much more after that – I was kind of afraid of her.

My son used to take the classes, too. He was on the demo team and got to use live steel before he quit. He could slice a full gallon milk jug in half with one swipe one-handed. It was something to see. My niece still goes occasionally, but she’ll turn 18 this weekend and will have to change over to the adult classes. She'll probably give it up because her mom won’t pay for it anymore. Not that I blame her mom, since the child’s gone to maybe 1 of the past 5 classes. It gets expensive when that happens. My girly is still enamoured enough with it that she goes every week.

And then there are the events. Mid-Winter Scottish/Irish Music Festival in February, Celtic Fling in June (sometimes – sometimes they don’t do this one), and the Green Lane Scottish/Irish Festival in September. They also demonstrate at the Royer-Greaves School for the Blind, but I can't remember when. Green Lane is our favorite.

Right now, the school is offering a self-defense class for women. It’s currently open to members and their families only, but if it’s a success, it’s going to be offered to the public. I’ve learned a lot so far. My daughter takes it and my two nieces and their mom, too. Of the 12 people in class, 5 of us are Savoys. Pretty funny! Although after each week, I feel how old I am in the muscles that refuse to bend and stretch properly the next day.

So what did I do Sunday? Nothing. Beautiful, blessed nothing. We picked my son up from the bus station at 8 PM and the family went out to dinner, and that was it. He’d been in Boston for the weekend at Open House at the Art Institute of Boston, which is where he hopes to go to college. He stayed with relatives and had a great time. He’s been accepted to the Art Institute of Philadelphia, and just (barely on time) sent his app to Boston. We toured the school last summer, and he’s hell bent on going. I just hope we get the letter he wants to see soon. I’ll feel a lot better…then I’ll be sick wondering how we’re going to pay for it. But that’s another story for another time.

To Panda

We lost a hamster today.

Not lost as in - got loose and we can't find her.

Lost as in - she died.

She was a sweet thing. Her name was Panda because she was black and white. Cute as a button and active as all get out. She loved to climb the walls of her cage, and when she got too fat for the tubes, that was how she got from level to level in her cage. In later life, when she got OBESE (and I do mean OBESE), she stuck to the lower level, but she was still a cutie! She loved her yogie treats and never missed an opportunity to have a treat.

When she died (sometime overnight, I guess), she weighed about a pound. I know - I told you she was obese.

The girl-child took it well and has decided that we are done with hamsters. We've had several, and while they've been entertaining, she's right - we're finished. We have 4 cats, a dog, an African claw frog and a hermit crab. Oh - and 9 birds. 5 cages but 9 birds. Despite our loss, the ark is still full.

So I wish Panda safe journey on her way to the Rainbow Bridge. She was a joy and I'm happy she was part of our lives for so long. May the Goddess guide her true on her path.

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow...

OK, so it’s snowing here. It’s nothing unusual; we live in the northeast, for Pete’s sake.

To go one better, per the weatherman on the local news, "North and west of the city." Which means we'll generally get more snow.

It’s not as common as in, say, New England. At least not in recent years. But it happens, and I don’t understand why the world comes to a screeching halt when it does.

My kids’ schools closed at 12:30 today, 2 hours early. Several of my clients sent their employees home early. The roads here are wet, nothing frozen yet, but it will be dark soon and there have been reports of a couple accidents on elevated highways. So I can see leaving a tinch early, but at 2 PM?!?

It’s 17 degrees outside, which makes it bloody cold. But it also makes for dry snow which doesn’t stick to much. The grass. Some rooftops. But not the roads. And it blows in the wind. Seriously. It shouldn’t be a big deal – at least not locally.

I’m sure the robins who’ve come home early (I saw about 100 of them in a field the other day) are REALLY pissed at the ones who decided it was warm enough to come back. They’re out there huddling together on the tree branches, trying not to shiver so they don’t fall off. As my daughter observed… “Dumbass birds.” Can you see the ones over there, just apart from the rest of the group? They were the planners. What seemed like a good idea at the time has gone horribly wrong, and now they're freezing their little birdie butts off away from the group because they've been shunned. Poor lil' things. It's not fair how quickly the group has turned against them. Fickle.

For now, I think I’m going to take advantage of my boss’ offer to leave early. Not because I’m afraid the roads are frozen, but simply because I don’t feel like working anymore today. So there.

After the Dance

OK, so she went to her first semi-formal and apparently, it was a wonderful evening. I wouldn’t know because my daughter tells stories about people with names like “Fruity” and “Number 10” and “my friend” and “my other friend” and “this guy” and his counterpart “that girl”so that I can’t tell who she’s talking about and choose the one I’ll torture her about (Girly has a BOYfriend…) for the next couple days.

