First Day of the Rest of My Life

Ode to Georgie

2011-01-05T16:12:00.001-08:00

She made sure to touch me. It was good luck, of course. Not an obvious touch, that would appear too strange, just a bony elbow touching mine. Firmly. Or her foot on top of mine, lightly but deliberately.

Good Luck.

My sister was afraid to fly. But fly she did because it took her to exotic locals. Like my sister I live for travel. I die in between my trips.

But I’m not afraid to fly. But I’m also accustomed to superstition. Why not be on the safe side? I have taught my children and my husband that indeed we must touch on every take off and landing--a family connection so strong that airplanes bursting into flames would become impossible. I have no idea how my sister came up with this particular OCD type habit. But it has stuck.

I think that last time I flew with Georgie, we were on our way to spend Christmas in Zermatt, Switzerland. I believe the year was 1988. I’m sure one of our body parts touched on the way up and the way down. I am also sure she placed me by the window so every half hour she could ask me to look outside and tell her if the plane was in a tail spin, plunging to the earth below, in a fiery blaze of fury.

“No, the plane is still flying,” I would try and reassure her.

Of course, she also had a difficult time with the bathrooms on the airplanes. She tried to make like a camel and sit through eleven hours of flying without ridding herself of any waste. But sometimes, her bladder got the better of her.

I was called in for such emergencies. “Stand by the door,” she would command. The thought of locking herself into the tiny deathtrap of a room was an unbearable thought.

I was the devoted little sister who stood patiently outside her bathroom door.

I wasn’t afraid to pee thousands of miles in the air. Not in the least. But I understood her fear on some pure level. No words were spoken. They didn’t need to be. I understood my sister.

She understood me.

I stood and guarded the bathroom door. I reassured her that the plane was still flying on course. And I made sure to be present on take off and landings when she needed to touch me.

No words were necessary. The unspoken friendship of siblings completed me.

My son Kyle has some of my sister’s phobias. He didn’t get them from her. She died when Kyle was in my uterus.

He represented life when the world looked as bleak as a world could be. Not just for me, but for everyone who loved Georgie. And there were many people who did.

Yes, poor Kyle had to bear all the love we had for Georgie and all the love we had for him. He was smothered in love. He was life, he was laughter, he was hope.

He is now an almost grown man.

I am acutely aware of the significance of his birth and its link to the death of my sister. I am holding tight to his lightness as he gets ready to leave home for brighter pastures.

I will not hold him back. I am resolute if not on shaky ground. The ground feels surreal. I never knew earth could move so quickly and violently.

Still I am steadfast.

He made sure to touch my hand as we landed at Los Angeles International Airport from Paris’ Charles de Gaulle on December 30th, 2010.

Gentle was his touch. But he touched me with intent. He wanted me to know he was there.

I have never been good at beginnings or endings.

I’m not sure I’m even good at the middle stuff.

I know, like my sister I live for the travels I take. I die in the moments in between.

Life with Kyle is like one big trip. I have been awake and alive.

Heaven sent by my sister. She didn’t have to say a word.

The Things I Don't Know...Will They Kill Me?

2010-12-10T11:13:00.000-08:00

"All my friends came up to me and told me to tell Kyle what a great job he did," Will said to me last night peering up from his computer.

"At what?" I was lost.

"The improv show at lunch time, Mom." Will tried hard not to roll his eyes at me.

The thing is, I had no idea that Kyle was in an improv show.

This got me thinking. And we all know when I start thinking, well, let's just say, no good comes from it.

But the gears of my old brain began turning. And churning.

What else don't I know? The neurons in my brain darted around the vortex. I could feel my endless thoughts bouncing hither and yon and ricocheting off each other.

Then silence. A huge, gapping hole of silence. Nothing was filling in the void. Absolutely nothing.

I couldn't think of a single thing that Kyle was not telling me, only because the scenarios were endless.

Then I stopped in my tracks. I remembered what my husband told me a long time ago. We had just met, we sat sharing a bottle of wine in a nice restaurant in NYC, as we tried to get to know each other.

I asked one of my endless probing questions. "What were you like as a teenager?"

He laughed, swirled the merlot in his wine glass and happily told me he treated his parents like mushrooms.

I looked at him questioningly.

"You know, I kept them in the dark and fed them a lot of shit."

We both laughed.

But I'm not laughing any more.

Perhaps it's better that I don't know everything, I try and rationalize. But for a "RECOVERING" helicopter mom, this thought doesn't stick.

New territory. New rules. New boundaries. New relationship. New, new, new, new, new.

The thing is, I loved the old.

Coffee and Hope!

2010-12-08T11:38:00.000-08:00

Kyle directly and conclusively told me in no uncertain terms that I was not allowed to help him with the college application process. He was bound and determined to do it himself.

After I got over the realization that my seventeen-year-old did not need me anymore, I felt a wonderful sense of peace. Getting into college was up my very capable son. I took a deep breath.

I smiled.

And then it started. "Mom, can you look this essay over?" "When is my app due for the U. C.'s?" "What's my I.D. number for Oregon?"

My response, "You're essay kinda sucks." "Are friggin' kidding me? Your application is due tomorrow." And "Don't you think you should know your own I.D. number if you want to do this process on your own?"

And so it goes...and goes..and goes until you become short of breath and begin to pop baby aspirin.

In Kyle's defense, one needs a master's degree to figure out the entire college application process. It is so complicated that I caught my even tempered husband hitting the keyboard once or twice.

Everyone warned me, but I had no idea. Now begins the waiting game. Where will he get in? Will he be happy? How will I cope?

But I had a wonderful distraction this rainy Wednesday morning. I met with a group of moms who all have freshman kids at school with Will. It was delightful.

Nobody talked about college. Heck "our" collective bunch of kids were just freshman. I didn't have the heart to tell them that if they blink, they will suddenly find themselves handing their kids the car keys, and in seconds, they too will be up to their eye balls in college applications.

And then the big..."What Do I Do For The Rest Of My Life"...question begins to loom heavy on the horizon.

So, I have come to you again, with open arms. My wonderful, collective energy force of mommies and daddies across the globe. How I miss you and need you and want to laugh and cry with you again. Are you still out there? Just One Foot? Privilege of Parenthood? Mothers of Brothers? Drama for Mama? Being Rudri? Motherese? Can you hear me? Will you listen?

This post is dedicated to the mommies and daddies I have never met but to whom I have poured my heart out-- to the new mommies I met today as we begin the treacherous journey through the teen-age years with our wide-eyed freshman, and to the mommies I know and love and have grown up with in the town I live and the town I left behind. I couldn't be getting through this with out you.

Thank you for your support, your counsel, your patience. I have this strange feeling that we have only just begun!

Split Personality!

2010-09-22T13:35:00.000-07:00

To my favorite Mommy and Daddy bloggers and readers and to all my friends. In the attempt to get a life, I have finished my very first novel. I wrote about this some time ago, but since then there have been many drafts, sleepless nights, thoughts about who do I think I'm kidding.

The publishing industry is going through growing pains, but I think this opens up opportunities. I just have to find them.

Without sounding too cryptic, please visit http://www.williamcastle.com/and you will come to understand my strange re-emergence. My father's death has given me a new life. Wow, that's weird. So much of what I am going through is wildly sinister and kinda' fun.

I want to have this forum to talk about my feelings, my children, my fear of separation...but then I have this other world to dable in. It is not as satisfying as talking to you each and every day.

What do I do?

I miss you all so much. I'm still here. And have to figure out a way to be two people at once.

Let me know your thoughts. And if you get a moment, stop by www.williamcastle.com and say hey to my Dad who made horror films and died 33-years-ago.

All my love,
The Gal who is now being called half Goth and Half Gidget!

They're not dead, they are just going off to college~

2010-09-19T14:13:00.000-07:00

Too many friends dropping off their children at college this year. Too many stories of hugs and tears. Too much to digest.

I have literally avoided thinking about it all and projecting until I see a photo or hear a story and then those familiar pangs begin to pull at my heart.

"The most important job of my life is done," I heard one father say. But that's not it at all. Our kids will still need us, but just in a different way and I'm not ready for this different way.

They will call when they are sick, or hurt by a troubled love, or need money, or advice. It's the day to day, take for granted luxury of living under the same roof that will be gone. And if not gone forever, forever changed.

Since I began writing about this separation process I have begun to understand the magnitude of this simple event--dropping your child off to college. For our generation, the generation of ALWAYS being there, the separation feels like the great divide in the Grand Canyon. Why is it so much harder for us to let go?

For lots of us mommies, we happily gave up careers to raise our tiny tots. And those of us who figured out how to work and ALWAYS be there, we happily gave up sleep and any time for ouselves. And then they leave us. So quickly. And that's what is supposed to happen.

I have little to say to my friends who are just back home, walking past their son or daughter's empty room. I say stupid stuff like, "Your child is going to be so happy!"

Inside I know what I want to say, "Cling tightly to their ankles with all your force and don't let them step across the threshold. Hold on tight."

I'm selfish, I know. I have a year to learn how to put my child's need before mine. I thought I was doing this for the last 17-years...but was I? Are my needs and my kid's need inexplicably linked?

To all my brave friends, I applaud you. Wildly. And cry as much as you want. You deserve it for a job well done!

New Beginnings!

2010-08-31T09:31:00.000-07:00

Tuesday my boys started school. It was Will's first day of High School. I sat at home struggling to get ready to leave the very next day.

Yes, you heard me. I had to leave for NYC the next day. Now, in past years I would never of dreamt of leaving them right when school started. I would have been too afraid that they might need me. But this year a situation presented itself, and I took advantage of it. Not only did I leave, but Tom came with me.

This is only the second time since we had the boys that we left together.

Of course, I appreciated Kyle's call on Tuesday afternoon to meet at the local ice cream store for our annual tradition--first day of school means ice cream for everyone.

Then, the next morning I said goodbye to them and got on an airplane and left.

Now, don't go picturing this scene as all grown-up and pretty. As Tom and I sat on the bus to the airport I suggested we turn around and return home. At the airport, before my flight, I broke down in tears.

Now, in fairness this was not just because I was leaving my kids. I had a big work related thing going on in NYC and it wasn't turning out as I had hoped. I had a tantrum. I've decided I'm quite good at tantrums.

I was there to introduce my father's films at the Film Forum and as it were a new book written by him "From the Grave!" Now, don't go saying that your Dad can't write a book "From the Grave!" If anybody could, he would and it seems he did. And he sent it to his fans, wrapped in butcher paper and tied with old twine. It is copyrighted William Castle 2010... and it smelled exactly like the cigars he smoked.

But this story is not the intent of this blog post. This blog post is intended to scream to the world that I really didn't miss my kids at all. I mean, by Sunday I couldn't wait to get back home to them. But, I loved being with Tom. He spoiled me. I spoiled him and we were in the city were we first met and fell in love.

It was wonderful.

I haven't worked so hard in a long time. But, it was great.

We had dinner after 10PM and climbed back to bed after 2AM every morning. We were young again for a few days. But quite honestly that's about as much as this old body could take.

I haven't left the house since I returned Sunday. Everything hurts.

But I learned something. I had a life before kids and I will have a life after they go off to college. That's good.

Here's the bad part. I don't have the courage to call my friends who are dropping their eldest kids off to school this year. I can't imagine what they are going through. I don't want to go there yet.

My turn will come soon enough.

For now, my kids are happy at school and we all watched ENTOURAGE together last night. I will try and control my urge to do the countdown. I will not start marking off, this is the last time...

But I must squeeze just one more in there...this is the last time I will write about Kyle's first day of his senior year at high school.

I should probably warn you right now not to read next year's post. But there are a lot of days between now and then. And I'm sure too many topics to cover.

Hopefully I will be all grown-up by then.

I'm Back!

2010-08-24T22:26:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it has been a year since I started writing this blog. I began last year, the first day of school for my rising Junior. Today he is a senior and what a ride it has been.

My youngest son started high school as well.

Kyle drove Will home from school and called from the ice cream store. "Mom, it's the first day of school. Come meet us. It's tradition."

I raced out the door to meet my boys.

I haven't blogged in quite a while. I have had too much to say. It will have to come out in small pieces.

The summer has been a whirl wind of ups and downs. I feel like I have been on an constantly moving teeter tooter. Highs are good, the lows sad.

And then so many of my friends are packing their kids up for college and I barely have the heart to call them. I feel the pain of childbirth with each breath I take.

Slow down. Oh please slow down. Breathe deeply.

For anyone in the New York area I will be at the Film Forum for a retrospective of my father's films. It would be so great to meet all of you I know so well but have yet to meet.

http://www.filmforum.org/films/castle.html

I promise to start writing again. I miss you all so much. I have felt an emptiness in my sole (funny how I wrote sole/soul) since I left you this summer.

Slowly, the stories will enfold. Difficult ones, funny ones, ones I have yet to process. I can't wait to hear all about you.

For now know, I have a boy who has one more year at home with me. Make sure I cherish the time we have together.

And check out a weird occurrence. My father is back "From the Grave!" and blogging...

http://williamcastle.com/

I know he would love to hear from you too.

Kisses from a mother on the verge of great expectations!

Musings From A Woman on the Edge!

2010-07-18T17:03:00.000-07:00

I forced myself to go kayaking today. I didn't really want to go. I wanted to hide under my covers and protect myself from the world. One of those days.

Kyle is off in the city with a friend, exploring the Mission area of San Francisco. Last summer I took him around this area and watched as he became enthralled in an area he hadn't yet explored. I made him promise me this morning that he would go with WIll and I again, later in the week.

Will is off on his little sunfish with a friend, breeze in his hair, salt water on his skin.

I watched him hang on to the boat, as he keeled on one side. He was hanging on for dear life.

And just like a mother, I turned to far to make sure he was OK and found myself emerged in the lagoon, clothes, sunglasses, hat and all.

I didn't mind. It's the getting back into the boat that's not such a pretty sight.

I felt a bit better after my small adventure but wonder when this wave of menopausal mood fluctuations will lift. Each and every month. Each and ever month. And it still catches me by surprise.

There is so much to do right now, and I don't want to waste a single moment. Please don't let me waste another moment.

And then there's this:

For any of my Bay area friends, I will be speaking at the Castro Theater on July 30th before they play my father's film, "Rosemary's Baby." Come and be scared. Not at the film, at how inarticulate I am in front of a crowd.

You all know I fear the devil. And here I am, once again, face to face with a film that changed my families life.

I had trouble getting out of bed today, how am I going to get up in front of a crowd and talk about the film?

The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia

2010-07-13T21:55:00.001-07:00

It's been so long I hardly know where to begin or how to start to write again. I have missed you all and have spent my days reflecting, sweating, worrying, sweating some more, loving, laughing, crying and obsessing. And that's before breakfast.

I spent the last week in Atlanta, Georgia. Yes, my 20th wedding anniversary was spent watching my boys fence at Nationals. See how it is 'my' wedding anniversary and 'my' boys. After 20 years, poor Tom still corrects me. "It's 'our' anniversary and 'our' boys!" I don't know what I would do without the love of 'my' life.

The four of us together again for one week, together making lemonade out of lemons.

It was hotter than Hades and 'cause we are from Northern California we are not used to the heat.

Our visit to FAT MATT'S pretty much sums up our visit to Atlanta. It was over 100 degrees when we arrived at this local barbeque joint. I wanted the real thing. I got the real thing. White bread and meat with so much fat that the pork falls right off the bone, slathered with barbeque sauce.

Will took his knife and fork and began to eat his barbeque chicken. The waitress ran to our table. "It's against the law to eat barbeque in Atlanta with a knife and fork," she admonished my poor son. "You need to get messy and then lick all that good barbeque off your fingers."

Will looked at me in shock. He takes his eating seriously and doesn't really like to get too messy with his food. But he dug in and we let the sauce stay stuck around our mouths for the rest of that hot Atlanta day.

It was perfect. Messy and foreign and it was just the four of us sharing a unique experience.

Yesterday we flew home. Kyle sat next to me on the plane and he began to discuss his plans for his European tour after he finishes high school. I have no idea where he came up with the idea that he "gets" a European vacation with his friends after he graduates from high school, but somewhere he did.

I looked at him with despair. It wasn't the cavalier way he assumed he was going to travel to Europe with friends after high school. It was that I wasn't going to be with him to get messy and enjoy all things foreign and share endless unique experiences with him.

Is our time together, the four of us, limited. I don't know. But I do know that I had the time of my life in Atlanta, Georgia. Go figure. As long as the four of us are together, Mommy is one happy lady.

Not For Your Eyes, My Son!

2010-06-25T11:38:00.000-07:00

I couldn't even find the strength to write yesterday. Hormones. Kyle gone for the week. Me, doing what I do best, projecting and obsessing.

Then Will asked me to go sailing with him. Splendor. Perfection. Happiness. Peace.

When I isolate myself I tend to shrivel up with worry. Gliding through the water, I felt alive.

I don't want to think about it. I want to block it out. But, it's there. Close to the surface.

The quiet in the house since Kyle has been gone has been stifling, overwhelming. And it took me by surprise. It didn't expect to feel this way. It's just a week.

But I see my future staring me in the face and I can't quite come to terms with it.

Life has funny twists and turns and the things you worry about aren't the things that end up biting you in the butt. I know that. But still, it's right there.

Andy is going off to college. I've seen the ads. Kyle used to wear his Buzz Lightyear pajama's to bed every night. "To Infinity and Beyond," he would mimic Buzz.

And now, it's almost time for Kyle to pack his toys away, too and leave for college, just like Andy.

I really thought I was closer to feeling OK about all this, until this week.

I realized harshly, violently, that I'm not ready for Kyle not to be part of my life every day. And I feel so unbelievably selfish. He is a great kid and needs to fly and I'll be damned if I hold him back. But who will hold me up?

Kyle, I hope you never read this entry. But if you do, I'll be fine. This is what you are supposed to do. This is my problem, not yours. If you just weren't so darned fun to be around...

And for you my love, I will whisper in your ear..."To Infinity and Beyond!"

Practicing for College

2010-06-22T09:58:00.000-07:00

So, my son went off to a leadership conference for a week and I don't like it at all.

I think he is having a great time, and believe me when I tell you I am so happy that he is. It makes it so much easier. BUT, I miss him so much.

I think what I miss the most is knowing about his life, who he is hanging out with, who he is meeting and what he is feeling.

This feels like practice for college.

I'm OK with this only because I know he is coming home in a week. How will I feel when this is the real thing.

He wasn't able to bring his computer with him, so I connect only through a few text messages and a some really short phone conversations.

I just had to stop writing because I received a text from Kyle. I can see it now, my world revolving a few short semi-sentences. I hear my phone signal a text and I get so excited. Here comes anther one...my heart races as I type. PAUSE.

I love his texts. Like him, they make me smile.

He is at a college campus with 1,000 boys from all over the state. The conference is called Boys' State. He is definitely stepping out of the Northern California bubble he has lived in and it seems like he is sucking the marrow out of this experience.

I am proud of him. That is when I'm not bugging Will because now that Kyle is away he gets all my attention. And this week seems to be a week of unhealthy obsession. And poor Will is the object of my obsession. He laughs at me but I can tell I'm starting to really bug him.

I think when Kyle finally goes off to college, Will is going to miss him even more than me. I mean, can you imagine all the unhealthy attention this poor kid is going to have to handle?

My Happy Kid!

2010-06-18T15:54:00.001-07:00

Will leaving his graduation.

As Will entered middle school, all I wished for was for him to leave with his self esteem in tact. Watching last night, I knew that he had accomplished this goal. But he did with the help of so many unbelievable teachers and administrators. And two of them are fellow bloggers Teresa and Gary Oefinger.

Thank you.

A picture can say a thousand words.

Today I will leave it at that.

2010-06-17T12:12:00.000-07:00

I have no time to write today but I had to get a post out to mark this wonderful day. My youngest son is graduating from elementary school.

I woke up sad, eyes moist with tiny tears. This shifted to fear.

Will will walk in front of an entire auditorium and deliver his graduation speech. When I gave mine, I forgot the entire middle section. I have yet to recover.

Tomorrow I will have time to think about it all. And I'm sure something will hit me straight between the eyes. Something unexpected.

But for today I will embrace the moment. Hold back my tears, keep my anxiety to myself. And watch as the children I have known since they were five put elementary school behind them and walk towards their future, towards dreams and hopeful expectations.

The door just opened and Will has finished his last day of 8th grade. He will graduate in a few hours.

I couldn't be more proud.

With A Shadow of A Dream...

2010-06-14T09:22:00.001-07:00

Summer finally graced us with her presence the last few days in Northern California. Warm days have left me welcoming the end of the school year. We're not done here quite yet. My youngest will graduate on Thursday and he was selected to give one of the two graduation speeches.

Kyle gave his graduation speech three years ago. I gave mine 37 years ago. Oh my, that does seem like a long time ago.

But I remember it well. "With a shadow of a dream, there is hope. Where hope lies, there will always be a future..." I also remember forgetting the entire middle of my speech and not being able to find my place in my notecards. Fear struck me hard that June day and now I get to watch my youngest stand on stage on tell his classmates, their families, the teachers and administrators just what he feels about this young chapter of his life.

But last night was another graduation. Yesterday my nephew and oldest grandchild in the family graduated from high school.

I couldn't sleep at all last night.

We came home from the lovely celebration (where everyone toasted my wonderful nephew and his sappy Aunt of course cried) and I tried to engage Kyle in coming to watch one of our favorite summer series, "Royals Pains." He wanted nothing to do with me.

I am not sure if this was due to the fact that I didn't let him meet up with his friends at 11:00 pm and I wouldn't let him go camping in the Santa Cruz mountains with a bunch of his 17-year-old friends.

Since school has let out, Kyle has transformed back into the relaxed and happy-go-lucky kid that I know so well. But last night, the dark cloud of 'teenagness' reared its ugly head.

My sleepless night was filled with a mixture of, "I can't wait for him to go to college," and "I can't believe this time next year we will be celebrating his graduation."

After I finished watching "Royal Pains" with Tom we crawled into bed. Kyle said goodnight and then went into the room we had just vacated to play some video games.

I listened from my bedroom as he played. And it struck me that he just didn't wanted to spend the time with us.

I don't know why, but this broke my heart a little bit.

But I will lick my wounds today and hopefully Kyle will want to hang with me a little bit. And last night will be another memory.

Just like the memory I have of my handsome nephew picking strawberries at his grandparents home 16 years ago and reading to him about the big hungry bear and red ripe strawberries.

Worrying about Worrying!

2010-06-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

A beautiful sunny morning, finally, in Northern California. My eldest son sleeps sweetly in his room. He's off school. My rising senior is with me this quiet morning. And it's wonderful.

How relaxed he has seemed the last few days. It has been a pleasure watching him transform back into my Kyle. My rising senior.

Summer. It has almost begun. Will has two weeks left but we can almost feel the endless days of summer. I know, I talked on and on about SAT prep and College Applications but F&^* it! Let's not worry about anything. Anything.

Then why did I wake up this morning worrying about everything?

The only thought that pops into my tired head is that I don't want to have to worry about anything. It is almost as if I have no control over my worrying.

Let me explain and tell me if any of this resonates with any of you. That cough that lingers, the stomach ache that doesn't feel right, the curve of the spine, the weird looking spider bite, the unimaginable! STOP!

I am worrying about worrying this morning and that is all F&^*ed up!

Beginnings and endings always put me in this place. I don't know why.

But I have thrown up my short, shorts and a lively tee shirt and Kyle and I are going to go shopping for Will's 14th birthday today...probably around 3:00 when Kyle wakes up.

Until then, I'm free to read your blog posts.

And I'm going to try and not worry.

Wish me luck.

My Rising Senior

2010-06-03T08:44:00.000-07:00

I didn't snap a picture. I didn't think of it. He was so handsome in his black pants, white shirt, black tie and black v-neck sweater. Today is his last day of his junior year. When I pick him up at 2:30 he will be a rising senior.

I can't believe it.

I just began writing when he began his junior year and here we are. Time marching on. I have met so many wonderful people along the way but still I'm filled with emotion today.

I sat on his bed this morning and realized how grown-up he really is. He doesn't need his mommy so much any more. Though, I do think he still enjoys her (at times, when I'm not nagging or making him nuts--which is probably most times).

But I pause today for many reasons. I usually look so forward to summer. Can't wait for the freedom of endless schedules, homework and pressure. I love summer. But this year will be different. Very different. I know that in every fiber of my being. This summer will whip by in the blink of an eye. This summer Kyle will attend Boys State, Fencing Nationals and continue studying for the evil SAT's. He will also write his essay for his common application.

Already my heart is fluttering. What happened to days of endless relaxation? What happened to "What do you want to do today, boys? I dunno, Mom, what about you?"

It has been an interesting school year I'll give you that. There were highs and there were lows. And you got to read all about them right here on my blog.

The biggest high in respect to Kyle was spending the week in Los Angeles with him. It was great to show him my hometown and we had a blast together.

Funny, the lowest low was during that same week. He received his SAT scores early one morning when we were in LA and he was disappointed in his score. They just weren't good enough for him. I could literally feel all the stress in my young son's body. It scared me. He has always handled stress so well. But this year was difficult for him.

I am proud of Kyle and I do love being part of his life. He is witty and enthusiastic, helpful (when he wants to be) and kind.

I've done my job. Now what?

Of course I'll be there to support him. And I know he will need my support. But it is time I get out of his way and I'm not sure how. I've learned a lot this year so I have a bit more of an idea of what my boundaries need to be in respect to mothering him.

I love him like only a mother loves her sons! "Snap out of it," wise words from MOONSTRUCK will become my mantra. "Snap out of it!"

I'll try and remember to bring my camera when I pick him up. I need to document this important day. It feels huge. Monumental. Happy.

I'm not sad. That's partly because I have found all of you.

"This sucks!"

2010-06-01T10:58:00.001-07:00

It was 6:30 am and apparently I turned to my husband and said, "This sucks!"

I had lifted my eye mask and the sun was blazing through the plastic window.

I kind of remember saying it. And at that moment it really did suck.

Rewind to last week. It rained, a cold driving rain. I was stuck in winter when summer was quickly approaching the rest of the country. I told Tom that I really needed to get away.

We talked about Palm Springs and Las Vegas--both warm, both a ten hour drive. I surfed through hotels in Napa and Sonoma, everything was either too expensive or already booked.

I became more and more frustrated.

I settled on a day outing. I made a reservation at a restaurant in Napa called Etoile. It is part of the Domaine Chandon winery. It has a one star Michelin rating and I thought that at least we could drive up for lunch and lounge around Napa for the day.
It sounded good until I stumbled upon a place called Castanoa on the coast between Santa Cruz and Half Moon Bay. I sent the link to Tom and before I knew it he had book two tents for Sunday night. Tents, yes. We were going camping.

I'm not sure how I got from a one star Michelin restaurant to a camp site but I did.

My friends laughed when I told them that we were going camping. Actually they laughed when I told them where we were camping. Apparently, Castanoa is considered luxury camping.

Luxury camping seems a bit like an oxymoron, but we set on our adventure not sure what to expect.

We had two tents that actually had frames and white plastic fabric nailed into the structure. There was a concrete floor and a queen bed in one tent and two bunk beds in the other tent.

Outside the tents was some firewood and one adirondack chair.

We also had one match.

But my three boys proudly made a fire. The wind was blowing rigorously off the water and whipping around our little camp site. It might have been nice if it wasn't so freezing ass cold and if the RV's were not blocking our view. But we were here and I, for one, was going to make the best of it.

Oh, did I mention the bathrooms were quite a walk from the tent. Now I don't mind peeing in the woods but this wasn't exactly the kind of place where you pee in the woods. So, if I had to pee in the middle of the night I had to walk into the bitter cold and shlep my tired old ass over to the bathroom, in the pitch black night.

I found a plastic plant drainer that looked like it would make a wonderful makeshift toilet.

When we finally went to bed, fully dressed (with long underwear), because it was so freakin' freezing, I stuck ear plugs in my ears and on eye mask over my eyes. Yes, I know, I am a princess.

All night the bottom half of me was sweating from menopausal symptoms but my face was ice cold. I could hear my husband snoring as well as the wind whipping the plastic fabric of the tent through my earplug. When the sun came up and made its way through the cracks of my eye mask, I must have turned to Tom and said,"This sucks!"

When I finally left my luxury cabin, my son had made another fire. He was very proud of his accomplishment.

We spent the rest of the day grumpy because nobody had slept well. I made everybody pick organic strawberries. And Will made us stop at the beach to fly a kite.

We were all together. But most of the time Kyle and Will bickered with each other, especially over the darn fire. Both boys fell asleep in the car on the way home.

We walked into our beautiful home and I wondered why we ever left. But, I felt more at peace. Happy to be home.

Is that why people go camping? Because they appreciate home so much more? I'm still pondering this question.

2010-05-27T10:50:00.000-07:00

It is the thursday before Memorial Day and the skies opened up with a driving rain. Not a warm, summer rain like you get in the rest of country, a cold winter rain.

I have decided that more than ever I need summer. I always look so forward to summer. Kyle will be a senior in the fall and Will a freshman in high school and I can honestly say I'm excited for them both.

So, I will take a break from my computer for the next few days...I know I'll cheat and have to see what my favorite bloggers are writing about but I will try and not write. I will observe.

Have a great long weekend everybody!

Screwing Up Your Kids and Getting a Chuckle out of it!

2010-05-26T08:51:00.000-07:00

May 24th was the Great Festival of the Gypsies that takes place every year on the same day in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, France.

Saint Sarah is the patron Saint of the Gypsies and on this day, Gypsies from all across Europe come to honor her.

It is customary to leave a note at her pagan altar--your wish, your hope, your prayer.

Since I couldn't go to this lively event I decided to light a candle to Saint Sarah and leave a prayer by the flaming light. Why I wanted to honor Saint Sarah must remain a mystery right now. But I wanted to and so I did.

The candle glowed brightly in the cut crystal glass.

First Tom walked through the door. Quickly I explained that I hadn't lit the candle to commemorate anyone's birth or death. "And nobody died," I told him.

Kyle walked in next. Again I was quick to alert him, "Don't worry, nobody died."

Will was the last to enter. He looked at me with his big green eyes (well one's green and the other's brown). "Nobody died, sweetheart. I'm just leaving a note of intention for Saint Sarah."

"But you're Jewish," he reminded me.

Than I had a funny thought.

I tend to light candles for all those people I have loved and lost, on special days like birthdays or anniversaries and, of course, the day they died. And when someone I know dies, I light a candle for them.

That's not the funny thought.

What got me chuckling is the image of one of my son's walking into a lover's home, the lovely young lass having filled the house with beautiful scented candles, looking forward to a night of love bathed in the soft glow of endless candlelight.

And then my kid's reaction--blood draining from his face, "Who died?" he'd ask his lover.

And she would know then that I had screwed-up my kids for sure.

2010-05-24T21:58:00.001-07:00

You will find me today at:

http://LivingwithLaughter.com/

/Users/terrycastle/Desktop/LOLOL-1.jpg

Am I Honest and Scrappy?

2010-05-23T17:56:00.000-07:00

A VERY UNINHIBITED ME!

I just got off the water. Doesn't that sound romantic? Well, I did. And it was. My husband and I sailed around our tiny lagoon on our $200 Sunfish. And I felt like I was a Jewish Kennedy.

I feel guilty for indulging in this perfect luxury. Yes, I know it's a sport. But I usually sit at the bow and watch my husband maneuver the winds. I threw on my green sweat pants and a beat up old UCLA sweat shirt, the one with holes on the elbow and the rip on the left side of the pocket. I placed a big floppy hat on my head and black sunglasses over my eyes. My hair is stringy straight and I wear no make-up. Not to sail. I look like hell but nobody would know--because of the smile on my face.

The winds were up and we sashayed through the water--fast at times. Really fast. I smiled broadly. The boat keeled on its side and my feet dangled in the cold water. Romantic. Perfect. Just Tom and me.

Before we began our sail, I spoke with a friend of mine who was interested in hearing about my life. I spent most of the time telling her about my writing. I told her that I worked until the kids came home and my days felt a bit chopped up. She reminded me that I would miss this time when the kids were gone.

I thought about this for a moment or two. Not that long ago I would have found this tremendously sad. But not today.

I recognize that big change is coming and I will miss these days so very, very much. But I am slowly evolving. I know I need to make time for me now. This is my life.

Part of what I'm working on right now (a rerelease of my father's autobiography) involves me going through boxes and boxes of old photographs. Photos of me as a kid, of my mother and of my kids. Thousands and thousands of memories.

I stopped dead in my tracks. There were endless pictures of my two sons. Pictures in albums, loose pictures, negative saved. I realized that I took so many pictures of my kids because I was sure that something bad would happen and all I would have or they would have were pieces of matt paper, to remind them or me of what once was. It all felt so incredibly morbid.

The Empress over at www.gooddayregularpeople.com was dishing out awards the other day and she gave me the honest and scrappy award, daring me to come clean.

I was born to be free but have always battled my fears. As a result I am certain I have lost the best part of my spirit.

I could feel it this late afternoon as my husband caught the wind in our sails and took us everywhere and nowhere--freedom. Fast and free. The way I want to live.

The way I once was, a long time ago before circumstance and sad endings creeped into my joyful being. Fear of the unknown or in my case, fear of the known.

Honest--I watched my Dad die. I watched his kidney's fail then his heart. Then my sister. First her heart, then her kidney's and finally her lungs. Then my mother, her mind. Things failed all around me. All around me things fell apart.

Scrappy--Kyle was in my stomach when Georgie's lungs finally failed for good and I had no choice. Everyday had to be a miracle because I had a lot of living to do, for a lot of people I adored and who adored me. Morbid. Yes, because too much recognition that every moment is precious means that you live in a world where you know that everything can be taken away in a moment. Morbid yes. Free no.

Scrappy--I sail on a lagoon in an old boat and I enjoy every minute of it. I have grit. And guts that I seldom give myself credit for. It's time I do. I look at the picture I posted of myself and that's the girl inside of me. I've always been there. Free

So Miss Empress, your highness, is that honest and scrappy enough? Thanks for the challenge. My personal challenge is to try and be a little more free everyday. A little more honest and scrappy!

Our Collective Virtual World!

2010-05-20T10:29:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm not entirely sure why I started blogging. And I am not sure what I expected to get out of it. Back in August, as school began again, I worried about my place in the world once my kids had left the nest. I just started writing.

Then I began Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way and my life took an unfamiliar turn. I committed to something new and I stuck with it. This is so contrary to my nature.

I knew nothing about blogging. Really nothing. And then all this happened. Not all at once. Slowly, over time.

I found myself visiting at www.mothereseblog.com today and low and behold Bruce from www.priviledgeofparenting.com was sitting in. He wrote a magnificent piece about our virtual salon.

The thing is I only met Bruce yesterday when he came to visit my blog. And he came because he too was part of Jen and Sarah's 'five for ten' at www.momalom.com. A connection was made.

But I didn't know that that connection was made a long time ago, when Bruce was a child and he watched one of my Dad's horror films, Mr. Sardonicus. Apparently my Dad's film left an impression on him. And today, it was Bruce who left an impression on me.

We are all strangers. But we have come to know each other profoundly. And even trust each other. It is inspiring and somewhat odd. But I have always liked odd and this feels like home.

What has amazed me is the quality of writing, the collective spirit, the support and the incredible number of people writing about things both personal and profound.

And I find myself a bit overwhelmed. Bruce wrote about something I learned about a thousand years ago, back in college--Marshall McLuhan's concept that "the medium is the message." I didn't fully understand his concept when I was a 20-year-old college student. Today I understand it completely.

And I feel lucky. I have lived to see very many different mediums--and I wonder what Mr. McLuhan would think of all this. Something that so profoundly connects us all. Something where truly the medium is the message. Connection!

But like with most things, there was a leap I had to take. I wrote not knowing if anyone would ever read my words. And I'm not entirely sure it really mattered. I wrote because I had to. For me. It has changed my life and in fact given me a life. And I am so thankful to the medium and to all of you.

I am really curious what made you all start blogging. I really hate that word. What made you all start writing on websites? I am deeply curious. And what is your take away? Do write for yourself, to build a community, to make connections? Why did you start and why do you continue? Do you ever want to just stop? Feel like you have nothing left to say? And then what happens that makes you continue? How did you make your first connection? My came through www.mothersofbrothers.com.

I am delighted to be part of what Bruce calls our "virtual salon." Thank you.

Yes I Can!

2010-05-17T23:03:00.000-07:00

Can I have a life once my children leave home?

Yes I Can!

Can I stop fearing life so much that I start living it?

Yes I Can!

Can I store my bad memories back into the recesses of my mind and embrace the good ones?

Yes I Can!

Can I start working out?

Yes I Can!

Can I embrace my children as young men and delight in their own adventures?

Yes I Can!

Can I lust for my husband?

Yes I Can!

Amen!

Can I continue to dream?

Yes I Can!

Can I stop calling myself old?

Yes I Can!

Can I start admitting that I am a writer?

Yes I Can!

Can I make things happen for myself?

Yes I Can!

Can I handle the hardships that await me?

Yes I Can!

Can I live a life filled with ups and downs as I strive for a little more peace?

Yes I Can!

Can I say no more often, free from guilt?

Yes I Can!

Can I live abroad one day soon?

Yes I Can!

Can I appreciate each and every one of you who spend the time reading my posts?

You Betcha!

Can I enjoy the day without the fear of what tomorrow brings?

Yes I Can!

Yes, you betcha, affirmative, no problemo, of course, agreed, all righty then. Yes!

Lust On My Terms!

2010-05-15T21:16:00.000-07:00

I step out of my well worn underwear that doubles as a turtleneck. Next I undo my overused bra that is used for comfort, obviously, because it provides no support whatsoever.

I quickly step into my brand spanking new navy blue silk undergarments--bra and tiny panties. I am amazed that my breasts actually sit where they are suppose to.

Then I throw on my skinny jeans with a crisp white tee shirt. I add a belt with turquoise stones and a pair of large silver hoop earrings.

But I'm not done yet. I slip my bare feet into a pair of black stilettos with forest green soles--a signature of the expensive brand.

I feel good. Inside and out. I feel like I could re-capture that lustful spirit that seems far away and long ago.

I stop. I look at the bottom of my shoe. The green sole of my designer pumps reminds me of something.

I think for a second and then it comes to me. The green light on Daisy's dock. The illusive light that represents the demise of the American dream. This gets me thinking and that usually means trouble.

Why do I need the outside to look sexy, for the inside to feel lustful?

My expensive designer shoes all of a sudden remind me of Daisy. Not a character I like very much.

Why have spent too much money on black stilettos and squeezed my large derrière into tight ass blue jeans and bought a bra that harnesses my well worn, droopy breasts?

It is all wrong. I have to be me. I step out of my jeans and crisp tee. I throw off my expensive shoes with the green soles. I undo my uncomfortable bra.

I breathe. A long deep, comforting breath.

I throw on my old comfy jeans, take off my stupid earrings, throw on my well worn tee and a pair of flip-flops.

I am ready for a night of lust. My way. No illusive green soles at the end of my dock. No siree!

Life is About Living Now!

2010-05-13T22:30:00.000-07:00

Hardest topic for me.

This post. Memory.

One. I feel envy for all you mommy’s blogging about your life with your little children. A living, breathing, written memory for you to cherish. I can’t seem to remember much when my children were little. Little things filter through my mind. Their crooked smiles, the way they tucked their little hand in the back of my neck when I was holding them, my husband carrying them to bed when they fell fast asleep in ours. Now they have grown and I have forgotten so much.

But I will never forget how much I love them. But the look on their face when they ate their first piece of chocolate—I can’t remember. The first time they found money under their pillow from the tooth fairy—can’t remember. The first time they caught a baseball in the outfield—can’t remember.

I wish I could. I wish I had written about it.

I do remember my 17-year-old giving his 8th grade graduation speech, his sweet hug and kiss every single night, his screams of excitement when the Yankees won the pennant. I remember him climbing into his tuxedo for prom.

I remember my almost 14-year-old waving at me from a wakeboard behind a ski boat with a smile the size of Lake Tahoe, his patience and dedication as he reads my novel over and over again with so many helpful points, his smile every day as he approaches my car on his segway. I will never forget my son sailing me around the lagoon on his sunfish with the wind in our hair and the sun on our backs.

Or will I?

Two. My Mom lost her memory many years ago. MANY. And she sits in her chair without a memory or a voice suffering with Alzheimer’s.

“Does she know you?” everyone asks.

I have no idea. She senses me. Does that count?

A whole life of memories she doesn’t remember or does she?

She lost her husband and a daughter I hope she can’t remember that.

But all the other stuff. Where does it go? A whole life, filled with sweetness and light, with horror and grief. Where does it go?

I have become the memory for too many people. My mother, my father, my sister. I am a vessel filled with important memories that I can’t let die. Yet I can’t remember what my little boy said to me on his first day of school. I can’t remember the look on my little boy’s face when he took his first step. I can’t remember how they smelled after their bath.

But I remember my father dying. Clearly. And my sister sticking her tongue out at me in the hospital, angry that I was letting the doctors do awful things trying to keep her alive.

On those sleepless nights, and there are many, I want to remember the good things and not the bad. Turn off the switch of too many bad memories and let only the good ones filter through.

Why are the painful ones so vivid? It doesn’t seem fair. I can remember them in detail. Paint pictures, summon up feelings, re-create scenes.

The good memories are fading. I don’t want them to, because I need them desperately.

But life is not about memories. No. It’s about living and creating more memories.

Life is about living. Memories pull us backward, through time and space, sometimes unkindly, sometimes to help us remember and go forward freely. But life is about living. NOW.

Health and Love: What Happened to Happiness?

2010-05-11T23:33:00.000-07:00

I am the most afraid of this topic. It is one thing that shapes my world for better and for worse.

When I was growing up, my parents always told us that only two things in life were important, health and love. This was drilled into us. It was THE message. THE one resounding message from my childhood.

Happiness wasn’t mentioned because it seemed obvious that with health and love comes happiness.

I have wrestled with this conceit for over five decades. Yes, FIVE decades. That sounds like a long time to wrestle. But I have tried to seek out help. I really have. But I continue to struggle, and here is the absolute truth. Bare all, conceal nothing.

I live my life happy but in absolute fear that my happiness will be taken away. In a heart beat, a blink of an eye, a flip of a coin, my world will shut down and my happiness will be gone.

I have lived long enough to see how bad things destroy happiness. I have lived through some of these tough times. Have watched my happiness flutter away and disappear. Too many times. Too easily. But this is life. And it changes on a dime.

But I have also lived long enough to KNOW that happiness can be there through tough times, unhappy times if, IF, if happiness is equated to peace. And to me, I think it is.

I am the least peaceful person I know. This is what eludes me. I have met a few people who seem at peace always. I want that. To me that looks like happiness. It looks like no one can take it away. I just don’t know how to get there.

And perhaps I worry a bit, that my highs won’t be quite as high if I am in that peaceful spot. But I think I would trade the highs for the sacred gift of peace.

Instead, I live my life fearful. And I can’t seem to do a damn thing about it. I talked about courage on my last blog and realize how closely linked courage and happiness really are.

And so I ask YOU out there--readers, writers, thinkers, does it take courage to be at peace?

Is this the piece in peace I’m missing? Was I born this way or did life make me this way? And can I change?

Courage through Generations!

2010-05-10T06:00:00.000-07:00

I am not very good at following directions, and I am equally bad at attempting anything technological, but after reading Jen and Sarah's blog www.momalom.com and the clever idea they have put into motion, called Five for Ten, I am determined to try to be a part of the conversation. Today’s topic is COURAGE. So here goes…

I have thought about courage a lot in my life, probably because I think I’m devoid of courage. Much like the cowardly lion in the Wizard of Oz, somewhere along the way, I lost my courage.