She was beautiful, and I’ll have photos in a couple days. Why so long? Because I know how I am, and it’ll take 2 days just to get the camera upstairs and another day or two to download it. Yeah, that’s right – I’m a procrastinator of the first order. And I wonder where my son gets it from.

So Girly and her friend who lives 2 doors down from us got dressed together for the dance. It was a sight to behold. Everything fell together and my princess and her friend grudgingly posed for photos and she walked down the stairs (without falling) in her new heels (which can HARDLY be called heels!) and out to our neighbor’s car. I was on pick-up duty. It was sweet to hear her and her friend giggling and comparing notes about makeup (which mine doesn’t wear) and what they thought their friends might be wearing and who they may be dancing with.

At the end of the dance, a barefoot, hoarse, but exhilarated girly got into my car with her friend. And the recap/post mortem continued in carefully chosen phrases on the way home. “If Tess (the ONE person whose name she’ll use) was there, a lot of things that happened wouldn’t have happened,” I am told. “Really? Would that have been good or bad?” I ask. Because heaven knows, you know? “Not sure. But it would have been different!” OK, so I attempt to back out of my parking space without running over any of the other handsomely dressed middle schoolers trying to find their parents’ cars, and I ask if she danced with anyone. Even though I can’t see her, you can almost HEAR her eyes rolling. It went like this:

Her: YES, I danced with someone.
Me: Really? That’s GREAT! Who?
Her: I don’t remember.
Me: You danced with people you don’t remember? Must have been some dance!
Her: (Audibly rolling her eyes again.) MOM! Yes, I danced. With lots of people.
Me: Anyone in particular?
Her: I don’t remember.

That’s the girly’s standard line when she doesn’t want to impart information. “I don’t remember.” We had to discuss this because I liken that to lying. I’d rather she just TELL me that she doesn’t want to tell me than lie to me and say she doesn’t remember. Because she’s not deficient in the memory department. Truly.

ANYHOW…the neighbor’s daughter slept over and the two of them got on the phone to their friend who couldn’t be there because she and her mom were at odds and giggled and chatted through 40 minutes and the evening was declared a success all around.
If only it were that easy all the time.

Stolen from my Friend Paul

1. Do you have a college degree?
Yes

2. What was the amount of your last electric bill?
Over a hundred dollars...not sure exactly.

3. Do you have life insurance?
Yes.

4. How many hours per week do you work?
42.5

5. Have you ever attended a Toastmasters event?
No.

6. Favorite place to attend Happy Hour?
I don't do happy hour.

7. How many miles is your commute to work each day (one way)?
12 Miles

8. What time do you get up every morning for work?
6:30 unless the kids aren't home.

9. What is your definition of sleeping in late?
10 AM

10. Do you check your cholesterol on a yearly basis?
I do now - actually, every 3 months.

11. How large was your first cell phone?
About half the size of a standard paperback book.

12. Does your employer provide good health insurance?
I think so.

13. Did you use the internet to write a research paper?
We didn't have internet.

14. Have you attended a HS reunion?
Yep. One.

15. How many jobs have you held in your professional career?
5

16. Have you ever been fired or laid off from a job?
Yes. Twice.

17. What is your favorite drink?
Unsweetened Iced Tea

18. What is the most expensive bottle of wine that you have in your residence?
Less than $20.

19. Have you been divorced?
Yes.

20. How old were you when you stopped getting ID'd for Alcohol?
Over 30.

21. Favorite casino?
Don't have one.

22. Are you happier now than you were in high school?
About the same...except my senior year.

23 Did you ever have Hypercolor shirts?
Huh?

24. Do you remember when Michael Jackson was black and was attracted to older people?
Yes, actually.

25. Do you remember when MTV actually played music videos?
Yes, I was addicted to it!

26. Have you had a will made?
No, but I intend to soon.

27. What music was in your cd / cassette player when you were 16?
Hm...it was 1982. Styx, Supertramp, Journey, REO Speedwagon.

28. Favorite fancy / upscale restaurant?
Creed's Steakhouse

29. How long has it been since you attended a kegger?
Never did.

30. Where were you when you found out about 9-11?
At work. It was early in the day.

31. Do you have any children yet?
Yes, 2.

Her First Semi-Formal

OK, so it's all about the girl-child.

Heaven help me, I love her, but some days I wish I'd had 2 boys.

Yesterday, I get a phone call at work around 3 PM as usual. I am informed that the Valentine's semi-formal is on Friday. There's just a hint of something in her voice, and I KNOW she wants to go…sort of.