But then two things happened.

A wise Dutch friend of my mother told me something that made me think. Tony was his name. Sadly, he died last year. Tony was a resistance fighter in Holland during World War II. Then he moved to Los Angeles and became a nudist and an activist. I say nudist first, because I met him when I was quite young and the nudist part has been emblazoned in my memory. When we would visit Tony at his tiny beach house (really the only shack in Malibu), my Mom would give him that look that said, “Cover that thing up, old man.” And he always did.

He taught me to swim in the ocean in really rough waters. He told me to dive real deep and let the waves pass over my head. He also told me precisely what to do if I was ever caught in a rip tide. I have a healthy respect for the sea because of Tony. But it’s one thing I’m not afraid of, probably because Tony gave me information that allowed me to have a semblance of control.

But I’m wandering. What Tony told me, before he died, has stayed with me. He told me, my Grandfather, a man I never met, was the bravest man he had ever known.

This surprised me. I had heard many stories about my Jewish Grandfather and nobody ever described him as brave. Kind, yes. Compassionate, definitely. Creative and hard-working, absolutely. Devoted to his family, forever. But brave never came up.

Then Tony continued speaking in that honest, guttural way that all Dutch men seem to share. They never say what they don’t mean.

I wish I could recall the precise words, but I can’t. But I’ll never forget the message. He said that Georg (my Grandfather) by nature was not particularly brave. In fact, he worried about everything. And he feared constantly. And then he was trapped in Holland during WWII with a big Star of David attached to his arm. And despite impossible odds, my Grandfather hid resistance fighters in his home and guns and ammunition in his attic.

What made this significant to Tony was that this man (my Grandpa) went against his nature. And against staggering odds did things that put himself and his beloved family at terrible risk. And to him this is what made Grandpa Georg the bravest man he had ever met.

My other life lesson is from my young son, handicapped with a condition called Trevor’s Disease which has made his life less than easy. He can’t move his left ankle or knee and his leg is considerably shorter. He has to wear a big shoe to walk.

I remember seeing people with huge shoes when Will was first diagnosed. I couldn’t imagine anybody having to live like that. We have been through many surgeries and none of them have been successful. One day soon, when Will stops growing, the disease is supposed to stop spreading. We are hopeful about a prosthetic knee and even an ankle some day down the road. But in the meantime, my son stuns me with his bravery.

I have his jeans made to fit over his shoe, so it makes it a bit more difficult to see the huge shoe hiding under his pants leg. But Will doesn’t seem to mind the stares and comments. Summer is rolling around and that means shorts. He couldn’t care less. He wears his shorts and doesn’t seem to mind the curiosity of others.

But it breaks my heart. Again, he’s brave and I’m the cowardly lion.

He fights like a real lion in everything he does, from fencing to wakeboarding to skiing. But the real test of his manhood and his bravery is the way he handles his challenges. Head on! He doesn’t even blink.

The bravest thing I’ve ever done is given birth to a very brave boy. He must get it from his brave great Grandfather, Georg.

Happy Mother's Day

2010-05-05T22:18:00.001-07:00

My kids asked me what I wanted to do for Mother's Day. I couldn't give them an answer. What does a mother want on Mother's Day?

At one time, long ago, I wanted to sleep late.

At one time, long ago, I wanted to watch my children play happily with each other.

At one time, long ago, I wanted to leave the breakfast, lunch and dinner to my husband.

At one time, long ago, I wanted a home-made card and perhaps a gift made out of tissue paper.

But what do I want now?

I want all the mothers I have met in the virtual world and in the real world to know that I'm happy to share this blessed time with them. I want to wish them a Happy Mother's Day. I want to tell them they inspire me in many ways, every day.

And from my children? On Mother's Day? What is it I want?

A long hug. That's what I want. One that says I'm right here next to you. Right here. Right now.

And I'm not going anywhere. Right Now.

Numb and Lonely

2010-05-03T10:14:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was so exciting for me. I was really delighted for Will and his victory. But then something strange happened.

I went numb.

I can't explain it entirely but I shut down. It was the strangest feeling. I didn't feel myself at all. I was quick to think that it was gnarly hormones, but I knew this was different.

Numb.

I didn't feel anxious or depressed. Numb.

Almost like I couldn't endure anymore worry. I needed to tuck it away someplace and not let it nip at my ankles for one afternoon. Just for one afternoon.

I went to bed and the tears began to flow. Seventeen-years-ago I went into labor and had my first baby boy. SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO TODAY.

It was a bittersweet day. I bore a child that I have loved with every fiber of my being. But my sister had not lived to see him. BITTERSWEET.

NUMB.

I had to move forward. I had no choice. I had lost my best friend in the world, my big sister. She was supposed to be there for me forever. And she died.

NUMB.

She would have been there in the room with me when Kyle was born but she was dead. Instead my mother was waiting outside with my dear friend Judy. They tried to fill in the gaps.

My mother sat there fully aware that she had just lost her oldest daughter and she was about to meet her grandchild. I had the best medicine for her. But she had developed Alzheimer's.

NUMB.

I put one foot in front of the other and loved my baby. I loved him more because he didn't have the love of his Aunt Georgie. And I know how she would have spoiled him. And I know how she would have loved him.

I had to keep her alive for him.

NUMB.

People showered love upon me and Kyle on this blessed day. They knew my loss. Our loss. They tried to fill in the pieces.

I've done the best I could. Now, he is practically a man. Georgie would be proud of him. But he lost out. He lost out.

She didn't. I have to believe this. She sees him, knows him, loves him. I have to believe this.

Not numb now. Tears stain my cheeks.

Today on my son's 17th birthday I miss my sister so very much.

Dear Georgie:

I wish you were around for the journey. I need you so much everyday, for so many reasons but mostly I need you to hit me over the head and tell me to get my head out of my derrière and not be afraid of life.

Thanks for everything you ever did for me. And I'm so sorry that I didn't make your death any easier.

I know I don't have to say I love you because you know that. Unconditional love.

I will try and ride the proverbial wave you always told me about. I will hear your voice in my head. And I will fill the house with laughter. And I will continue to put one foot in front of the other and not judge myself too harshly.

You wouldn't recognize how old I have become. Your little sister. Your sister who knew you better than anybody else. The sister you understood better than anyone else. Unspoken love and friendship. Together forever. Old and a little less NUMB.

Forever,

P.S.

Our baby is seventeen today. But you know that.

HE DID IT!

2010-05-02T14:11:00.000-07:00

HE DID IT! WILL QUALIFIES FOR NATIONALS!!!!!! TENACITY AND GRIT ARE THE MESSAGE FOR THE DAY.

I AM SO HAPPY FOR MY YOUNG SON.

Resilience 101

2010-05-02T12:29:00.001-07:00

My young son is a fighter. He has guts and resilience. More than his old mother. Right now he is fencing against eight other great fencers to be one of the few selected to go to Nationals in Atlanta this summer.

Nationals is a huge deal. My oldest son is going. Will has gone twice before but this year he has to qualify. The last few years, just showing up to the tournaments qualified you for Nationals.

And I'm sitting here, holding my breath.

Will can't move his left ankle or knee and this leg is much shorter than his right one. So you can imagine how much harder this is for him.

He just fenced all the fencers and beat 3 of them. Then he went up against a better fencer for direct elimination--and he lost.

Now, he has two more bouts to see if he beats one of them and qualifies for a trip to Nationals.

I know he will be fine if he doesn't win. But I want him to win so badly. He loves to compete and despite his handicap puts himself out there every single day. I know this would mean the world to him. But I also know that he will take the loss in stride like everything else.

But my heart breaks as I wait. And I wait wondering what this all means to him. Through my lens, I worry. But Will understands his handicap and deals. But at some level, doesn't it bother him terribly?

We all have handicaps. And Will has learned at a young age how to face challenges and overcome them. But I would just love to see him win something. For him. He loves sports and is so athletically inclined.

So, I wait. Baited breath and all. And I'm proud. And I love him so very much.

Tomorrow, my older son runs for student body president. He is putting himself out there in a really different way. And for him this is a big deal.

But if Kyle doesn't win, I know that he will learn from the experience. For Will, I'm just sick of all the learning and resilience he has had to bare. "Enough," I want to scream.

Win or not, he is the ultimate winner to me.

A Blessed Thing!

2010-04-26T18:13:00.000-07:00

Saturday was Welcome Day at my youngest son's new high school. He was given a t-shirt reminding us that 2014 is the year of his graduation. Like I need another reminder.

My husband drove him to Welcome Day early Saturday morning. Dropped him off and then went to Trader Joe's and Safeway-- part of Tom's weekly Saturday morning routine.

The night before I thought we had made a plan. He would stay with him until his exam and then I would arrive after the test.

The students had to take a math placement exam at 9:30 and then meet with an advisor to pick out their courses and then have lunch with a group of total strangers.

The parents were supposed to gather to learn more about the school and get to know one another.

And my husband just dropped him off. He is the second child and I'm sure that's why he is so well adjusted but, he just dropped him off.

When I called at 9:00am to check on Will and found out he was at Trader Joe's I went berserk. I mean, it's a brand new school and he just left him there to fend for himself.

Of course, I jumped in the shower and flew over to the high school. I was right there when young Will exited his exam.

And of course, he was fine. He found a friend to sit with and seemed completely at ease with the entire process.

First lesson. I freak way too easily. But we all know that. And just because I freak doesn't necessarily mean my kids will freak. I should have learned this already. But I'm a bit thick in the head. I over mommy. I know. But, he just dropped him off!

After I got over that...(DEBATABLE IF I EVER DID!) the rest of the day was wonderful. It was great to feel like the young Mom again. I have a rising freshman. Let's forget about the almost rising senior I have living with me and concentrate with the 'almost' freshman.

Will is such a great kid but I still worry that the kids will play nice, that he won't get too stressed with homework and exams and that he will make a couple of good friends.

It seems I worried about the same things when he went off to kindergarten.

A wonderful friend called me on Friday. She happened to be at our town's post office when the local elementary school kids were visiting on a field trip. She reminisced about the times when all three of her kids did the exact same field trip. They all get weighted like a piece of mail. It's so incredibly sweet.

My heart ached for a moment. I remember that field trip as well. Now, I'm sending Will into high school.

And now I know high school goes so quickly. A blink of an eye. The years melt into each other, as the kids try and discover who they are and what they want. The years are a harsh and tender. On both mother and sons, fathers and daughters. They are fraught with emotional challenges and exhaustions.

In the end, I think the last one standing wins.

In my case, the jury is still out. But I will have two high school boys next year, God willing. And it is a blessed thing!

The Impossible Dream!

2010-04-22T09:36:00.000-07:00

Huffington Post has a whole section now dedicated to College. I read a piece this morning that touted Wesleyan's highly selective acceptance rate, "The Numbers Are In: Class of 2014 Even More Selective." The Senior Associate Dean of Admission said that "selecting the class this year was a more demanding process because he found himself reading application after application and thinking, 'great student, obvious admit. Do that three or four times and you realize that you’re admitting at 100 percent, when you should be admitting students at a rate of 20 percent.' "

Wesleyan had been Kyle's top choice before we visited last summer. Thank goodness he felt that it was a bit too far from a city for his liking.

But what if it was still is top choice?

The mean SAT score for Wesleyan is 730. For those of you not in the college process right now that means that half the kids admitted are scoring 730 in all three sections of the SAT. To put it in perspective, the average high school student who takes the SAT gets 500 in all three categories. To put it more in perspective, when we took the SAT, there were two sections, if you broke 1,000 you were doing great.

I recently looked at Kyle's SAT breakdown and was astonished. To get a 730 on this lovely test, you probably can miss one or two problems a section. That's it. All those bubbles, over four hours of bubbles and you can only miss a couple of questions.

When Kyle first took his STAR ( California's Standardized Testing and Reporting) test the spring of his second grade year, he was a bit nervous. I gave him great advice at the time. I didn't put much merit in the STAR test so I told him to make pretty patterns with his bubbles. He gave me a smile and happily went off to school to fill in a pretty patterned worksheet. I would love to give him the same advice today. The problem is he wouldn't take it.

No, these kids actually study for the SAT. Thousands of dollars are spent on tutors. Hours upon hours of practice tests are wasted. Ways to game the system are taught. All in the hopes that you will be let into a school you want to go.

This summer my passionate, almost 17-year-old will spend hours studying for this exam. He wants to improve his score in the hopes he will have better chances getting into college.

He's 17! He should be working at a restaurant or a car wash, saving money to go out with his friends. No, the college counselors tell you, the summer before your senior year is very important for college admissions. You need to do something that will look good on your application. Something that helps market you as a student and as an individual. And all the while be studying for the SAT's.

Kyle will be attending Boy's State in June and then he will go to Fencing Nationals in Atlanta in July. He has an internship set up and maybe an hour or two to get an ice cream or visit with friends. I'm being sarcastic but it sucks. And I forgot...you must have your common application essay done by the time you go back to school. Trying to fit writing all your applications into the first semester of your senior year is supposed to be very difficult. You know, the colleges really care that you are taking the most challenging classes your high school offers...so Kyle is taking calculous, and doubling up in English and History, plus taking AP BIO. He is dropping Spanish! OMG. Lot of thought. Colleges don't like it when you drop a language.

Once upon a time, we spent long summers doing nothing. Mornings turned into lazy afternoons and soon evening approached. We watched movies together into the night and delighted in the freedom summer brought.

Well, not this year. This year is all about college. I dread the thought of college, have since the moment Kyle was born. But now I dread college for a whole new reason--the stress and strain it puts on seriously wonderful kids and their weary old mothers.

We all know the problem. But how do we fix it? I would love to hear your points of view? I can write about this until I'm blue in the face but until we really decide to challenge what we want for our kids, as a community and as individuals, nothing will ever change. It's just too heavy a cost this generation of kids will pay--these once idealistic teenagers who are now addicted to another, far more threatening "Impossible Dream!"

Rushing Universities

2010-04-20T12:25:00.000-07:00

600 students and parents plus 85 college admissions directors filled my son's high school last night. It was a mock admission's evening. Let me explain. Parents and kids were all sent a packet of information last week. Included in our reading was a profile of a fictitious small liberal arts college and three, also fictitious, applications to said college.

Our mission was to become "admission directors" ourselves and discuss the merits of each student to decide who we should select into our highly selective school.

I was looking forward to this event and found the whole process interesting. But this morning, in the bright light of day I have come to some startling conclusions.

But, before I get to that, let me set the scene. After we broke into small groups to discuss the candidates as they are called, the fictitious leaders in our groups, who are actually real 'admissions directors' set up tables in the school's gym for a college fair. Kids and their parents pick up nicely printed information about the different schools and try and get a little face time with the admission directors. This reminded me of something. I just couldn't quite figure out what.

When it hit me, it hit me hard.

First, let me come clean. When I attended college, I did the first thing that really disappointed my father--I joined a sorority. He hated anything that was inclusive and was disappointed that I had let my idealistic standards down. I was commuting from home and needed to make this huge school feel smaller so I joined Delta Gamma. Anchors Away!

I didn't fully understand what my father was getting so annoyed about until I was on the other side of rush. I spent a week judging other young women to see if the would "fit" into our house--DGHOOD. It was one of the most disturbing experiences of my young life.

After chatting with someone for a very limited time you had to decide whether you wanted this person as a "sister." Being nice was definitely not good enough. During our nightly meetings we had three paddle, one that had the letters NGB written on it. You could vote Ya or Na or NGB. NGB meant Nice Girl But.....

I was disgusted. It was the last Rush I attended until last night.

From a few pieces of paper I was supposed to evaluate an entire human being in the pretense that I am are trying to see if this candidate would fit into my school and be able to handle our academic rigor.

Bulls&*%.

It felt just like Rush. You see, you want to have the best house, with the best girls, the cutest, most fun, and most connected. You want to attract the best frat boys so beautiful girls are important. You want those girls who also have great personalities because, hey, you have to live with them. And if daddy is rich, perhaps he'll donate some money and turn the crappy living room into a spanking new parlor.

So, reading between the lines, universities and colleges have become big business. They want their student body to be filled with kids with great numbers, high GPA's and even higher test scores. This makes the school look sexy and more desirable--makes them look IVY LEAGUE. They also want a certain diversity, because, hey, that looks good and they want kids that will win awards because they can use this in their marketing materials. RUSH all over again. And if daddy can give money, added plus. Big, fat plus!

When we all entered the gym for the college fair, I began my slow parade around to the different tables. I caught myself.

I walked to the one empty side of the gymnasium and sat my large derriere down on the wooden floor. I couldn't do it! First, this was Kyle's thing, not mine. Plus I just didn't want to play the game.

Kyle doesn't think he has the option not to play the game. I don't think most kids or their parents realize that they can opt out. It is a contest, like Rush, who can get into the best house, oops, I mean college.

I got into a great house--DG was known and is still known as a "good house." I chose the house, just like it was choosing Yale or Brown. I might have been happier at Chico State but I would have thought why would I choose Chico State if Brown wants me.

The answer is simple. It might have fit me better. But like so many of our "rising" seniors, I was a snob.

If, as a potential sorority or fraternity member or as a "candidate" for college we take the control, then we have a system that works so much better. But I guess that is not in our nature. Somehow we want the best, defined by what is the most desirable, the hardest to get into, the one with the best looking girls!

I didn't sit alone against the back wall last night, I sat next to a new friend, a painter, an artist. We talked for the time it took our son's to wander around the gym. I enjoyed her. I had fun. Instantly, I was out of this frenzied room and into an interesting conversation.

We should make the choices of ours lives--the choices we really have some control over. Who we want to be friends with, what we want to do with our time here on earth are things we can assert a certain amount of control over. We know, or perhaps sometimes we forget, so much of what happens in life is out of our control. I think in this frenzied, made-up, well marketed world of colleges we forget that.

Last night was a great reminder.

Summer plans?

2010-04-18T10:49:00.000-07:00

I want that summer vacation. Those blissful couple of weeks I can spend with my family all together, intact. I crave these days that now seem so hard to replicate. I want them with every fiber of my being.

But I don't know where to go. We don't have a lot of extra cash floating around these days so I was wondering if I could get suggestions from my friends out there.

We have to be in Atlanta in early July for a fencing tournament. Are there southern beach towns I should know about? Should I do a house swap or rent an apartment or small house?

I really want to go to Capri or St. Tropez, or Santorini but the plane flights are so expensive. And perhaps the ash hanging over Iceland will still linger for months to come.

So, my friends, fellow readers, travelers, adventurers what shall we do as a family? I am trying hard, too hard to hold on to the past. I want those lazy days when my sons were small, where time seemed to stand still. Or am I just imaging that?

Any great trips you have taken? I can't wait to hear.

Anyways, suggest away. At least I can armchair travel.

The Countess and The Absinthe

2010-04-15T10:15:00.000-07:00

A complete day, yesterday. It was nothing if it was not complete. I savored the moment filled with insanity. Let me explain.

My young son has a friend visiting from New York. He moved back many years ago, but the two boys who went to pre-school together remain friends.

We made waffles in the morning. Lots and lots of waffles. And no sooner was breakfast complete that lunch began. I made the mistake to ask what they wanted. Another boy had joined them. BLT's came the answer. I ran to the market and picked up perfect sourdough bread. I feel I bit like the Kitchen Witch as I write this blog. Her blog always makes me laugh, while my mouth waters.

I fried up more bacon than I have ever fried. I cut up the tomatoes, and sliced the bread. I washed the lettuce and then ran out of the house.

You see, I had a dinner to prepare. I was entertaining last night. The table was set with the nice silver and Mom's black and white Wedgwood china. I used my grandparent's silver.

The Countess and her friend from London were coming over for dinner. I had never met either one of them. My friend from Los Angeles was driving up and on his way to my house. These were his friends. Well, one of them was. The Countess was his friend's friends. I have learned not to ask too many questions. So bare with me.

I dropped the 13-year-olds off at the movie and finally came home to prepare dinner. I had marinated chicken in all sorts of herbs, prunes and olives. I was going to make asparagus with a salad, and of course some couscous. It's not a difficult meal, but then there is cheese to buy and crackers, loaves of french bread and some kind of desert. It had to be chocolate and decadent. My friend from LA loves chocolate, lives for it actually.

As soon as I entered my home my cell phone signaled me. Kyle was texting to tell me to let him know when I was at his school. Wait, he was getting a ride home today. "No," he texted. His friend ended up blowing him off and I had to collect him. His school is about 20 minutes away from exactly the same direction from which I came after dropping the 13-year-olds at their movie.

So back on the freeway. Back to school. I collected Kyle. On my way up there, my friend from LA gave me a call. "I'm close by. What do I need to pick up for dinner?"

I told him I had everything covered. "She's a vegetarian," he said. "My friend who is joining us doesn't eat meat."

I screamed into the phone, "But does she eat chicken. Find out if she eats chicken." I panicked a bit. I had so much to do. So much.

I arrived at the movie theater too early. So Kyle and I ran into H&M and took a quick stroll around the clothing store. We had a little time before the kids would be out of the theater. He found some clothes for the grand total of $28.00. I love this store. Then the phone call. "She eats chicken!" Thank goodness.

Then we collected the boys and raced home. I found my LA friend inside the house, sweating more than I had seen him sweat in a long time. He had just finished cleaning all our windows. And we have lots of windows.

He insisted on buying flowers and more paper towels. The message was clear. My friend wanted the house to look nice, really nice. He had cleaned off our dock and washed the windows. He looked in the fridge to make sure the dinner looked satisfactory.

Then I knew I had to get into hight gear. I cooked and cleaned and finally got in a quick shower. The guests had arrived. Charming ladies.

We had a great time and my dinner worked just fine! By the time my husband cracked open the Absinthe everyone had gone a bit mad.

I was so proud of the 13-year-olds, they stayed entertained by the evening the entire night. They were part of the party. To me the very heart. And my new friends included them graciously and lovingly. Conspirators and friends.

By the time the guests left, the ones were not staying at my house, it was quite late. Will's friend was spending the night as was my friend from LA. Tom and I finally crawled into bed. It was late. I was tired. But then, one by one, each member of the household found their way into our room. They sat on the bed and we told jokes and laughed. My friend from LA thought it appropriate that we break into a rendition of "My Favorite Things," from the Sound of Music.

It felt complete in a way nothing has felt fully complete in such a long time. I even sang. I can't carry a tune but I had to sing, "Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens..."

When I closed my eyes to fall asleep I felt at peace. Peaceful until my dear husband began to snore. I listened to his snores for over an hour.

The night felt right in the strangest of ways. A way I think all the kids will always remember. A Countess, a lovely new friend from Dorset, my old, dear friend from LA, all sitting around my dining room table. And then there were the 13-year-olds, eagerly engaged and having a blast.

Will's friend insisted we listen to the "PINK MARTINIS."

Complete. I like complete.

The Crazy Woman with the Tiny Black Patin Leather Bag!

2010-04-13T10:32:00.000-07:00

Dear Linda at Bar Mitzvahzilla, one of my all time favorite blogs, passed on the 'What's in Your Bag' challenge.

I have thought a lot about what's in my little, black patin leather bag a long time and wondered what it says about me.

My contents are quite simple--but I'm anything but simple.

1. my ordinary cellphone

2. a worn out pierre dieux satchel with a few credit cards, my driver's license and insurance cards

3. reading glasses, because I'm old

4. one tampon, because I'm old (have I ever told you that before) and I never now when I'm going to get my period because I'm at that old lady stage of life

That's about it. EXCEPT I have lots of crumpled up receipts. So, you see I think I am quite organized in the most disorderly way.

AND THERE IS ONE MORE THING THAT GIVES ME AWAY COMPLETELY. I have very few things in my bag, I know, but this one thing, well, it speaks volumes. I have an old, empty Pepsid bottle that I have filled with the "just in case" meds. For example, I have some pretty normal 'just in case' meds. Just in case my son's leg starts to hurt (he was born with a disease that causes benign bone tumors in his left leg), I have advil. Just in case my stomach gets upset from worrying about my son's leg, Tums and a Pepcid. But then it starts to get interesting. Just in case one of my kids gets stung by a bee and they start to go into anaphylaxis shock (they have never had this reaction but I don't think Will has ever been stung by a bee, so just in case) Benadryl. Just in case I'm having a heart attach, a baby aspirin. Just in case someone else is having a heart attack, a second baby aspirin.

I'm a walking pharmacy. And just in case my back starts to hurt I stuff all this into the lightest little bag possible.

Now what does this say about me. Don't need a degree in psychology to figure this one out!

I would love to know what's in Kathleen's bag from www.kathleenbuckstaff.com, in Judy's purse from justonefoot.blogspot.com, and in Theresa's pocketbook from emptynestersaloneagain@blogspot.com

I would also so love to know your psychological evaluation of me based on the contents of my bag!

What Happened to the girl from Los Angeles?

2010-04-07T14:14:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I last wrote a post. I have thought about writing everyday. But I was busy living and consciously decided to let myself experience my feelings without judgment or comment.

I am now ready to comment.

We started spring break two weeks ago Friday. My husband and I picked up our sons from school, piled their book bags into our car and headed for Los Angeles. It was a long drive filled with traffic and The Great Gatsby. Thank God for Jay Gatsby. His story, told to me on tape, got me all the way to LA without thinking about the chaos I was about to step into. And I needed to think about Jay as I tried to fall asleep each night in a city where I once lived and that I barely recognized anymore.

Long analytical papers about Iran/US relations, a difficult pre-calculous test, and a paper for environmental science behind him, Kyle was exhausted. He fell fast asleep until our car hit Sunset Boulevard.

And then we never slept again. It began with a day of sparkling orange and green entertainment. Nickelodeon had arrived in LA and all the stars came out. Will and I walked the "orange" carpet by mistake right behind the Jonas Brothers and Justin Bieber. I was stunned that everything looked so very different to me. I once felt comfortable walking the carpet. Comfortable with agents and managers. Comfortable being in the spot light or even one of the many producers for shows like Extra and E! and CNN's Showbiz! Will took it all in stride. But I was surprised how glossy everything looked. Nothing seemed real to me anymore in this land I used to call home. But I enjoyed the slime and little kids clutching their autograph books looking for the next celebrity's signature. I loved the kids and remembered why I loved working for Nickelodeon. It is a huge, impressive organization now but it still has a soul. I am happy to know its soul.

Then parties and slime and a dinner with Kyle's girlfriend and her family who were also visiting LA. I loved the night. I felt I belonged here with these people that were real and thoughtful.

But the night floated into the next day and I found myself in Malibu. We ate lunch at the Malibu Mart and the kids played ping pong as I wondered into the glamorous stores. Everyone donned a smile and a perfect body. We bought over-priced T shirts and laughed with friends that I have known forever.

We rushed back to Brentwood for a trendy Japanese dinner before Kyle and I dropped off Tom and Will at LAX. We were on our own now. In my land. In LA land. It was time for Kyle's college tour and his indoctrination into Tinsel Town.

If I don't ever visit another University I will be happy. Beautiful campuses, robust student bodies, admission directors explaining that indeed they take the top ten percent of the senior classes.

Kyle turned to me, "What happens to the other 90%?" He had a good question. We laughed and walked and liked all the same things. I was with my 16-year-old and I was loving every minute of it.

He got himself invited to see Paul McCartney at the Hollywood Bowl. In a box seat no less. He was truly now part of the LA scene. He had arrived and I was not sure how I felt about it. I never felt like LA corrupted me but I could see how easily one could become one of "them," the pretty people. The movers and the shakers. The ones that shake more and move less.

We visited campuses and dined at LA's trendiest restaurants. We visited with old friends from elementary school, from high school, from college, from my life in New York.

Finally we found ourselves in Santa Barbara. One last campus. One last tour. One last admissions counselor.

The fun and the stress pulsed in are veins. I was acutely aware that Kyle and I were headed towards our inevitable separation. But I dared not think about it. I pushed it out of my head. Instead I filled my brain with other things to worry about. Lots of things. You name it and I worried about it. I never seem to be too exhausted not to worry.

Will he get into one of the colleges he likes? At what price? What physical price? How do I support him without becoming part of the problem?

Oh, and then there are endless other worries. Worries I am too afraid to share.

I found myself at home again and not at all back to the routine. Kyle has another week off and then Will will begin his spring break. I used to love the endless hours of summer holidays, Christmas vacation, spring break but this year it all seems to be pushing me forward, shoving me into the next phase of life. I am teetering on craving the new time and fighting against it with every fiber of my being.

My husband welcomes me everyday with open arms. He is ready for our life to begin. I am afraid of its sudden and eventual ending. I must dig deep within and with the wisdom of my age, face the life ahead with vigor and vitality. I must find the teenager in me, again. The explorer. The adventurer. The player.

She is there. I know she is. I see her every so often. I love her. I want to see her more. I'm sure my husband does too.

Love and Hormones!

2010-03-24T20:29:00.000-07:00

I can't even write a post. Too much. Too difficult. Hormones raging. Planning a college tour to Los Angeles. Too many feelings. Too much.

Love

Too much love.

Planning. A different college every day. Every day.

Back to my home town. Back to my college. Back to my roots.

Back to old friends and too much traffic. Back to kinda knowing where everything is located. Kinda.

Back to Hollywood. To meetings. To face my novel. To face my successes and my failures.

Back to face the first day of the rest of my life.

Pulling myself in every direction. Everyday. No where to hide. I want a hiding place. I need a hiding place.

I need a few peaceful days with my son. Laughing days. Relaxed days. Trendy nights.

Sunshine and smog. Cement and sea. Celebrities and smiling skinny girls. Blond girls.

Too many.

Too much.

Colleges and Los Angeles.

The Crystal Glass

2010-03-21T17:05:00.000-07:00

I fell asleep a bit ago. A needed nap. A place to escape to.

I woke to the sound of a dog barking. Not my dog, a neighbor's.

It jolted me awake. Too quickly. My brother-in-law had passed away this morning. My sister's husband. She died 17 years ago. He remarried. But he is still my brother-in-law.

My mind flashed to the date. March 21st! The first day of spring. My parent's anniversary. The day Elliot died. Soon it will be April, then May, and then Kyle will be a senior and Will will graduate elementary school.

I woke up too abruptly. Too many emotions running through my whirling brain.

There is the trip to Los Angeles to The Kid's Choice Awards next weekend. I will take Will and walk the orange carpet at my alma mater, UCLA's Pauley Pavilion.

Kyle went to the Kids' Choice Awards when he was three. He is in the video clip I attached with his cousin. She is now in law school. Kyle is in the front wearing a blue long sleeved shirt. They proudly wore balloons on their heads. Kyle cried when he found out he had to sit without a parent.

I worked for Nickelodeon just yesterday. No, it was a long time ago and far away. But the sweet memories of the best job I ever had linger. They linger especially today. I was so young and so sure that anything was possible. I was right. I get to walk my 13-year-old into a theater filled with screaming kids next weekend.

Earlier today, I watched as a mother I have known for many years stood teaching her daughter how to fill her tank with gas. She must be learning to drive. I remember this same mother, holding this young girl's hand, teaching her how to cross the street safely.

I placed two candles in crystal champagne glasses and lit them. They burn brightly and beautifully through cut glass. The glasses came from years ago, another country, a horrible conflict, millions of dead Jews. The glass is sharp and enduring. I feel like the glass. I wish my edges were a bit softer today. They are not.

Time passes, and this year has been filled with reminders.

Wonderful friends, a community of bloggers I do not know but trust, the love of my life, my children who make me laugh every single day (when I'm not screaming at them).

The glass survives, but we do not. I will hold the memories close, the feelings closer, and I will look to the sea to replenish my soul. I ask so much.

FIRSTS!

2010-03-18T17:29:00.000-07:00

Iceland: 2006

I woke up this morning with a sense of dread. I just couldn't shake it. I didn't know where it was coming from and what exactly I 'should' be worried about. I was just feeling like I was walking on shaky ground.

It finally hit me when I pulled up to our public high school with my youngest son. A huge sign screamed, "Welcome Class of 2014!"

I turned to Will, "Is that the year you'll graduate high school?"

"Yep, that's my class," came his response.

And so there it was.

Will remarked that the school reminded him of all the high schools he sees on television. Cheerleaders in cute little practice uniforms, surly kids with heavy backpacks, popular girls posturing for the cute boys. A random red converse sneaker flanked our path to the gym where we were asked to register for the fall semester.

I don't know if this is what was making me nervous this morning, but it sure got to me this afternoon.

In the fall, Will will be entering another stage of his adolescene. I know he is ready for it, but I am most certainly not!

I still want my little boys. And I'm fully aware that I can't stop time. But where did all those precious moments go? The first taste of chocolate, the first steps, the first words, the first day at the beach, the first time catching snow flakes as they fall from the sky. There are so many firsts. Now, I'm looking at the first day at high school. And soon there will be the first day of college!

So who am I now? For so long, I was defined by my children. They will always be my world. But their world is getting bigger and bigger and my role smaller and smaller.

And I know that's how it's supposed to be. But I don't have to like it, do I?

Don't get me wrong, I love just where they are right now. But I just wish it all hadn't gone by so fast. And I wish that I remembered more.

On these beautiful, almost spring days we have been experiencing in Northern California, I open all my doors and windows. And I hear the sweet voices of the little children who live near me. They are starting pre-school, kindergarten, 1st grade. They have a litany of firsts ahead of them.

So do my children and so do I. And I'm not talking about my first facelift, my first walker, my first hip replacement. What about my first novel, my first trip to Africa, the first time I watch my youngest son walk into high school or my first time I say good bye to my son as I leave him behind in his college dorm?

What firsts do you remember? What firsts are you looking forward to? Does time feel like it is speeding by?

Where Did he Learn to Eat Like That? Oh, From Me!

2010-03-16T20:51:00.000-07:00

First Sandwich
Second Sandwich and going strong...

When I was growing up we had a delicatessen right down the street. It began as just a counter in 1945 and then grew into a full-fledged restaurant. My father had a charge account at this deli called Nate ‘n Al’s, and it was a heavenly place. Soon enough, it became a Beverly Hill’s legend. Still, on any given day, you can find Hollywood moguls making deals or a legendary actor or actress sitting in the avocado green vinyl booths of this infamous deli.

I remember the Beverly’s and Westwood’s of my youth. These were the names of the mouth-watering sandwiches bulging with turkey or roast beef, slathered in Russian dressing and coleslaw. Two perfect pieces of rye bread held this bit of paradise together. And then there were the most delectable pickles complimenting your perfect sandwich.

Every once in a while, my mom would order cold cuts from Nate ‘n Al’s and bring them home for dinner. I can’t really remember why, but these evenings stand out as the special ones. Perhaps it was her German roots, but Mom would present this ordinary tray of cold cuts and make it look like she was serving the King of England.

Living in Northern California, I’ve yet to find a deli that I like. I know Nate ‘n Al’s is a hard act to follow, but I’ve tried them all. Nothing comes close.

Recently, I discovered that I could create my own version of the perfect deli. I found a great market that will cut my roast beef, my turkey, my French ham, my salami perfectly. And they have huge, succulent pickles and fairly good coleslaw. I have perfected my own Russian dressing, but I have learned to live without the rye bread. Nobody can make rye like my favorite deli. So, instead I resort to some of our rustic sourdough. I try and buy vine-ripened cherry red tomatoes and fresh romaine lettuce.

I had no idea that my kids would love this dinner as much as I did. I can see in their sparkling eyes that they delight when I don’t cook and they get to make their own sandwiches. It is their little bit of heaven.

When we head down to LA, the first place the kids want to go is Nate ‘n Al’s. I know that my attempt at imitating the cold cuts of my youth is still appreciated…but there really is nothing like Nate ‘n Al’s.

And there is nothing like watching my 13-year-old son bite into his perfect sandwich. “I’m growing, Mom,” he says as he makes his second sandwich. And he smiles at me as he takes another enormous bite.

That’s my 13-year-old! Hard to believe. I look at my little boy with the huge sandwich and finally understand how he got to be taller than I!

Did you have a favorite meal when you were a kid? Do your kids have their favorite dinners? What is it about food and memories that seem to resonate? Have you ever walked into your elementary school cafeteria and felt like you were transported back in time?

Gratitude Included!

2010-03-15T10:44:00.000-07:00

Saturday afternoon a friend e-mailed me to see if Hubby and I wanted to join her and her husband and another couple for dinner in town at 6:30PM. This particular restaurant has a happy hour that includes half-off on most of the dinner menu. But you have to have your order in by 7:00PM.

It sounded perfect. Both my boys had plans and Tom and I had not yet thought about our Saturday night plans.

We ordered quickly to take advantage of the half-off deal. The food came even quicker and all at once. I guess the restaurant's idea is to move us out quickly to get ready for full price diners.

We had other plans.

We felt wonderfully old and laughed at ourselves as we eagerly consumed our half-off dinners.

We dined outside underneath heat lamps. It was divine. Another friend called and I told her and her husband to meet up with us for drinks. We weren't leaving anytime soon.

I sat around this table and looked at my friends. I had met each one of them the first days of Kyle's kindergarten year. They were more than my friends, they've been my world for the past twelve years.

I grew up in Los Angeles with a family that kept me pretty isolated from the bigger community in which I lived. We had wonderful friends, but I don't remember my neighbors and nobody ever brought us over a casserole.

I move in New York City and need I say more? Friends were difficult to make at first, but once I made them, they have become the most loyal and wonderful friends. But, I had no community in my high rise on 80th and 1st. I knew the doorman, but that was about it.

When I as pregnant we moved to Chappaqua. We lived there for only a year. I remember that I felt isolated and lost in this tiny city in Westchester County. My sister died that year and my wonderful neighbors all brought over casseroles. This was extraordinary for me. One, that I actually knew my neighbors and two, that they actually cared enough to try and help during the most difficult year of my life.

When Kyle was five weeks old, Hubby had a mishap holding Kyle as he walked down our old wooden farmhouse stairs. He slipped, landed on his back and took the entire flight of stairs on his spine. My mom was staying with us that night. We both heard him fall. My mother was showing the first signs of her dementia. I grabbed Kyle and called 911. The ambulance and police arrived quickly. I ran upstairs to dress Kyle warmly for our ride to the hospital. The EMT asked my poor husband if Kyle had hit his head at any point during his tumble down the stairs. Hubby was unsure. All he knew is that he held on to him for dear life and took the stairs, one by one, on his vertebras.

By now, Kyle had fallen fast asleep. Hubby was being attended to carefully. They had put him in a neck brace and they were moving him quickly and carefully onto a stretcher. The EMT looked at the police officer and said, "You better get the kid to the hospital."

So, Kyle and I took his first ride in a police car. First and last, I hope. The EMT who sat in the back seat with us felt for Kyle's pulse. She couldn't find one. She leaned over to the police officer driving the car, "You better put on your siren, I don't have a pulse."

I sat in that car holding my baby, the EMT had an oxygen mask wrapped around his little face. My husband was on some stretcher being attended to by other EMT's.

I thought about my sister who had died only five month earlier. How could this be happening?

I was too afraid to be scared. We were in the ER in a flash of an eye. The doctor and I began removing Kyle's clothes. As soon as he was naked on the emergency room table, he screamed. It was the most beautiful scream I had ever heard.

The doctor was sure he was fine but told me to wake him up every hour and make sure his pupils were equally dilated.

Then Tom was rolled in. It took hours for them to access the damage to his poor back.

I didn't want my 5 week baby to spend all this time in the germ-filled ER. I had to call someone to pick him up.

I couldn't call Mom. Sadly, I couldn't trust her to care for her grandson alone. All my other friends lived an hour away in Manhattan.

I had to call a neighbor.

And he came. And his wife fed Kyle and checked his pupils as I attended hubby. And then Tom had to spend a couple of nights in the hospital for a broken Transverse Process, a small bone in your back.

And more casseroles came. It was blessed.

A year later we moved to Northern California. We joked that we had worn out our neighbors in the brief year we lived there.

As I looked around the dinner table Saturday night, I thought about all we had been through together. It took me time, but I learned the value of not only friendship, but of a community you can call home.

These extraordinary people have played a central and meaningful role in my life and in the life of my children. We laughed about the past, commiserated about the present, and worried about the future I knew we would at least have each other when our children left for school.

I thought how wonderful it was to be living in a suburb. I have never thought that before!

I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay in the moment, on this beautiful night and enjoy these friendships that developed effortlessly over the years.

The bill came and we teased one of our friends about being reluctant to buy her first pair of reading glasses. It seemed like the rest of us around that dinner table had donned a pair.

She placed the bill far from her eyes and in the dim light said by mistake, "Gratitude included."

We laughed. But I thought she said what was on my mind.

Gratitude was in my heart and indeed included on this special night.

The Tipping Point

2010-03-10T23:04:00.000-08:00

Part I:

So I did it. I didn't think it was a possibility today, but I showed up and it came. I finished the first draft of my novel.

I don't know quite how I feel. I know I'm not done yet. I also know there will be many, many rewrites but I have accomplished a huge goal. I actually finished my book.

So why am I feeling so glum?

Actually I feel quite overwhelmed. It's like my brain is empty and I'm not sure how to fill it up again. It is the strangest feeling I have ever had.

I laid down on my bed and I could feel the adrenalin pulsing through my veins. I thought perhaps it was a surge in estrogen but I think it was all the energy stored in my body and no identifiable outlet.

And I'm a bit afraid. It would be so easy to stick my novel in a drawer and forget about it.

Sending out to be read and critiqued seems like walking up hill with a huge rock on my back.

I can't quite get to the place where I could actually imagine someone reading my words and enjoying them. That seems so far fetched.

It's lonely inside this head tonight. I have said good bye to the characters that have filled my dreams for so many restless nights. What will I dream tonight?

I began this blog claiming the need to begin the first day of the rest of my life. I feel as if I have begun a new journey, one that took a sudden turn tonight, a turn I was not prepared for.

Part II:

So, my mind quickly filled with marketing schemes. I thought about illustrators and agents. I wondered if my manager could really sell my book. Do I need to find a literary agent? Endless questions and worries plagued me all night long. And I had dared to think that my brain was empty.

Reflecting on my last 24 hours I realize that part of what I experienced was a feeling of isolation. When I have finished big projects in the past, films that I've produced or even television shows that I've completed, I always have had people to celebrate with. It's not just the "BIG" wrap party but a colleague you can hug, or a collaborator who shares your concerns and your happiness at having completed a project.

Last night, in a house filled with my children and my husband, I felt all alone. I have always heard that the life of a writer was very lonely, but now I understand what that means. Of course my husband was excited I had completed my book and my kids gave me 'high fives.' But, inside I had nobody to really share the experience with because it was a task I set out to do on my own.

Today I went out and bought a new pair of jeans, a tee shirt and an amazing vest. I got myself out in the world and it felt good to part of something bigger than myself.

Balance is my new mantra.

How do you strike balance in your life? Do feel lonely or isolated writing? How should I celebrate the completion of my book?

The Possession of a Mad House Wife!

2010-03-10T09:54:00.000-08:00

I had put down my novel for a couple of weeks. I am close to the end and suddenly became afraid. The end must pull all the pieces of the novel together neatly and cleverly. I was not sure I was up to the task.

There's another thing, too. I don't want it to end. I love my characters and the world in which they live. I don't want to say good bye to them, too.

But yesterday I woke up knowing I had to throw myself back into my writing. Somedays while I have been working on this particular story, the words seem to appear on my screen with ease. These are magical moments and the reason I write. At those moments I wouldn't want to be doing anything else.