Me: Do you want to go to the semi-formal?
Her: Not really. Sorta. Well, yeah. Can I?
Me: Sure, why not? It's Friday from 7-9, right?
Her: Yeah, but Mom?
Me (dreading the next line, KNOWING what she's going to say): Yes?
Her: I don't have anything to wear.

Shoot me now. Or as I'm more famous for saying, stab me in the eye with a pen, because it's surely less painful than what's going to follow.

*sigh*

I ask about the lovely dress that's hanging on the back of my bedroom door, purchased for Confirmation, never worn because it made her feel "exposed." It has spaghetti straps and is square cut across the top of her bust, and it's adorable and she swore when we bought it that she loved it and I was the best mom ever and she couldn't wait to wear it. Til she tried it on at home the day before Confirmation. Another story for another time. That and the 2 pair of shoes she'll never wear.

"Mom, you KNOW I can't wear that – it's too big in the chest and it makes me feel exposed."OK, so I suggest dress shopping that very night. Would that work? Yes, it will, so we agree to go to the mall (how I HATE the mall!) and check out the young girls' dress shops. I shudder at the thought. I text my boy-child, her soon to be 18 year old brother, and tell him we're going, what we're going for, ask if he wants to come, but tell him to PLEASE say no. Contrary bastard that he can be, he says he'd LOVE to come. I can see it now. "You have too much booby hanging out, you can't wear that." "That's too short, boys will see your panties when you dance."

*sigh*

Actually, my daughter would never choose anything about which those comments could be made, so it shouldn't be as bad as I expect. So we all go, against my better judgment.

Deb Shoppe, here we come. 1 dress to the fitting room. Out she comes, looking very Teen Vogue. Discussion includes how she'll have to wear a tank or cami underneath so her boobs really don't show, considering how far down the slit goes. Like, almost to her waist. Her brother is right outside the fitting room and she won't let him see the dress. She kinda likes it, but she's not 100% sure. It has cap sleeves and a pleated skirt. It's cute, but I've found one I think she'll like better (and it's on sale to boot!). It's black with blue and white polka dots and a blue satin bow at the waist and a wide blue trim in the same fabric at the hem. She puts it on, and she loves it! I hold my breath…it's cut exactly like the one that she hates at home.

Her brother asks why must we be here if she's only going to buy something she already has, BUT - he (with surprise) tells her she looks "really good". I walk away and come back with a lace-edged shrug. She puts it on, talks about how she really likes it, look, with her hair flat-ironed and her key necklace, it's perfect! Son walks away - "call me when you're done here".

She's thrilled…and we walk out with our purchases. A total of less than $40...YAY ME!

Next, it's shoe shopping. You haven't seen anything until you've seen a tomboy in her first pair of heels. Actually, I lied...you haven't seen anything until you've seen an 18 year old boy showing his 13 year old sister how to walk in her first pair of heels! She can't walk with them on…and they're only about 1" high…a kitten pump that's absolutely adorable. She's putting the balls of her feet down first and looks like a newborn ostrich walking across the floor. Her brother tells her that she needs to walk heels first and keep her feet in line – think America's Next Top Model. She rolls her eyes and starts the model strut that makes her look like a teenage ho, placing one foot directly in front of the other. He looks at her and shakes his head. HELL NO. He proceeds to demonstrate - in hiking boots and cargo pants. She's laughing and tells him he should try it in heels...and heaven help me, I'm sure he would have if I hadn't stepped in. I am about to die of embarrassment. I'm laughing so hard, it's almost a Depends moment. My 2 are comparing struts in the center of Payless Shoe Store.

"Walk NORMALLY!"

She looks at me, blinks and begins her normal walk across the aisle. NOW she's got it!

Me: That's it, sweetie! You've got it. Do they feel ok?
Her: Yeah, but my toes are being squished.
Me: Try a bigger size.Her: I can't – my foot'll come out of the back of them.
Me (and the sales lady): Welcome to high heels…that's just how it is!
Her: It's OK – I LIKE them! I WANT them. And these clogs...Can I?

Chalk another one up for the mother/brother team…we now have the dress AND the shoes.

The last place we had to go was American Eagle Outfitters, and while she shopped, her brother and I sat on the couches in the back and ripped apart music videos. Do people really dance like that? Is this what today's youth is listening to? Oy...as my son confirms it all with disdain.

It takes my daughter 15 minutes to spend a little less than $80 worth of gift cards, and with that, we're off home…but not before seeing the waffle maker I'm going to try to convince Bill to buy me for Valentine's Day. It's half price…