Yesterday was not one of those days. But I was determined to make some progress. I sat from 10 am to 8 pm in front of my computer. I took small breaks for a glass of water, a quick lunch, a short drive to pick up my son from school but the entire time I had my story in my brain. I heard dialogue and story plots, I visited locals and wrote dialogue--in my head. But putting these things down on paper was laborious. But I plunged on, committed to getting the thoughts from my head down and out of my overcrowded brain.

At dinner my young son commented, "You're like a woman possessed." He was completely right. I was so completely preoccupied that I didn't have time to worry about things that I usually worry about in a day. I liked that. But I was terrified that I would forget the small details that kept bouncing around in my head. I wrote notes on small scraps of paper, typed story lines out in detail, repeated the small scenes that my imagination was creating deep inside my brain, over and over again, while I was taking a shower.

I wrote about 25 pages and I desperately needed to hear my words back. I asked my husband if he would mind reading my words. I needed to hear what I had written so I could understand what I had left to write.

He began reading at about 9:45. Through yawns and awkward sequences I heard my words re-told to me. I was listening intently. When he thought he was finished he put down the computer, "I'ts good," he said. But he was not finished yet. I had still two more chapters I need him to read. I looked at his face. I knew he was exhausted. "I'll read these to you," I told him. So, I began to read. I came to a rough patch in my writing and I stopped to ask Tom a question. "Would it sound better if????? Tom. Tom. TOM!" My loving husband had fallen fast asleep.

I woke him up. Go to bed I demanded. "It's really good I heard everything. I just fell asleep at the last part." Ya, right, I thought. I'm writing a horror story and you fell asleep. Must be one great story!

He climbed into bed. I waited up to say goodnight to my eldest son. As I walked down the corridor to his room I thought to myself, how many more nights will I be able to kiss him good night. I am not prepared to miss any. My husband hadn't even said goodnight to Kyle and this made me sad for him. One day soon, he won't be able to walk into his room late at night and give him a kiss.

I climbed into my bed finally. My husband woke up briefly, "Love you," he said. I didn't answer. He got out of bed and went to sleep on the couch. I followed.

"What are you doing?" I asked confused.

"You're mad at me so I'm going to sleep on the couch."

"I'm not mad at you," I had to tell him. "I'm just disappointed in myself for writing such a crappy horror story that it actually put you to sleep."

He tried to argue. But at this point I didn't want to hear his insincere reassurances.

Story and plot played in my head as I tried to sleep. The wind began to howl and then the rain started. The skylights in our bedroom echoed the terrible storm. Then Tom began to snore. It was another long night.

I will begin work again today on my book. But my youngest is home sick and I'm so, so tired. But I know too well that I have to show up. If I don't, I might miss one of those magical days where everything comes together and I fall in love with writing once again.

Family Matters

2010-03-08T10:32:00.000-08:00

We woke early Saturday morning, too early. We dressed in black suits, all four of us. There were ties to tie and even cufflinks to insert into pretty little French cuffs.

We drove to the airport. The kids began to argue. Tears came to my eyes as we passed over the Richmond Bridge.

“Can’t you two just not bicker for one day?” I pleaded.

They tried. But they were tired and apprehensive. They had never been to a funeral.

We flew down to sunny Los Angeles and were greeted by rain showers. It never rains in LA. But it was raining on Saturday. We made our way to Forest Lawn Cemetery. We gathered under a tent, my cousins and a few dear friends.

My Aunt had been cremated so her ashes were placed in a small wooden box. Flowers adorned the table.

We were told to remember my Aunt. I did. Tears welled in my eyes once again. I looked over at my young son. He had tears in his eyes as well.

It struck me that although my Mother is still alive; my boys never really got to know her. Kyle was only a year when we were actually told she had Alzheimer’s. And I do remember Mom coming to the hospital when Will was born. Her caretaker drove her into San Francisco just hours after Will was born. It is my last full memory of my mother. She was delighted to meet her newest Grandson.

But my Aunt quickly tried to take my Mom’s place in my children’s eyes. She was the matriarch of my side of the family. And they loved her.

Her own Grandchildren generously shared her with them.

The three cousins came together as a family once again, at a place we used to visit every Easter. My sister died 16-years-ago. I desperately felt her absence. Our other cousin lives in England. The journey was too long to make. But her beautiful flowers and note sat right next to Auntie. She was with us in spirit.

Every Easter my Mom and Aunt would drag us to Forest Lawn and we would bring flowers and place them on the graves of their parents, Mutti and Vati. These were my Grandparents. The Grandparents I never had a chance to meet.

It felt significant sitting under the tent and honoring my Aunt. I could finally mourn.

When the service concluded, the cousins and the cousin’s kids went to visit the rest of the family buried at Forest Lawn.

We walked over rows and rows of buried souls and finally found my Father. My Sister lies next to him. My heart aches. I am so glad I am with my family and all my cousins.

Next we paid our respects to the grandparents we never knew. My Aunt and my Mom always made them so alive for us. My cousin snapped a photo. I understand his desire for the photograph. That’s where our rich history began, with them. I know he wants to remember them, although he never knew them. I know he wants the connection to them and to the rest of his family. He wants to feel them today and he wants to send the photo to our other cousin in England. He wants the family that was so strong to continue through the generations. I understand this. I love him for this.

The rest of the day passed with food, conversation and little too much wine.

The four of us left late Saturday night for a small hotel room in Pasadena. I didn’t sleep much. I shared a double bed with my husband and Kyle slept in the other double bed. Will was relegated to the cot that flanked our beds.

We woke early again Sunday morning to return home. I was happy, truly happy. I looked around the small room and I understood why. I was with my family and nothing makes me happier.

We landed in Oakland and Kyle shoved Will at the airport gate, “Move faster,” he said. Will turned to Kyle, “Stop acting like such a butt.”

My husband turned to me. “They could barely last a day, and now they need to get it all out!”

He was right. I was home and home felt normal again.

A Naked Man at the Oscars!

2010-03-04T10:39:00.000-08:00

Growing up in LA with a father in the film business I always knew when it was Oscar time. There were Academy screenings and the trades were filled with huge advertisements taken out by studios hoping their films would win.

This has been a paraticularly colorful year.

I hate to sound like Nikki Finke from deadlinehollywood but can you believe that they won't let Nicolas Chartier, one of the four producer's of The Hurt Locker attend the Academy Awards?Apparently he sent out a mass e-mail telling people not to vote for Avatar. Now, he did not mention Avatar by name but called it something like that $500 million dollar film.

You have to understand that the Academy Awards becomes something like a nasty political campaign in the months prior to the televised event.

"Beverly Hills, CA — The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced today that, should “The Hurt Locker” be announced as the recipient of the Best Picture award at Sunday’s ceremonies, only three of the picture’s producers will be present for the celebration. The fourth of the film’s credited producers, Nicolas Chartier, has been denied attendance at the 82nd Academy Awards® as a penalty for violating Academy campaigning standards.

Chartier had recently disseminated an email to certain Academy voters and other film industry figures in which he solicited votes for his own picture and disparaged one of the other contending films. Academy rules prohibit “casting a negative or derogatory light on a competing film.” The executive committee of the Academy’s Producers Branch, at a special session late Monday, ruled that the ethical lapse merited the revocation of Chartier’s invitation to the Awards. "

When you sit at home in your living room watching all the pomp and ceremony you would never know that everyone is going around back stabbing everyone else.

Oh, wait! This is Hollywood. Of course they are.

I didn't know any of this when my 20 year-old sister told me to take her Academy Award ticket so I could bring a date when my Dad invited us to join him and Marcel Marceau at the Awards.

I didn't have my hair blown dry or have my make-up done, I just slipped into a simple red dress I had worn to the Junior Prom and was ready to go.

Can you believe my sister let me take her ticket to bring some stupid date? I can't even remember his name. I hope I thanked her enough. I should have done her laundry for the rest of my life.

Instead of Georgie and I, Whatshisname and I stepped into our limo with Mom and Dad, Marcel Marceau and his brother Alain Mengel and moments later arrived on the red carpet. I remember the paparazzi. The flashes went wild as Dad and Marcel made their grand entrance, stopping and talking with reporters along the way. I stood back and soaked in the glamour.

Whatshisname and I took our seats up in the bleed nose section. Dad, Mom, Marcel an Alain sat down below were the important people sit. The two things I remember about the evening were the streaker running across the stage behind David Niven and going to the bathroom with porn star Linda Lovelace. Ms. Lovelace had just starred in Deep Throat.

I returned home that evening not all that impressed.

But I still love the Oscars.

Sunday night I will be rooting for Coraline to win best animated film. It should have been one of the ten best films this year. Henry Selick wrote the screenplay adapted from Neil Gaiman's book. He went on to direct this great story in amazingly beautiful stop motion animation.

I will be thrilled when Jeff Bridges wins for Crazy Heart because he will win. What an amazing performance. He could have easily overplayed that role but not Bridges. He is an artist. I have loved him since The Fabulous Baker Boys and The Great Lebowski.

I am kinda rooting for Avatar because James Cameron has changed the way movies can be made. But I wasn't thrilled with the "Dances with Smerfs" story line. So I will secretly hope that The Hurt Locker will win because I love the movie so much. Catherine Bigelow directed a brilliant film.

I have to laugh when I think how innocent I was when I attended the event. I guess I was innocent and a bit jaded. I was not that impressed! Or maybe it was my age, nothing really impresses you when you are 17 years-old.

Enjoy the Oscars.

Do you watch The Academy Awards? Who are you rooting for? What part do you like best about the show?

How Can I Be Sure?

2010-03-03T11:01:00.000-08:00

I ordered flowers today for my Aunt’s funeral. I gripped my stomach as I talked to the nice man in Los Angeles about exactly what I wanted--white roses and white tulips with some English Ivy and twisting twigs. I added a note from all of us. A pain shot through my abdomen.

When things get really emotional or stressful for me, I have the uncanny ability to place all my stress into my body. I have perfected this talent over the years. Usually it takes a few days for the full effect of whatever is eating me up to make its way into a physical symptom. Today it hit hard and fast.

I hung up the phone feeling bewildered. I am not prepared to bury my Aunt. I feel her loss so much more significantly than I was prepared for. And now I’m certain that I will be the next one the family will bury.

See, this is what I do. I know it probably keeps me NOT thinking about the things too painful to think about. And I’ve mastered the talent. It has taken years, but it’s the one thing in my life that I know I am really very good at.

Clinically, I think they call it hypochondriasis. I’ve actually never been really diagnosed. But my friends have been happy to diagnose me. “Oh Terry, it’s just in your head,” they will tease. I kid about these things, but its really real and scary.

This afternoon my husband had to scrape me off the ceiling. The pain in my stomach frightened me so much. I am convinced I’m having serious health issues that involve something deep and dark and terminal.

I quickly go through a myriad of morbid scenarios. And then I hole up in my home and worry.

The creative part of me has a field day. I have had so many terminal illnesses in my head that I’ve buried myself more times than I can count.

This is the part of being a creative person that I really hate. In a mere second I can project so far into the future. Scenes play out quickly and brutally.

I try to go to my “nice” place. I try and breathe. I force myself out into the world. This all helps, sometimes.

My eldest put into perspective last night, “Mom, are you feeling alright?”

“No, dear I have some stomach issue.”

“Oh Mom,” he teased. “Last week didn’t you think you had a brain tumor?”

His loving humor really helped. It brightened by dark mood. And he made me realize that my stomach is probably just that, a stomachache.

But how can I be sure?

How do you cope with stress? Do you assume the worst when it comes to medical issues? Do you meditate or use any other coping tools to deal with life’s difficulties?

2010-03-01T16:51:00.000-08:00

Opera is playing in the kitchen. Yes it is. But I fear that it's too late. My eldest is buried under SAT prep and term papers and my youngest is in his room easily maneuvering between homework and the computer 'thing.'

Are we the normal American family? Is this what we have become? I promise you I have never over scheduled my kids yet here I am amazed at how much we all have to juggle. Will 'shadowed' another high school today. Tomorrow he will 'shadow' his final school. That will make five schools he has toured. That means I had to call those schools, make the appointments and get Will there. There were applications and interviews and open houses. And this is just high school.

Kyle studies all the time. Well, in all honesty, I don't know when he is not studying because his computer is always open and I have no idea if he is on facebook, his music page, or if he really is doing the research for that term paper he says he is working on.

And then there is their fencing tournaments. Both my kids are fencers. Yesterday, Kyle spent the entire day in Oakland at a qualifier for Nationals. He came home scratched up, bruised and exhausted...and we are talking fencing here, not football. But he had a huge grin. He made Nationals.

And why all this craziness? I have always wanted my children to have choices. I was afraid that something they did or did not do in elementary school might effect middle school, what they did in middle school might effect high school, and what they did in high school would effect college, etc. etc. etc. So, I became part of the "Race to Nowhere." I instilled this notion so much in my kids that now Kyle stresses that he will have choices when it comes time to go to the 'right' college. I have done my boys a huge disservice. And now I am caught in a vicious cycle.

I think back to when I went to college and I applied to two schools. I didn't go to an independent school just the school a few blocks from my house. I took the SAT one time. And I'm sure I didn't study for it. I think I remember one Stanley Kaplan review course but that was it. My score was good enough. I didn't need all the choices in the world. So why have I been so obsessed with choices.

I think it has come out of fear. Since the day I held my newborn in my arms, the baby boomers were asking me if I had put my name down in a pre-school of my choice. It started then. My babies were not even walking or talking, just pooping an peeing and I had put their names down at the 'right' pre-schools. There were interviews and applications. And it has just spiraled from there.

I wanted to live in an area that had the best public school district. And I still checked out independent schools. I toured and evaluated. I talked to other parents. And the fear kept escalating.

I have spent years making sure I made the right choices to give my kids the opportunity to have choice.

Now I know that all these choices I have made, have made us a little less happy. And is anything worth happiness?

If I had it to over again I don't think I would step on the treadmill of never ending opportunity. I think I would have settled for just fine. My kids would have blossomed at their own pace and we would all have been so much less stressed.

Now, to do this I would have needed blinders and earplugs because the voices all around you speak of all the things one MUST do. It is so easy to get caught up in this ridiculous race.

And I blame myself for making my kid's lives so much more complicated than they needed to be. I hope I have not caused them to much harm but I know that I have caused a little bit of harm. And I am sorry for that.

But the craziness needs to stop. And we need to be part of the solution.

I promise I will never ask a newborn's mom to make sure she puts his or her name on a list to make sure he or she gets into pre-school!

Have you been caught up in this race to nowhere? What would you do differently? Do you do things out of fear? How should I move forward?

THE RACE TO NOWHERE is a film by director Vicki Abeles

Monday Morning and the Three Black Crows

2010-03-01T10:07:00.001-08:00

The familiar roar of the trash trucks. The first ray of sunlight streaming through the cracks in the curtains of my bedroom. My husband's alarm softlly ringing.

It's monday morning. I know because I have a pit in my stomach and I can feel my body almost shaking. For years now, I have come to dread monday morning.

The kids leave for school. Tom is off to work. And I am left alone to face my fears.

I know if I just put one foot on the ground I'll feel better. But my bed feels so comfortable. It's warm and safe.

But until I get up and brush my teeth I will endure the anxiety of monday morning.

I think a part of me looks at the new week filled with dread. I think about the things that can go wrong. My mind worries about all the 'what ifs.' Today was no exception.

I willed myself out of bed. And little by little I began to feel myself again. But this morning I wonder if every morning will feel like monday when the kids are out of the house?

It's the chaos of a life full of everybody else's needs that has kept me sane. Or at least that's what I'm pretending.

I remember the black crows that landed on our lawn and then decided to make our magnolia tree their private retreat yesterday. They remind me of Edgar Allen Poe's, The Raven. "Are they a sign of bad things to come?" I can't help but wonder.

I am sensitive to superstitions.

I am nearing the end of my YA novel. It is a horror story. I am so immersed in the story that I see life in shades of gothic notes. I fear that putting the kind of story I am writing out into the world will bring nothing but bad things to me and my family.

It is a personal story. A very, very personal one that explores a dark and piercing subject matter. And yet I have chosen to write about this. And now that I'm almost done with the book I am afraid.

When I was young, my father produced a film called Rosemary's Baby. After the movie was released very bad things began to happen to some of the people involved in the movie. My father was no exception. The film's composer died in a freak skiing accident, Roman Polanski's wife, Sharon Tate and her unborn child were slaughtered the summer of 1969. And then my dad got sick. He never fully recovered. He died in 1977.

The movie was about the devil. I have come to fear anything that has anything to do with the devil. There are just certain things we should not play with.

So, why am I writing a book that has as its central theme these things that terrify me? Am I trying to come to understand my own journey. Or am I just writing the best story I can?

I have stopped shaking. The pit in my stomach has left for know. But I am left thinking about my novel.

Writing about my fears this morning makes me feel a bit better. I feel a bit childish thinking that I have any control over my destiny. But do I?

Are you superstitious? Do you think there are subject matters too scary to address? How do you approach monday morning? Should I stick my novel in my desk drawer and never look at it again? I would love to know your thoughts.

Night of the Living Dead!

2010-02-25T19:21:00.000-08:00

I just finished writing about saying NO to volunteering at school when I got a phone call from my son’s high school theater teacher. At my son’s school, each February, for one week, they have what’s called Mini-Course week.

Last year, Kyle went to Death Valley and spent the week communing with nature. I spent the week worrying about rattlesnake bites and scorpion invasions.

This year, he opted to stay around Marin and participate in a movie-viewing course.

Today, they watched Night of the Living Dead.

Because of my sordid relationship to the horror genre, I was asked to come to class and speak about horror films, specifically, how horror films changed in the late 1960s.

At 9:30 this morning I found myself sitting in a theater watching Night of the Living Dead on a big screen. I was so excited. I don’t think I had seen this film on a big screen since I originally saw it in 1968!

It is such a classic. For $114,000, George Romero changed a genre.

I was much more excited than the kids. I’m not sure they found the film scary in the least. When it was originally released, kids were literally terrified. Nothing like this had ever been seen before. Parents used to drop off their adolescent kids at the movies to watch horror films on Saturday afternoons. But this film came as a real surprise. Children were left silent and shaking in darkened theaters. It ended up making millions of dollars and still gets a 96% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes.

It was clear to me today that horror films really do reflect the times.

Sitting in the darkened theater, I realized that I had a real contextual understanding of this film. 1968 was a pivotal year. The beginning of the year saw the Tet Offensive, and Walter Cronkite (the most trusted man in America) said in one of his broadcasts that perhaps the Vietnam War was not winnable. Martin Luther King was assassinated. Riots hit most major cities, and then Bobby Kennedy was killed. The summer of 1968 everything was upside down. By the time of the Democratic convention in Chicago, the world as we knew it was gone forever.

I remember all of this and more. I remember earthquake drills. But something much more significant, I remember Nuclear Attack drills. Yes! Once a year at my elementary school a booming bell would ring signaling an impending dismissal. We had to practice walking home quickly and orderly. I’m not sure about the logic in this, but it was taking control of an untenable situation—so the administrators created the drill.

The threats of my youth, beginning with the Cuban Missile Crisis and the assassination of JFK seem so much different than the threats my children fear. But are they?

When 9/11 happened both my kids were school-aged. Will was in kindergarten and stayed home that awful day. Kyle was in third grade and determined to be with his friends for this critical event. I let him go. The school happened to butt up against my backyard, so I let him go. I knew that I had to or I would scare him more than he already was. I let him go because it was the right thing to do.

The threats we face today seem insurmountable. But then again, in 1968 they must have felt the same way.

History helps us see the present more clearly. We hope we learn from our mistakes. But I also thought, sitting in that darkened theater watching flesh eating “ghouls,” that perhaps the only thing that has really changed in our world is the pacing of a horror film. No one has patience any more to wait in suspense for things that go bump in the night. I just fervently hope that we have the patience to act responsibly in a world spinning out of control.

I went to high school today and I learned that the more things change, the more they really stay the same!

What are the scariest movies you have seen? Have any movies shaped the way you see the world? Where were you in 1968?

Not wanted anymore!

2010-02-25T08:02:00.000-08:00

I have been part of my kids’ public elementary school strategic planning committee for the last eleven years. It has been an extraordinary experience and one that has left me feeling like I have been able to contribute to my community and school other than just driving field trips, distributing hot lunches and helping with classroom parties.

Friday the group is reconvening and I got a call from our superintendent’s office explaining very nicely that they don’t want me this year. But that’s not all. The reason they don’t want me is that they want my eldest son to participate instead and they would worry that if I were in the room he might not be as honest or straightforward as they want him to be.

I’m not exactly sure how I feel about this considering this is my last year in the district. My youngest will be graduating from 8^th grade this spring and heading off to high school.

I am being replaced by my 16-year-old!

Now, I must confess when we have had former students join in the planning process over the last decade I have hung on every word they say. Their perspective has been crucial in the decisions we have made as a committee.

It think about what the committee will look like now. I can imagine that a young mother or father will replace me. They will listen to my son and do their best for our public school. But it’s done, over. My years of hard work for the public school have finally come to an end.

And it is bittersweet.

As a parent concerned about your child’s education, in a state that has massive financial woes you get involved. And I started out with gusto and fire in my belly.

Over the years you learn how to say NO only because you just can’t say YES anymore. And by the time middle school comes around you dodge the people in charge so you don’t have to say NO one more time. You really want to help, it's for our schools.

But I needed to get a life.

I thank every single parent who has volunteered. They have given my children so much more than just an education. Their hard work and love has filled the playgrounds and classrooms. Thank you. They have raised money, picked up trash, chaperoned dances, worked in the classroom. They have given all that they can and more!

As I write this I remember that I just got a call from the Principal’s office. I think she needs some help writing something for the strategic planning meetings.

Ahhhh, there is one more thing I can do.

I can write.

do you have problems saying No? Do you enjoy helping out in your community? What kinds of things do you do?

Is is Hot in Here?

2010-02-24T09:04:00.000-08:00

I went on facebook just a moment ago and discovered an advertisement on the right hand side of my screen. It was for hot flash cream. I suppose it’s to prevent them not to get them. But I can’t believe they are targeting me. Why couldn’t they be advertising the latest four-inch stilletos? Is that the kind of ads you all get on your facebook page? Should I be insulted?

Yes, I am having night sweats and I’m a bitch more often than not. But really, do I have to have this ad pushed on me on facebook where I'm desperately trying to cling to my youth?

What ads are the men my age getting? Viagra ads I hope! Here’s my bitchiness coming out—it’s just that us women seem to suffer so much with the whole hormone, pregnancy, PMS, change of life crap.

Which gets me thinking about being a woman. One of the wonderful things is carrying a child. But in reality I could have done without the whole pregnancy thing. I would have been fine if hubby had carried our children. He would have done a much better job than me. I loved feeling their little kicks inside of me, but other than that I didn’t love pregnancy. Is that awful of me? I felt barfy half of the time, I couldn’t breathe the other half!

I’ll never forget after my second was born I peed for like an hour. I remember thinking that I must have lost 15 pounds in pee. I was so excited that I ran out shopping. I thought for sure I would easily slip into a size 14 pants. I was in shock when I couldn’t get them over my fat derrière.

But now I look at pregnant women with nostalgia. I don’t know if I still could get pregnant but I envy their glow. I don’t think I glowed. I barfed. I wanted to glow.

And now there’s hot flash cream to look forward to. Oh joy.

My Bad!

2010-02-22T22:42:00.000-08:00

So many wonderful writers with small children using new media to express their hopes, their dreams, their fears.

Fewer older Moms blogging, but those that are share similar common goals. How do I stay relevant in a world filled with diapers, bottles, ear infections suddenly becomes how do I stay sane in a world of freak dancing, hooking-up, driving, girlfriends, less and less hands on mothering, more and more head tripping?

What can I offer the young mothers and fathers? Ahhhh. My mistakes.

Should have allowed sons to do all their own homework.

Should have allowed sons to forget to do their homework and suffer the consequences.

Should have allowed sons to learn how to self advocate.

Should not have hovered about so much.

Should have discouraged sleep overs (nothing good comes from sleep-overs)

Should have said NO easier and more often.

Should have insisted on more reading time.

Should have made sons put dishes in the dishwasher.

Should have taught sons how to do their own laundry.

Should insist on them making their bed every morning.

Should have encouraged sons to commit to exercising daily.

Should have discouraged so much organized sports

Should have encouraged pick-up games.

Should not have succumbed to fears that bubbles over in small communities of mommies.

Should not have worried the small stuff like grades and test scores and private schools.

Should have worried more about making good, compassionate people.

Should have not allowed my world to be completely taken over by theirs.

Should have gone away on more vacations with just my hubby.

Should not have freaked out when they got the 'wrong' teacher.

Should have had opera playing in my home as I cooked dinner.

Should have waited as long as possible to buy son his own computer(it's the beginning of the end when they have their own laptop!)

Should not have given sons an excuse to come home early from "outdoor ed" if they got homesick.

Should have insisted on earning money--babysitting, dog feeding, anything.

Should have always listened to my gut.

Looking at this list, I realize something astonishing. I know that most of my mistakes come from a place of love but I also realize they come from a place of fear. As a doting mother I want my sons to have choices. You will hear yourselves say this time and time again. And you will want to swoop in and fix things so that none of their choices will be taken away. But as I sit back and think about the choices I have made, I realize I have perhaps taken away some very important, basic survival skills. I created less resilient kids! This is not a little thing. Disappointment is a huge part of human development. But like most of my contemporaries, I couldn't stand to watch my children suffer disappointment, so I hovered ready to sweep in to fix problems way too early.

So today I leave you with this: Don't be afraid to let your children fail. Be there to pick-up the pieces, hold them tightly and love them, but let them fail. And make sure you define success for yourself and your family. I encourage you to Challenge Success and read Denise Pope's wonderful book, "Doing School: How we are Creating a Generation if Stressed-Out, Materialistic, and Miseducated Students."

I realize that the reason we don't want our children to be disappointed is that we want them to come away from childhood with their self-esteem in tact. Failing and then picking oneself up and figuring out how to go forward from that failure is what creates real self-esteem.

I hear next month if my youngest will get into the independent high schools he hopes to attend. For a moment today I began to worry about the disappointment he will feel if he is rejected. I stopped myself. I will love him no matter if he gets in or not. I will be there to help him understand the situation. And I will gently encourage him to go forward to one of the great public high schools and turn the situation into something great for him. That in the end is success and that will create real self confidence.

Wonderful Rainy Me Day

2010-02-21T15:50:00.000-08:00

A strange thing happened today. I wanted to spend the day with my husband. I wanted to leave the kids at home. This hasn’t happened in, well, in forever. I have always seized the moments of ‘family’ time and enjoyed sharing all my experiences with my children.

Today, on a rainy San Francisco Sunday, I had no desire for the kids to be part of my lazy day with my hubby. We had a plan. We drove to Sausalito and sat in a cozy bar at a hotel that sits at the base of the Golden Gate.

Heat lamps and warm blankets adorn the patio seating suggesting everyday is winter at the base of the Golden Gate. Tom and I wandered inside and warmed our wet toes on a roaring fire. I sipped peppermint tea and dined on a Dungeness crab BLT. It felt deliciously decadent. And I didn’t miss the kids for a moment.

When we climbed back to the car I told Tom how great it was to be just the two of us. I told him I didn’t even miss the kids. He didn’t either.

We drove back home in silence. What had suddenly changed in me that I didn’t need my children to make me feel complete and why did this happen today? Don’t get me wrong; I was delighted to open the front door to their smiling faces. But for the first time I had not invited them to join us.

In fact, I didn’t even tell them where we were headed. I just escaped. And I had a lovely day with my husband. Just the two of us.

I remember when the kids were little and we tried to do date nights. They felt like guilty pleasures but somehow we always ended up talking about the kids. Not today. They were not on my mind today. Today was all about hubby and me. Am I beginning to dream?

2010-02-21T11:15:00.001-08:00

Hangin' Out and Hangin' On!

2010-02-19T09:56:00.000-08:00

I sit just beyond the family room in an office filled with boxes. I listen to the voices of my thirteen-year-old and his two friends. I can't hear the content of their conversation just the wonderful intonation of their changing voices.

They laugh. They tease. They debate. They are three boys on the verge of becoming men.

I love being in close proximity to their spirited conversation. They are so alive.

I took them to lunch and they ate huge burritos. They'll be hungry again in moments.

In twenty minutes I must leave to pick up my 16-year-old from school.

This is my day. For a moment I pretend that I resent the confinement to 'their' schedule. But I can't lie, not even to myself, I love the rituals, the blessed children "hangin' " at my home. What will I do without them?

A text, a quick phone call, perhaps a video chat--that is what the next phase will be.

Will I survive the quiet and the endless hours of my time? Will I sit and write and become a recluse? I fear this a bit. I have a tendency to 'hole up' when the world outside feels too frightening.

I like to think I will be dreaming of something to look forward to--a special trip, an opera, a show on Broadway. But will I continually want to share these experiences with my children?

Life keeps on moving. I am so acutely aware of this right now. The end seems closer than the beginning. And I have the wisdom to know that I can't control this, but not the fortitude to be at peace. Not yet. I'm working on it.

I received a call this morning from a friend who just returned from touring colleges with her eldest son. A text this afternoon informed me of another friend's college tour with her eldest daughter. I knew both these kids when they were five. Soon these mothers will send their children off to college. What then?

At times the letting go feels right, appropriate. Other times, it feels like I am living in a parallel universe. One thing is for certain. We cannot predict the things that await us. We must hope or pray to have the courage to accept the challenges with grace and dignity and little bit of 'piss and vinegar' as my mother would have said.

Want to Hook-Up?

2010-02-17T23:28:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid my Dad used to say things like "Cool," and "Daddy o." I rolled my eyes. He was so old fashioned. The '60's came and went and I was left saying, "Man, that's groovy," or "that's a bitchin' car."

And when a guy liked a girl he asked her to 'go steady.' What a nice way to describe a relationship, steady. I was asked to go steady when I was in the fourth grade. I got really nervous so I immediately went into my 'ask a lot of questions' mode. I was on the phone with this poor boy and I asked him what it meant to go 'steady.' He told me, he thought it meant holding hands and walking down to the record shop on a Saturday.

Doesn't that sound nice?

Kids don't go steady anymore. They "HOOK-UP!" Now, this makes me nervous so again I go into my question asking mode. "What does it mean to HOOK-UP?" I ask my kids and any of their friends that know me well to indulge my curiosity.

I have come to learn that HOOKING-UP has several different meanings. One of my kids explained, "Hooking-up is like when you're at a party and you just hook-up with someone." I still didn't get it. I asked him again. (I am fully conscious of one's need to be persistent to get any kind of real answer.) He looks at me like he can't believe I don't understand, "You know, like you make-out." AHHH, I know what 'make-out' means. We used that word way back when. But wait, does it have a new meaning. I need to inquire further, "Is making out like french kissing?" I get eye rolls which means, duh...I used that word too. In fact I think our generation invented duh. (Thank God for Homer Simpson) So, I have new found resolve. "So hooking-up means kissing with tongues?"

This is when I almost lose them. I plead for them to answer me. How will I ever know if they won't tell me?

Casually, one of my kids says, "It also means like having sex."

OK. So now I'm completely confused. If I hear someone say "I hooked-up with that girl at the party it could mean kissing, but it could also mean a lot more?"

What happened to "Let's go steady." I liked the steady thing. I understood it.

Now, I have a final question, and I'm going to march into my son's room right now and interrupt his studying--I 'm going to ask, "What do you say when you are going out with a girl--like when your facebook status says 'in a relationship?'"

Pause for answer.....walking my computer over to his room...knocking on his door...he is looking up...here goes. Question asked....

My son's expression of bewilderment....

"IT'S CALLED DATING, MOM!!!!!!!"

Imagine that. My father used to call it dating too. Some things don't ever go out of style.

2010-02-17T14:37:00.000-08:00

Dreams they are a 'changing!

2010-02-15T14:00:00.001-08:00

My father walked me down to the shore of our house in Malibu. He pointed to the horizon. Your true love is out there, somewhere. You will find him.

My father and mother had a wonderful marriage and my father tried to instill in me a belief that certain things are heaven sent. I'm sure he thought he was the luckiest man in the world to share his life with my mother.

This romantic notion has stayed with me my entire life. I dreamt of finding my soul mate and I kissed a lot of frogs along the way. But I met him. In the right time, the right place and I have never doubted for a second that he was heaven sent.

Together we started a family. I dreamt of this my entire life. I love kids and would often joke that I wanted at least ten! Two seemed so much more realistic. Perfect in fact.

So, we began to raise our family. A lifetime of dreams and hopes and prayers--it has been a wonderful journey. I just never realized it would go so fast. My youngest is only 13 but still I can feel the urgent beat of time. It pounds my eardrums like a Native American ritual--telling me time goes by.

I am getting a little more comfortable with my eventual journey--the kids will leave and I will make some kind of new life. But what are my dreams now? Are my dreams meant only for my kids or do I have some left over dreams just for me? I think what I am really asking is am I too old to dream? Is dreaming for young people just starting out? Now that I am firmly in mid-life, am I too realistic to dream?

I sit outside on this beautiful Northern Californian day. The sunshines down on me like a torch lighting my way. But I can't see my way yet.

When I was single there were so many days, so many lonely nights when I would think that I would never meet the person my Dad promised was just beyond the horizon. But I kept on dreaming. And waiting. Tom was worth the wait!

So, I ask the young mothers whose blogs I read and love, old friends that have known me for forty-five years, cousins,brothers and sisters-in-law, my incredible mother-in-law and father-in-law, and dare I even ask my children or the friends of my children-- am I too old to dream? Deep within me, on this perfect day, I know if I stop dreaming then I might as well just die.

But my dreams they are a changing. I can't just dream for smooth waters that bring health and happiness to those I love. I need to dream something for myself...something I really want. I just can't think of anything that I don't already have.

Valentine's Day 2010

2010-02-15T09:49:00.000-08:00

This must be 2010.

Tom and I went to visit my mom in San Francisco. We thought my 13-year-old and his buddy would like to be dropped off in the city to hang out alone for their very first time in San Francisco.

We handed them forty bucks and told them we would be back in about an hour and a half.

Kyle left earlier that morning to surprise his girlfriend at Berkeley. He was really excited about Valentine's Day. It was his first with someone he cared about that wasn't his mother. He had the day planned. He was to drive across the Richmond Bridge and surprise her in Berkeley, pick her up, drive across the Bay Bridge and take her to Golden Gate Park where he would row her around Stow Lake, then he would drop her off at Bart and he would make it home via the Golden Gate Bridge.

Now, I hate to sound like a giant party popper, but I sat in mom's room and looked around at all the pictures I had hung for her last year. Almost everyone in the pictures had died. My stomach churned. I thought about Will in the city for the first time alone and quickly remembered we dropped him off precisely where most of the damage was done during our last big earthquake. And I couldn't even go to the places my mind wanted to, thinking about all the potential dangers Kyle could find himself in with all those bridges, cars, boats, and parks. The walls in mom's room started to close in on me.

Then I thought about my mother's twin sister who would have turned 88 with my mom. My stomach was now doing flip-flops. I had to sit down. Breathe I commanded. I watched my husband feed my mother an entire piece of marzipan cake. She seemed to be so happy and so alert. I wanted to enjoy her birthday but I couldn't.

Too much sadness and anxiety for one day.

We picked up Will and he was fine. We arrived home when the sun was setting. Tom and I took a long stroll along the water. We held hands..

"Do you think Kyle knows to leave the park before it gets dark," I broke the moment.

Tom is getting used to broken moments.

I was getting sick of myself. I found all my candle sticks and an entire box of candles. I filled the living room with candle light. Tom played music.

Finally I was experiencing some peace.

"What time is it?" I asked Tom who was cooking ME dinner.

Now, came the countdown to Kyle's arrival home.

I tried to stay in the moment. The candle light and soft music helped. I enjoyed. I really did. That is until I started to really think about the time.

He was later than he should be. When would my son walk through the front door? I practically held my breath.

I picked up my cellphone to call his girlfriend. And as soon as I did I heard that amazing sound, the front door opening. He was home.

I sighed a long deep sigh.

I placed my head on Tom's lap and watched the Olympics. It was perfect.

"I love you," I told all three of them but I don't need Feb. 14th to tell you that.

Valentine's Day

2010-02-11T16:19:00.000-08:00

Valentines day is my mother's birthday. It would have been my Aunt's as well. It was great celebrating Valentine Day with them because then I never had to worry about what I was going to do on Vday or with whom I would be celebrating. I was always with Mom and Auntie.

I know this Vday I will go to the Jewish Home and celebrate with Mom. I will bring her a Princess cake and lots of chocolates. Tom will be with me and this makes him particularly happy. He has no stress on Vday because it is all about my Mom. He doesn't have to scramble for reservations or come up with some creative way to surprise me. He knows I hate Valentine's Day and he also knows I love him.

I love my birthday, Easter and Christmas. I can't wait for Passover. I love to sit at a Seder table and listen to the stories of my ancestors. I just don't like Valentine's Day.

What is the purpose? I know to sell cards and little crap but really? Did I ever like Valentine's Day?

I remember those little heart candies that had words written on them. I liked those. I recall getting cute little 4" by 4" cards from all of my friends. That was kinda fun. But all too soon it turned into "Who got the dozen red roses at the office?" or "Can you believe my boyfriend is taking me to Switzerland for Valentine's Day?"

Come on. Group vomit here!

And then there are all those awful chick flicks that come out right before Valentine's Day. (I must confess the one that open's Friday looks a tad promising)....But come on, can't we do better.

I want to know your best and worst Valentine's Days! What did you do? Who were you with? Does anybody else hate Valentine's day?

I'm just thankful it's Mom's birthday. I always have a great day because of her.

The Strangest Three days in NYC

2010-02-08T17:09:00.001-08:00

We left for the airport Thursday afternoon for a 3pm flight to New York City. I had to stop by the hospital to say another good-bye to my beautiful Aunt. I gave her a kiss and watched as she lay peacefully in her bed.

We rushed through the airport and boarded our Virgin America flight. My little cousin was having a marriage reception, and everyone I asked said I must choose life over death. So I did.

We landed at midnight and finally got to our hotel at about 1 AM. Of course, because of the time change, it was dinner time for us.

Probably because of all the stress my back was killing me. I mean I could barely walk the two blocks to Carnegie Deli. But I did. We chowed down on pastrami sandwiches the size of Carneige Hall. Will had a foot long hot dog filled with grilled onions. Ahhh, New York!

Two hours later, I awoke with searing pains in my stomach. I had the worst intestinal thing happening. In a city that never sleeps, my bowels were very much awake. I was miserable. Every time I feebly made my way to the toilet my back screamed out in pain but it was my intestines that were on fire. And I spent most of the night on the lovely little porcelain abode.

I finally feel asleep around 11:30 AM and woke about 2 PM--just in time for the reservation I had made at Mikimoto in the meat packing district. I stood up and made my way to the kid's room. They were fully dressed--a miracle. I took one look at them and knew there was no way I was going to make Mikimoto--Iron Chef or not. I went back bed and stayed there for most of the weekend.

I was determined to make it to the wedding. I had just flown thousands of miles and left my dying Aunt, and I was not going to miss the event. I ran over to a beauty salon looking like a chewed up piece of hot pastrami and asked Ernesto to make me beautiful. He was kind not to laugh. He washed my hair, blew it dry and curled it with a hot curling iron. My "practically perfect in every way" husband sat with me just in case I had to make a quick get away to a clean toilet. But I let Ernesto do his magic and thought about my Aunt who used to go once a week to the hairdresser. She then would cover her newly done do with what she called a babushka to keep her hair from falling flat. I loved her babushkas! I was lost in reverie when the call came, right there in the beauty salon. Auntie was gone.

Now, poor Ernesto had to deal with a sick, ugly looking chick who now was crying. He stroked my head tenderly, and I thought it quite fitting that I was sitting exactly where I was.

Time passed too quickly. I had to rush back to the hotel and put on my black tie finest. This I could have lived without. Auntie hated dressing up and I so get it now. And stockings! I had to wear stockings. I haven't worn stockings in a decade. The only consolation was that with the stockings I could go without my spanks which I could not have been able to put on my gurgling, aching stomach.

Tom got the kids into their tuxedos and with all the cufflinks and pocket squares and tiny little tuxedo hooks I was starting to feel sick again.

I lay on the bed fully dressed not sure I was ready for a life of 'life!'

But I did it!

I watched lobster tails and oysters pass my way. I declined the ten glasses of champagne that were offered to me. I watched Will gorge himself on endless Chinese dumpings and small glasses of wild mushroom soup--and dinner had not even been served.

At dinner, I sat and ate rolls. Three to be precise. I stared at my lobster salad, lobster bisque, perfectly cooked lamb chops au jus, creamed spinach and twice baked potato. I had to leave the room after the wedding cake was cut, because I couldn't bare to look at the pastries that were pouring out of the kitchen.

I danced. I celebrated. I didn't have to go to the toilet once!

The next day, we caught a flight home. That was yesterday I think. We flew back, and the boys were able to watch the Super Bowl flying high above the clouds. I read my book and looked forward to my own bed.

I fell to sleep quickly last night at about midnight (thankful for all your helpful sleep hints.) At two in the morning, I heard a strange sound coming from Kyle's room. I knew that sound. No, it couldn't be! He was violently throwing up. Tom and I both spent the night up with him. It has been about twelve hours, and he is finally feeling better. I love how kids rebound.

And in all this I have not had the quiet moment of peace I really need to mourn my Aunt. Maybe it's her way of saying, "I'm gone, I'm at peace. Don't stop your life because of me."

But Auntie, I want to, because I love you. You will always be my second mother.

One Sheep, Two Sheep, Three Sheep, Four...

2010-02-03T10:35:00.000-08:00

Why is insomnia a part of menopause? Is it because then in the middle of the night when I wake up in a blanket of sweat I can think? No good thinking comes about at 4AM. I know. I have been up thinking at 4AM too many times.

Last night, I willed myself not to think about my Aunt so instead my mind wandered to the absurd. I worried about missing my last two dentist appointments. I worried about forgetting to return important e-mails. I worried about Kyle's stupid SAT. I worried about not sleeping. I worried about worrying.

I would have been better off thinking about my Aunt.

Now, I'm exhausted and not sure how I am going to get through the day. But I will. It won't be pretty but I'll manage.

I just don't understand why this estrogen thing has to be related to sleep disturbances. When we are tired everything seems so much worse. And I don't need things to seem worse right now. Hence, I worry about not sleeping.

So many of my friends function wonderfully on only a few hours of sleep a night. I don't. I need a solid seven or eight hours.

Sleep has always been a problem for me. Even before this wonderful time in my life I had a difficult time sleeping. But never like this! I am so envious of my husband who puts his head on his pillow and is immediately fast asleep. I listen to his breath for hours tossing and turning until I finally fall asleep. Then just a few hours later I wake again. Shake the sweat from my burning body and try again.

He always tells me to get up and read or something. BUT, I don't want to read. I want to sleep.

I love the feeling of a good night's sleep. The restful, calm way you go about your day. I love the extra patience I have when I am fully rested. Everything is more fun, makes more sense, brighter, fuller, more engaging when I have had the proper rest.

I remember feeling that way back in my mid-forties. It was wonderful.

I am reading so many wonderful blog posts from new mothers. How I remember those sleepless nights. And then right when you think you can't take it anymore, your precious child finally sleeps through the night.

Do you think that will happen with me? Do you think that when I finally just can't deal, my hormones will settle down and I'll be able to sleep once again?

Does anyone have any good sleeping tips? I desperately need advice.

(please excuse typos, grammatical errors, lousy writing, etc.--they are partially due to lack of sleep.)

Tonight I Will Be Sad!

2010-02-02T18:36:00.000-08:00

Everyone is so quiet in my house. Like little mice, my three boys are treading very lightly tonight. So quiet, so very, very quiet.

They are used to seeing me upset, angry, happy, crazy, even a little wild. They are not used to seeing me so sad.

My sadness makes them feel bad. But I can't hide it. Not today.

Today, I said yet another good-bye to my wonderful Aunt. I am so lousy at good-byes. I have said too many good-byes. But she is not yet ready to die.

Peacefully, she sleeps. Regal, she looks. Solace, I feel in knowing that she will never have to watch her twin sister, my mother die. Small comforts, but I will take them tonight.

I will find a way from the sadness to the brightness and lightness of a life filled with wonderful memories, but not tonight. Tonight, I will be sad.

The Twins

2010-01-31T10:07:00.001-08:00

Mom and Auntie--The Twins!

The top picture I have no idea if this is my mom or my aunt!

I have had the good fortune of two identical mothers. Not a good mother and an evil one like those depicted in Neil Gaiman's Coraline, but two loving mothers.

You see my mom is an identical twin.

Today, my Aunt lies in a hospital bed close to death. She is almost 88-years-old, and it is her time to go. My mother lies only miles away in the Jewish Home for the Aged, suffering with advanced Alzheimer's Disease.

Knowing my aunt is close to death, I feel overcome with feelings. I am losing my other mother. Although, in reality they were as different as night and day, the one thing they shared, besides there identical looks, was the way they loved. They loved all of their combined kids, all my cousins and all their kids unconditionally.

My beautiful mother and aunt are originally from Germany. During the Nazi occupation, they fled their home in Cologne. My grandfather was a prominent architect, and he was Jewish. He had married a Catholic girl from Dusseldorf. They had a son and two twin girls.

By the time WWII began, they were living in Amsterdam. They had been waiting for travel documents to the US when the Hague was blown up just days before their departure. They were destined to endure the war in Holland.

My uncle by then had left for Oxford and was attending University. When the war broke out, he immediately joined the Royal Air Force.

My mother joined the resistance and worked tirelessly in any way she could. My grandfather had hiding places in his home, just in case the Nazis came for him.

One early morning, there was a knock on the door. My mother looked out her window and saw two German officers. She put on one of her nicer dresses and left off her bra. She woke my Aunt and told her to tell their father to hide.

The officers were quite taken with my mother's beauty, her strength, and her charm. But when they looked up and saw another one that looked just like my mom descend from the staircase, they were mesmerized.

The time past slowly, so the story goes, and my mother and my aunt did their best to deflect the German officers' questions and advances. But, in time, my grandmother (who I never got to meet) apparently marched down the stairs and told the officers in no uncertain terms that indeed there was a Jew in the house, her husband, but she was Catholic, and he had his proper documents. She told them they had no business being in their home and firmly suggested they leave.

They left. But only with a stolen glance at my mom and her gorgeous twin.

They returned once after that to worn my mother that Nazis were talking about experimenting on half Jewish twins and suggested they go into hiding. My mom and my aunt were very lucky.

Tom and I took the kids to Amsterdam a few years back. They were surprised to see how close their grandmother and great-aunt lived to Anne Frank .

My uncle died fighting bravely for the Allied forces. His death left a gaping hole in the history of my family. His lovely daughter shared in the love and devotion of her identical aunts.

Miraculously, my grandparents and the twins survived the war and eventually made their way to America.

Mom and Auntie were great fun. They were stubborn to their German roots. They lived for their children and were connected to each other in an inexplicable way.

My mom sits at the Jewish Home for the Aged. She has suffered with Alzheimer's Disease for 16 years. I am happy today that she has Alzheimer's--she couldn't stand losing her sister.

And my wonderful, dedicated aunt visited my mom as much as she could. In the end, she started to develop dementia.

Just last week Auntie told her son-in-law, "Tell Ellen..." Ellen, is my Mother's name. He asked her time and time again, "Tell her what, tell Ellen what?" But that was it.

I'm convinced she wanted to say, "Tell her I love her," or "Tell her I'll meet her on the other side," or "Tell her I'll meet her at Nordstrom's!"

I think that my mother will die soon after my aunt. Twins are funny like that.

When my mother married my father, she couldn't find the right dress to wear. She loved the one that my aunt had found. So, they ended up wearing the same dress on my mom's wedding day.

Three months earlier, my aunt was sitting at a Hollywood restaurant having dinner with an actor friend of hers. My father noticed the beautiful woman sitting next to a man he didn't know very well. In my father's unflappable way, he sauntered over to the couple and looked straight at my aunt and told her that he wished there was someone at home that looked just like her. My aunt smiled knowingly, "As a matter of fact there is!" The next night, Auntie had set up a blind date between her twin and what would become my mother's love of her life, my dad. (Well it was a blind date for my mother! Not my dad.)

As much as I am prepared, I am still at a loss. A loss for a time that once was. A loss for that loving look and warm sincere smile. A loss for the only two people that would ever tell me the honest truth.

But I am thankful for a handful of cousins who are connected by the strong bond of history and love because of these two remarkable women.

Desperately Seeking a Little Bit of Youth

2010-01-29T07:29:00.000-08:00

Writing can be therapeutic. I write these posts not knowing if anyone really wants to read them. But boy looking over them, I sure see my insecurities clearly. They actually leap off the page at me. I knew I needed to get a life. But I had no idea how badly.

A direct result of my writing brought me to a beauty salon where I had my eyebrows waxed and my hair cut drastically. A change is what I needed. And it really helped. It has given my a little lightness in my step.

When I walked around San Francisco the other morning I noticed both men and women smiling at me. Was it the much needed sunshine lighting up everyone’s moods or was it the “sunshine” in me?

It seems impossible but I threw my clothes on that day with a little care and I even applied make-up. I covered up my old age spots with foundation. I even applied make-up to the dark circles that now underline my eyes. How long would this feeble attempt at youth last I wondered? Do I need to think I look good in order to feel good?

I went marketing that same afternoon, one of my most hated chores. But with the cabinets bare and everything devoured from the fridge I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. So I pushed my cart along the produce isles looking for basil when a man appeared and asked me if I was Italian. No, I told him. He continued talking to me and it took me awhile to figure out that he was flirting with me. Now that hasn’t happened in a long time. Should I rush back to my hairdresser and give him a bigger tip. Has he recaptured my youth with the sheering of a few split ends?

I bid my admirer a cheery “ciao” and a “graci” and off I went enjoying the rest of my marketing a little too much.

This innocent rendezvous got me thinking. Is it the make-up and new do really the reason for the newly acquired and much needed attention. Or is it how I feel about myself with the newly adorned accessories?

Could I carry around the same self-confidence when I look like crap? I knew I had to try. Fifty-two and I can’t count on superficial things to make me beautiful. I’m old enough to know I have to cherish the beauty within and hope for the occasional approving nod to get me through the cold, hard winter of my life.

My Journey with The Artist's Way

2010-01-28T06:00:00.000-08:00

I started The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron back in September. A dear friend bought me the book a year ago and it sat on my bookshelf gathering dust.

Then out of nowhere, a wonderful neighbor bought me my very first journal. She told me she was starting an Artist's Way group and suggested I join. She told me that the book was designed to help blocked artists get 'unblocked.'

I hate any kind of commitment like this. It totally freaks me out. I am certain I will let down those around me and I always find an excuse not to finish what I have started. I know myself well enough not to commit to anything anymore.

I'm not sure what made me say yes. Probably it was her non-committal way of approaching me. We planned a quick meeting and that was over 12 weeks ago. I stuck with it the whole time. And it was an amazing journey. I thoroughly enjoyed the process and have learned so much from it. For me, it gave me permission to be a little less judgmental about my work and a little less hard on myself.

The first thing I actually committed to was something called morning pages. You must try and write three pages every morning, long hand. Some mornings I found that I had nothing to write so I just wrote, "I have nothing to say," over and over again! Some days I just worked out plot points for my book.

As hard as those three pages were to right every day, they became I kind of salvation. I had begun this blog and was determined to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. The kids started school and I felt such remorse. I needed to face the fact that my kids didn't need me as much anymore. So, I wrote my morning pages, wrote my blog and then began writing my novel.

Ms. Cameron suggested that I take myself on an artist's date once a week for at least an hour. This hour needs to be spent alone doing anything at all. The purpose-- to fill the well. This ended up being the most difficult part of the process for me. I'm not exactly sure why, but I think the things I wanted to do, I wanted to share with someone else. The artist's date was meant for me and me alone. The weeks I did take myself out, I noticed things I would never have noticed before. It was astonishing. It was the small things that caught my eye and made me take pause.

At the end of the journey Cameron suggested that I look back at my morning pages. I was not suppose to read my morning pages until the end of the 12th week. And trust me I had no desire to do so. I recently got the nerve to read my thoughts. One of the members of my Artist's Way group suggested I share some of my words on my blog. I find them illuminating, funny and just so me...

"September 1, 2009

Up early for me this morning. But I'm wide awake. I knew I had these empty pages staring at me. What a joy to have something for me to do creatively. What a burden to have to something to do creatively. In my darkest moments I wonder what will sabotage me from this pursuit. I have a sharp pain in my left breast. Breast cancer? Chemo? Will this stop me? ..."

We started the group eight strong. Only three of us ended up finishing the book. Life got in the way for the other five people.

But I did it and the three of us are still meeting weekly. We are there for each other as creative support. We meet because it keeps us on track and honest. We meet because we know that "Taking a new step, uttering a new word is what people fear most." Fyodor Dostoyevski

Tenacity, Grit, and Charm

2010-01-27T05:47:00.000-08:00

My young son spent the weekend in Lake Tahoe. Nothing can stop him. He is my hero and my inspiration.

You should see this kid wakeboard. And he has been to Nationals for fencing two years in a row.

No, his bad leg doesn't stop him. In fact he says he's glad to face the challenge.

He doesn't let me hover over him like the Helicopter Mom that I am. He shoos me away, knowing he is perfectly capable of doing things on his own. I learn a lot from my 13-year-old.

He is already a better writer than I am. He often tries to help, and his criticisms are constructive and kind, "I think it might be better if you analyze your characters a bit more," or "Think about who is telling the story, Mom!"

He says he is not going to ever worry about where he's going to go to college because all the schools seem interesting in their own unique way.

But...I have a sneaky suspicion that he won't be quite as forthcoming as his older brother...

He's the one that I am going to have to keep my eye on. I'll probably need a whole BLOG just for him!

Collegemania

2010-01-26T09:51:00.000-08:00

For all you type A parents who are involved in the college process, don't ever, under any circumstance visit the site "College Confidential." This is a warning. This site is worse than crack cocaine. It is addictive and insidious.

No! Stop. Do not leave my blog and head to "College Confidential!" It will make you nuts.

My friend in LA warned me against it earlier in the school year. Her daughter is a senior and she is right in the midst of admissions hell.

My 16-year-old has taken to playing Collegemania. He comes bouncing in every day with another college du jour.

What about Oberlin? All my friends love it. How about Haverford? Have you heard anything about Bowdoin or Middlebury or Colgate or Colby or Dennison or Connecticut College or Pitzer or Bucknell or Kenyon or Carlton or or or or or or or or or or or or or or or or or or or or or or....

I'm sure some of you went to these colleges, please feel free to let me know what you thought? I'll be sure to pass on the information to my son.

What made you happy during your college years? Did you love your school? I am at such a loss here because I went to UCLA--it's just what you did when you went to BHHS and you were not the Ivy League Type--most of us just went to a UC. A few of us went to the Claremont McKenna schools but mostly our choices were limited. I have a friend who went to Bowdoin and another who went to Vassar. A few from my class ended up at Harvard and Stanford and Brown. But they were the exception. We looked at them with awe and respect. They were leaving California.

The college counselors at Kyle's school ask each student to really think about what they want...a big school or a small liberal arts school. Do they want an urban environment or does that not matter? What do you want to study? Do you care about climate? Do you need to be near a big city? etc. etc. etc. etc. etc.

Once you have given this careful consideration then they will help you make a list of at least a half a dozen colleges, probably more like a dozen schools that you should apply to. They look at your grades and test scores and give you choices--there will be Likely choices, Reach Schools and Safety Schools.

Then during Spring break you visit these schools. I have visited some schools with Kyle already. The process was stressful. It was worse than looking for a house to buy! Kyle imagined himself living there. I watched as he checked out the other kids, the dorm rooms, the libraries. Then I could almost hear him asking himself, "Would I like it here? Would I get claustrophobic? Will I fit in?" Kyle did this last summer.

After you have made your selections you have to write all the applications (there is a common application but it doesn't apply to all schools). I imagine this to be a painful process. You want to put your best foot forward. You have worked so hard for years to get here and now it comes down to a piece of paper and some numbers, such as 3.7 unweighted (AP and honors not included!) 4.3 weighted.

Am I good enough? Will they want me? Do I stand out? These questions must run through these kids minds.

In the end, they get into a college and hopefully they enjoy their experiences there. Hopefully they are engaged learners who find themselves thriving in a field that interests them.

Nothing like this happened to me. I took an internship at CBS my last semester of UCLA and got a job after graduation. That job lead to another and then another. I moved to NYC and hit the streets. Found a job at CNN Showbiz which lead to The Travel Channel to Nickelodeon to making a couple of films with Warner Brothers to having kids and writing this BLOG about what I am going to do once the kids leave home.

Somehow I don't think things will fall into place for me (when I am finally an empty nester) like they did when I was young. But I do know that "OUR" kids will find their place in the world whether they go to Stanford or City College or no College or a fun Trade School.

So, I will not go on College Confidential ever. Never ever again! (well maybe just one more time!)

Please let me know about your college experience. You can COMMENT on the site, or on facebook or just e-mail me. I will pass on your thoughts to the little prince!

"Life is Like a Box of See's Chocolates!"

2010-01-25T10:19:00.000-08:00

Dad and I when I was about sixteen

Tom bought a small box of See's Candy before he went off for the weekend with our young son. The one thing I missed the most when I lived in NYC was See's candy. I have eaten some of the finest chocolate in the world--my Mom was a bit of a chocaholic. But nothing ever tasted as good as See's Candy.

All weekend I picked through the box. As my 16-year-old ignored me, angered me, frustrated me, I ate. And it did make me feel a wee bit better.

"Life is like a box of chocolate," is the famous line from Forrest Gump. My dear friend, Wendy produced that film about twenty years ago. I remember watching her accept her academy award as I sat in a small diner in San Anselmo, California. I cried tears of joy for my tenacious friend. An Academy Award had alluded my Dad even though he used to tease that he had an acceptance speech all prepared...just in case.

As I sat, binging on chocolate this weekend, I thought about my father, my friend and a time long ago when I was 16. I wondered if I drove my parent's insane.

I remember once wanting to go to a party in Topanga Canyon with the cutest surfer guy. My father said no. He never said no. I was at a complete loss. I remember coming at him hard, "You never have time for me and my friends. And now you won't let me have any fun!" He really always had time for me. It was just that he was sick and he didn't have the energy he had once had. To this day I regret saying this to him. I hit him where it hurts. I was mean and acted like a spoiled brat. Of course now I see he was completely right. I shouldn't be allowed to go to some random party in the canyon where creepy things had happened in the '70s. But that surfer guy was just so darn cute! Some other lucky girl was going to get to go with dream boat. Funny thing is I can't even remember his name.

Kyle came into my room yesterday afternoon and looked at me. He had tears in his eyes. "We used to be so close Mom. What happened?"

"We used to be close," implied that we are not close anymore. I stared at him unable to speak. I looked for my chocolate. It was in the other room. Was he being sincere or melodramatic? Did he really mean we fight so much now and we never fought before? Did he choose these potent words on purpose?

It's my job to say No. And if that means are relationship suffers in the short term, so be it! Is this how my Dad felt that summer of 1974? I wish I could wrap my arms around him and tell him I'm sorry. Instead all I can do is what he would want me to do, keep Kyle safe and get a good laugh out of life. I might even buy myself another box of chocolate.

The Old Mother and The Girlfriend!

2010-01-24T09:46:00.001-08:00

I feel so incredibly sorry for myself. Pathetic really. I stayed home from Lake Tahoe because Kyle had way too much homework to do. Also, I don't really love Tahoe. But just to make the story better I should say I sacrificed a trip to wondrous Lake Tahoe to stay home with my even more wondrous son. Tom called to tell me the snow was really beautiful. Will was jumping into a jacuzzi with his Grandpa and best friend. The jacuzzi sits on a ledge overlooking the lake. Snow is piled around the bubbling tub and I could almost imagine the steam rising above the hot, bubbly water.

I stayed at home all day feeling terribly sorry for Kyle who was working tirelessly on homework and SAT prep.

I collected his girlfriend at Berkeley and was back by 7:15. I had invited myself to have dinner with the two of them. I'm not sure they really wanted me, but I asked and they said yes. BUT, by the time they were ready to head out it was past 8:30 and I didn't really feel like being a really big third wheel. They did the obligatory, "Oh, please come!" But I could tell they were relieved.

I made myself some scrambled eggs and watched a really bad movie.

The kids came home about an hour and a half later and when they saw me spread out on the couch, they took it as a sign that it was OK for them to head for Kyle's lair. They didn't come out until it was time to take his girlfriend home and I finally went to bed feeling lonely and under-appreciated.

I woke up at two in the morning angry. I remember how left out my Mom felt in her later years. She never wanted to join us when we went out. She complained about feeling 'marginalized.' I didn't understand her feelings at the time. Last night, I came face to face with them. I recognized all the symptoms. I was trapped between worlds. I wanted to hang with the kids but it wasn't my place and I really wouldn't have fun with them. Getting together with my friends is more difficult now! One needs to put down a date on a calender months ahead just to secure a Saturday night. Besides most of my friends were in Tahoe with Tom and Will.

So, this morning I opened my eyes to a brand new day. I shifted in my bed and screamed aloud. Somewhere between fear, frustration, boredom, and anger I threw my back out....AGAIN. I can barely make it to the toilet without fits of excruciating pain. I feel so so so sorry for myself.

Writing the BLOG hurts. I'm forcing myself to write. If I don't, my self pitying might get ugly!

So, now Kyle will be forced to take care of his old mother. The sweet irony of life.

Co-Dependency to College Admissions!

2010-01-23T11:05:00.000-08:00

I was going to write a lovely piece about The Artist's Way this rainy Saturday morning. But instead I have new inspiration.

I starting writing this BLOG at the end of summer 2009. Overwhelming feelings about the kids growing up and their impending departure from my home seized me. I knew it was time to get a life and also knew, in a way that only a mother knows, that the next few years would be trying times between my 16-year-old and myself.

This morning was one of those times.

Anyone reading these posts know that Kyle is obsessed with getting into a 'good' college. He has become an intellectual snob. Kyle also is just an ordinary kid. He works incredibly hard but he also enjoys his free time. A nice balance, in my opinion.

This afternoon he has a tutor coming to help him study for the math section of the SAT test coming up this March. He has homework for this session. He also has a huge pre-calculous assignment, an AP environmental studies project, and a history test. Already I know too much.

My parents never knew what tests or projects I had. Kyle just wanted to sort out his studying schedule out loud. I was his sounding board. My stomach turned.

He jumped on my bed at 10:30AM and declared that studying for the math portion of the SAT was a waste of time. I translated this in my brain. "I really don't want to do the math prep for the SAT because I have so much other homework and I want to hang with my girlfriend."

I stared at my husband who was trying to be practical and actually ended up being incredibly unhelpful. He didn't get what was going on at all.

Kyle wanted permission not to study for the exam. FINE with me I told him. I mentioned many great Universities he could go to without studying for the exam. I explained that he would get a great education and going to these schools wouldn't adversely effect his life in any way. I named these schools--good schools, fun schools, schools I would love to attend.

He stared at me. He knew that I was on to him.

Now he is in his room studying for the stupid SAT.

But, I realize that I am a co-dependent in his search for the 'perfect' college. So the little prince can get done everything he wants and still see his girlfriend I have offered to pick her up at Berkeley and drive her back home. This will save him two hours of driving. Time he can be studying.

It takes away two hours of my afternoon, but I want him to be happy and have everything he wants and needs so I'm willing to help him out. I think I am being a good parent but I'm really just a co-dependent college snob! I need a twelve step program. First I must admit my addiction to helping my son fulfill his dream to go to a 'good' University.

The first day of the rest of my life took a step back today. I was going to write all day. But instead, I will become carpool Mom--a job I never really liked.

What Happened to the Tears?

2010-01-21T21:26:00.001-08:00

It was all so surreal. I wasn't sad at all. This came as such a shock to me. I mean I couldn't believe I was attending "mandatory" college night at Kyle's high school. And I wasn't the least bit sad. Hours earlier I had driven Will to the same school for his high school admission's interview. The message was clear, my kids were growing up! But I wasn't the least bit distraught.

I don't really know why. Perhaps the realization of countless college visits, registration deadlines for all sorts of ridiculous standardized testing, endless applications, and just an overall sea of deadlines and forms was so foreboding that the sadness was replaced by trepidation. Last night I couldn't sleep and I think it was partly because my mood surprised me.

I sat on Kyle's bed and helped him fill out a questionnaire about the kind of school he is looking for. When it came to geographical location and one of the electronic boxes optioned 'an hour away,' secretly I was hoping he would press this one. But, of course he selected, 'doesn't matter.' The strangest thing is that I think he put down the right answer. At this point in the process he has to keep his options opened. I just hope when the time comes, his 'RIGHT' school will be only an hour away.

Now, I must comment on young Master Will's interview yesterday. He surprised me by being a bit nervous. But when he left the interview with the head of admissions, my young son felt he had made a new friend. I love that about Will. He connected with this man and was delighted that he had the opportunity to meet him. I am so proud of him. I am especially proud because when the admission director asked him what he liked to do in his spare time, Will answered honestly. "I love to play video games!"

A Dreamer's Guide to Parenting

2010-01-21T12:05:00.000-08:00

Will is going for his high school admission's interview today four hours before the official and mandatory "college night" for Kyle.

The reality. They are growing up.

The hope. I will survive.

The dream. I will still have one!

Friend on Facebook?????

2010-01-19T20:53:00.000-08:00

When somebody 'friends' you on facebook are you really that person's friend? It's great to reconnect with old friends and stay in touch with new friends. But what about the person who is just using you as a networking tool?

I have no problem being part of a community where I can help books get read, friends find jobs, support noble causes, and even help friends find love. But where it starts to break down for me is when you think you really are a friend to someone on facebook only to find that you are just one of a thousand people this 'friend' is trying to accumulate.

It makes you feel bad. And it's confusing.

Kids are able to deal with all this so much better than us 'grown-ups.' I have trouble just updating my status. Does anyone really care that I just ate the best BLT? I even have trouble putting this BLOG out there. I feel like I am cramming myself and my work down other people's necks.

The psychology of facebook is fascinating to me. I love to follow those who are tireless self promoters. I applaud them. I envy the person who posts anything and immediately they get 20 responses and 44 thumbs up. They are the same people in high school that became student body president. They were not necessarily the most popular kid in school just one that isn't afraid of an audience.

My father would have been a facebook addict. He would have loved the attention, figured a way to use the platform for his purposes, been entertaining, and ultimately sold movie tickets.

I'm a coward. When I put something on facebook, I stare at it for a long time. Then I delete it. Then I put it back up.

What does that say about me? I have always been a bit terrified of really putting myself out there. I don't know why this BLOG feels so safe.

I am determined to see how my kids really use facebook. I know they warn me about being a 'stacker.' I don't want to be that. I know that they don't use e-mail, they just facebook their friends. Do they use it to promote anything other than parties?

Maybe I should have a party and invite my facebook friends. How many people do you think would actually show up? When kids do this, the police are usually called because too many kids show up and things quickly get out of control. Somehow I don't think that would be the case with us adults. Come to think of it I haven't been invited to 1 facebook party. Have you?

What, Me Worry?

2010-01-19T10:36:00.001-08:00

I have that awful pit in my stomach today. I am fearful that something "bad" is just around the corner. I am certain that something profound is going to change the course of my life, and not for the better

I don't know if this is because things seem to be going good right now and that means something is going to rock my world and throw me off course.

Am I the only one who ever feels this way? Do I need to seek Psychiatric help immediately.

I visited a Psychiatrist about this issue many years ago. I sat in her New York office and told her that I truly loved life and appreciated every day. As a result I was afraid it would be taken away--that all my hopes and joys, dreams and delights would be smashed.

She told me I was morbid. I never went back to see her.

Now, in my old age I wonder if she was on to something. Am I morbid? Anyone who knows me would strongly disagree. But then why am I so fearful that the world will turn upside down tomorrow?

Look at the poor Haitian people--in 15 seconds they lost lives, limbs, loved ones. That's how it happens.

Unfortunately I have had experience in this arena. I lost a beloved father when I was 19, a best friend/sister when I was 35, and have been caring for a mother with Alzheimer's for the last 16 years. That's my entire family.

Now, I have a wonderful new family and I worry about them.

I concede that indeed I worry about worrying. But I have become very, very good at it. And I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. Worrying can become a full time job.

I wish I could just worry about my wrinkles and my sagging eyelids but I can't. They seem so insignificant in the face of real worry.

I have more important things to worry about. Doesn't that sound ridiculous?

I recently read this cartoon. The Psychiatrist says to the patient, "You worry too much! It doesn't do any good!" The patient replies, " It does for me...95% of the things I worry about never happen."

That about sums up how I feel. And those five % of things scare the daylights out of me.

Do my dark glasses hide all?

2010-01-17T15:59:00.000-08:00

So, I am OK with most of the wrinkle thing. I hate my old looking neck and I detest my droopy eyelids. I always look tired. People used to think I had pretty eyes. Now, they can barely see my eyes due to the over flowing fleshy folds that cover them up. Not to sound like Meryl Streep in It's Complicated, but I find myself holding my right eyelid up while I'm watching TV.

Having just returned from seeing It's Complicated I can totally relate to the scene in the plastic surgeon's office. I didn't know that to get it fixed I had to have a brow lift. That means cutting the top of my head open and pulling back the old skin. Throw up time. I would rather live the rest of my life looking tired.

Now I sit and watch the red carpet of the Golden Globes. Nobody ever looks tired in Hollywood. In fact, nobody ever gets old in Hollywood. They just get tan and de-wrinkled. I can't decide if I'm jealous or not!

I wonder if I wear really big fake jewelry if people won't notice my droopy eyelids? Can I pull off the magician's trick, bait and switch? Or perhaps I can do the Jack Nickolson--wear dark sunglasses all the time. I tend to wear sunglasses too often already and friends always ask me to take them off so they can see my eyes. Don't they get it? I don't want them to see my eyes.

I have tried to get really good eye brow waxes, hoping that will help my condition. It doesn't. I still look tired. I even tried sleep. I'm not tired! I just LOOK tired. A friend assures me if I eat better then my eye lid droop will lessen. I'm skeptical.

It's difficult facing a life time of looking tired.

Perhaps one day I will get tired of looking tired. I'm hoping that time will coincide with some breakthrough in plastic surgery techniques or alternative beauty aids--like skin glue to hold the fold up!

Gravity is a bitch!

Most Embarrassing Moment!

2010-01-14T09:25:00.000-08:00

When I was 27-years-old I went on an interview at MONEY MAGAZINE for a job as a reporter. Anyone who knows me must think this in itself is funny since I am awful with money. But I was young and ambitious and had a really good contact at MONEY MAGAZINE.

I rode the elevator up to the 54th floor of the handsomely decorated offices. I had a meeting with the editor-in-chief!

I was ushered into a huge office and a lovely man wearing spectacles, suspenders, and a bow tie greeted me. He was really lovely.

He asked me a few questions and I answered them to the best of my ability. I don't recall the exact inquiries but I do remember using my hands quite a bit in my answers. I tend to get a bit animated, especially when I'm nervous.

And I was nervous. I had borrowed an expensive suit from my mother, a conservative skirt that hit below the knee with a matching jacket that was buttoned. Mom and I placed one of her broaches at the chest bone to secure the jacket properly.

Underneath I wore an old bra that probably didn't fit real well.

As my animated self divulged my career path to date, the dear man in the bow tie stared directly in my eyes.

I remember thinking, "Boy, he really makes good eye contact!"

Finally, the poor man looked at me and had to say, "You might want to look down."

I glanced down at my jacket which had come undone and I found myself sitting in the editor of MONEY MAGAZINE'S office with my boobs hanging out! The bra was really not very good.

I finished the interview as best I could and stepped out of the office. As soon as I was safely secured in the confines of the elevator I broke out into fits of hysterical laughter.

And NO I did not get the job. The thank you note I had to write was difficult. But even my 27-year-old boobs didn't impress him enough to hire me at MONEY.

I don't think I have laughed that hard at myself in a long time. I need to start doing more of that. Laughing that is, not showing off my boobs.

Groovin'

2010-01-13T11:04:00.000-08:00

Mama's got her groove back.

Mama's strutting her fifty-two year old stuff.

Mama's is feeling good today.

Mama gets a text from her 16-year-old,

"I got a B- in Pre-Calc. I hate my life. Sign me up for UC Irvine"

Mama wants to scream a B- is great in Pre-Calculous and UC Irvine is a great school. But instead Mama feels bad for her little boy with the big dreams and the older girlfriend.

But, much to my surprise I got over it pretty fast. I went out to dinner with a fellow BLOGGER and had a darn good time.

Mothers of Brothers is a great BLOG. I knew that! But Emily Mendell is great company as well. I am a Mother of Brothers groupie as I am a mother of brothers myself.

I am a Mother of Brothers who is getting her groove back. That is until the next text!

2010-01-11T10:38:00.001-08:00

The problem with Blogging is that I am convinced that I am boring everyone who might be reading my posts.

I feel like I ramble on about silly issues endlessly... "What's wrong with this chic? Get a life girlfriend!"

And it's all about my kids. I hate going to dinners or parties and everything is about the kids. It used to be who was reading, who was potty trained, who did something cute and adorable. Now it is about who is doing drugs, who is drinking, who is having sex. And of course the worst subject of all--where does your kid want to go to college.

All the type A Moms (who I envy) are beginning to think about summer plans already. When summer comes, Junior Year is over and the kids will have one year left at home. And most people around here know what they are doing this summer or more specifically what their kids will be doing.

I have only began to dream about a summer vacation. How I long to go with the family to Greece or Southern France. Not sure how we are going to afford it but I'm working on that. I will figure summer out when summer comes. I'm always late on these things. But, oh well.

For now I am focused on a new makeover for myself. I am sick of looking at my fifty plus self. I need a new hairdo! And some new makeup. I'm excited to do something wildly out of character. It's time. I gotta get the groove back. Mama's gotta get her groove back!

The Old Dried Up Christmas Tree

2010-01-03T11:59:00.000-08:00

Does anybody else hate taking the Christmas tree down? I had to get the dried out symbol of holiday past out of the house TODAY. We returned last night and early this morning I began the arduous chore of taking off each ornament and arranging them so that they could be put away with care.

Two things cross my mind. First, I am relieved in a bizarre way to get life back to normal. The house begins to look that much cleaner and so much bigger. Second, I can't help but wonder what fate has planned for me this year. It is an unhealthy obsession, but mine none the less. I mark beginnings and endings so profoundly. The first day when school begins and New Year's Day fill me with dread. They are just artificial indicators of the passage of time. But they are HUGE, in your face, tempting me to hope but reminding me that life is fragile and turns on a dime.

It's a beautiful day. The sun is shinning and I might take my overstuffed self on a kayak paddle, that is, if I can fit my overindulged holiday butt into the seat. I think that would be fun! That will make me feel alive!

Anyone want to join me?

The Fortune Cookie Debate

2010-01-02T09:32:00.000-08:00

Last night I opened a fortune cookie. It was New Year's Day so it seemed fitting. I usually don't even read my fortune; however, yesterday I did.

This fortune read. "You're friends will be there when you need them." I nice sentiment that scared the pants off me. Why will I need then? Is someone going to get sick? I panicked. I am so good at panicking.

I wasn't satisfied so I grabbed another fortune. This one had to be better! It had to negate the fears that now lurked in my neurotic mind.

I quickly ate the fortune cookie and read the inscription on the small white paper. "Welcome change when it comes."

Have the fortune cookie makers been reading my BLOG?

I have saved a fortune or two in my life when I have liked their sentiment.

I am not sure what to do with these. I am delighted to know friends will be there but I don't want to have to need them. I will try and welcome change. But if things are good now, why do I need to welcome something different.

Things are changing. This is evident. Perhaps there is some wisdom in these stupid fortune cookies after all. Welcome change. Welcome change. Welcome change.

I'll work on it!

USELESS

2010-01-02T09:30:00.000-08:00

I am sitting quietly on our sand colored faux suede sectional with Tom and Kyle. Will is off at a friend’s house and Gordon is obviously missing.

We sit together watching television. Suddenly Tom decides it’s time to pick up Will. He grabs his keys and is out the door.

Kyle quickly maneuvers the remote controls and turns on his brand new Xbox 360. He is ready to kill some Nazi Zombies. I look on sheepishly. His phone begins to vibrate. He takes the call and walks into his room for privacy.

I sit alone on my sand colored faux suede couch watching a still frame of World at War. I sit for a long time.

I have no idea how to turn off the Xbox 360 and replace it with some good old- fashioned television.

I am all alone staring blankly at the rest of my life.

My only choice--to become the world’s oldest woman to be competitive at killing Nazi zombies. Perhaps then I will stay relevant!

Changes!

2010-01-01T10:31:00.000-08:00

Three more hours and it’s a new year. How fitting that Kyle is not with us! He has begun to chart his own course.

No Internet service in Tahoe so I will post this late. I just needed to exhale and take a moment to accept the fact that life is changing.

Too bad it had to happen right smack in the middle of my change of life.

Change. I used to revel in it. I used to encourage it. I used to enjoy it. That is until I began my night sweats, mood fluctuations, and gas production. How utterly charming change can be!

Sap Doesn't Just Come From Trees

2010-01-01T10:30:00.000-08:00

For the last sixteen years I have spent New Years with Kyle. This is the first year he will not spend it with us.

Since his birth I haven’t gone to a party or out to dinner without the kids on New Years Eve.

“No way!” I used to say to Tom. “I want to celebrate the New Year with the family.” Tom indulged me.

Now, it seems Kyle would rather mark the celebration with his friends.

He should. I want him to. He will have a much better time.

But as I just kissed him good-bye and bid him adieux I cried. I couldn’t help myself.

Another ridiculous display of emotion. Another clear indicator of the passage of time.

I know this is all my fault. I should have spent a least a few New Years just with Tom. But no. I couldn’t. Did I understand at some level that the years would fly by and soon enough the kids would not want to spend time with us anymore? Or was I trying to teach the kids the importance of family?

Come on. Let’s be honest. Did I really know that this day was coming and I just didn’t want to make it that easy for them?

“Look I spent all these years celebrating with you ….”

Could I be this selfish and manipulative? The answer is clearly yes. Did I do it intentionally? I’m really not sure. But I did it. And the laughs on me.

I am fully aware that I am indeed the luckiest person in the world to know that Tom still wants to spend New Years with me. At least I think he does. HMMMMM?

Seaweed and Chocolate

2010-01-01T10:27:00.000-08:00

I am sitting on a windowsill looking out over snowing Lake Tahoe. I hear my kids and my husband getting ready for a day of skiing and hanging out with friends.

I will be left alone in the rambling ski house of my wonderful Mother and Father-in-law.

Tom and Will are skiing in the adaptive ski program. Kyle will wait for his friends at yet another ski resort and then spend New Years Eve with them.

I will wait for Tom and Will to return and then have a 6:30PM dinner tonight celebrating New Years Eve.

I am starting to feel old. Real old.

When I was 16-years-old I wrote a poem. I just remembered it. How fitting!

“I am a piece of seaweed lying on a desolate beach

Waiting

For the tide to take me to a new beginning and a new end.”

What was I thinking all those years ago. It seems so apt for this particular moment in time.

So I write. And wait. And wonder where the tide will take me. Am I too old for new beginnings? Should I just be waiting for the same old end?

A happy and healthy New Years to all. A new year filled with possibilities, with hopes and dreams.

Gently Quickly Peacefully

2009-12-28T12:29:00.000-08:00

We carried our dog, Gordon gently into the doctor's office and laid him on a burgundy blanket on the floor. The lights were lit dimly. There was a fake orchid plant on the covered table behind us. Next to the well worn blanket was an old wooden rocking chair.

How many people held their beloved pets, rocking back and forth, to death? How many?

Gordon went peacefully. Quickly. He fell asleep and his heart just stopped. Quietly. Quickly. It seemed so easy, to easy.

He is gone.

And life goes on.

His passing marks an end of an era of little kids and endless hopes and dreams. His passing reminds me how humane we can be to our animals but not so to our Mothers and Fathers. He died gently, peacefully. He just went to sleep.

I will never forget him. Just like I will always remember "Little Boy," my childhood Chihuahua.

But Gordon was special. I know all dog lovers think their animals are special, but Gordon really was. He was kind, compassionate, funny, rambunctious, easy going, and lovable. He was the perfect dog for our family.

"An end of an era," is all that passes through my sad and tired mind. "An end of an era."

God-bless you Gordon. You will be missed!

Insanity or Crazed Motherhood?

2009-12-27T11:05:00.000-08:00

OMG! So much has happened since my last post. I have been busy trying to stay sane. I haven't accomplished my goal. 2010 promises to be a year that is going to really put me on the brink of insanity. I can feel myself slipping into the deep abyss. I am standing, teetering, trying desperately to hold on. I know I sound melodramatic. But really I'm not. I'm not sure I'm going to make it.

Wouldn't insanity be better than this?

I have to learn to laugh at myself as I picture myself frazzled and dazzled, like a deer caught in the headlights.

Every day, except yesterday, since Winter vacation began, Kyle has given me a run for my money. And it has not been pretty. It has been so confusing that I couldn't even write about it.

Yesterday was the first peaceful day I had. And so here I am writing my thoughts. Finally.

Where do I begin? Bullet points are in order.

Kyle wants to drive across the Richmond Bridge with his girlfriend on a rainy/windy night at 10:00PM to visit a friend in Point Richmond. No way! Kyle and I both get in pissy moods.

Kyle is pissed that he can't meet his friends in San Rafael for ice cream at 10:00PM because he can't make his 11:00PM California driving curfew. Kyle and I both get in pissy moods.

Kyle can't understand why I won't let him spend the night in his girlfriend's dorm room. Kyle and I both get in pissy moods.

Kyle wants to spend New Years in Tahoe with a bunch of his friends, including his girlfriend. I tell him he can spend New Years Eve with them but then he has to come spend the rest of the nights with us and his Grandparents in Tahoe. Kyle and I both get in pissy moods.

Everyone has told me that when your kid goes off to college you will be ready. Even eager for them to leave. I didn't believe them. I still don't.

However, I see a distinct trend emerging. Kyle would rather be with his friends than us. And I don't think there is a way back from that. I think it is all over. Done. Complete. End of story. It has been a great run, but the show is now over! And it happened in a blink of an eye. And my heart aches.

Today, Kyle is going with his girlfriend and her family to the theater and dinner. Will has a date with his girlfriend to see Sherlock Holmes.

And on top of all of this, tomorrow we have an appointment to put our family dog, Gordon, down.

And I am just going through the motions. I am placing one foot in front of the other. I am just not sure that my foot will land on solid ground.

Strange thing these children. Advice needed!

2009-12-20T10:22:00.000-08:00

So, Christmas vacation is finally here. And it is wonderful to be at home with the kids. Peace is restored. It just wasn't easy getting to this place.

After Will's bout with the swine flu and all the school he missed, he had so much homework to make up! And then he had to shadow a couple of independent high schools to see if he wanted to apply to them.

And Kyle was busy and stressed about finals!

I did the smart thing and headed to New York during the last week of school. I wish I could say that I took off for a fun little excursion to the big apple--but it was work. Fun work-- but work!

So, I avoided the stress at our home. Almost! I came back the last night of finals and you could literally feel the air sucked out of the house. Everything and everyone felt deflated.

But things changed quickly. The last final was over for Kyle and Will had only one day left of school.

I picked up Kyle and couple of his friends after their last exam and took them to lunch. I had so much fun with them. How wonderful it is to be able to hang out with your kid and some of their buddies when they are not filled with obligations and pressure. It was a little bit of heaven.

However, that night, at 9:00PM, Kyle decided he should begin studying for his SAT test that he is signed up for in March.

This took me completely off guard. I looked at him like he was from another planet?

He looked at me with the look of a lost child.

A few weeks earlier, I had signed him up for a SAT prep course that costs a fortune. I had told him that he needed to be in charge of his own schedule and that he should realize how expensive it was and make sure to take full advantage of the opportunity. I didn't know that I had just put more stress on my already stressed out teen-ager. Oops!

After I realized he had scheduled a lesson the day after finals, I told him he should think about canceling the lesson. I told him I thought he needed a break.

Well, I pushed some mysterious button and Kyle fell apart! All the stress of the last weeks broke from within my poor son's exhausted body and he didn't know quite what to do with all his pent up frustration. Finally, he decided to take it out on me.

This time I really don't think I did anything wrong. I actually think I got it right for once. Because I had been away I had the clarity to realize Kyle was just letting off steam. And I knew I had to let him.

The next morning he awoke a brand new child. He was smiling again and we spent the morning together. It was perfect.

I know this won't last. He will be forced back to face the ridiculous anxieties of his junior year of high school! This makes me so unbelievably mad! It really is wonderful to spend the brief moments of time you have with your teen-ager when he is not stressed out.

When did life change? When did my child become more stressed out than me? He is only 16-years-old!

For now, I hope to celebrate the holidays with my children close at hand. I wish everyone could celebrate with their loved ones near by. And I will cherish the peace. And I will believe that it will last. One never knows!

2009-12-07T10:11:00.000-08:00

How exciting. It's my birthday. I really mean it. I love my birthday. I know I am suppose to dread being another year older but I don't think of it like that. I am delighted to have a special day and catch up with all my wonderful friends and family from around the world.

I also got to go to The House of Prime Rib last night with Kyle, Will, and Tom. We were ushered into a cozy bar area with a lovely fire. As we waited for our table, I remembered birthdays past when I celebrated with my Mom and Dad and Sister at a restaurant called Lawry's in Los Angeles. It is just like The House of Prime Rib, only here they take reservations.

It was delightful to share my past with my kids. They gobbled up their chilled salad using their chilled fork. They ate huge pieces of prime rib, bone intact and inhaled their yorkshire pudding. Kyle dabbed horse radish all over his meat, my favorite. And the bake potatoes were truly decadent. They were submerged with huge amounts of butter, sour cream, bacon bits, and chives.

We all came home feeling sick. But there was a wonderful feeling of Christmas in the air. And the air was cold. I kept hoping for snow. Snow would have been delightful. I told the kids they didn't have to go to school if it snowed. Tom looked at me like I was out of my mind, but he spent much of his youth back east so snow days were meant for real snow storms. But we are Californians. If I saw a single flake, the kids would be home today!

I have the whole day to look forward to. I feel like I am five. I remember my fifth birthday party. I just couldn't wait for the party to begin. I went around the already set table and ate the m 'n m's that were designated for my friends. My Mom didn't mind. She just refilled their bowls.

I used to have the most elaborate birthday cakes. Hansen's of Beverly Hills made gorgeous cakes and Mom always splurged. One birthday, one of the cloth figurines caught fire. It was very exciting.

I miss my Mom and Dad today and especially my sister. But I will enjoy the day for them, 'cause I know they are with me.

So, here's to turning 52-years-old and still acting like a child. It's great. I recommend that you all try it out. It beats the alternative.

I have to give one of those shout outs to my friend Kathleen. She told me I had to post today. This ones for her!