~ Hello December

~ An English Rose

It’s been almost a month and I still can’t think about her without getting emotional. If someone tells me that they’re sorry for my loss, my eyes well up with tears.

At the age of 50, I’ve become parentless. Cancer took the life of my dad 28 years ago and less than a month ago, that same cancer stole my mother from me. I’d like to say that it crept in like a thief in the night but that’s not the case. Instead, right in front of our very eyes, it slowly and boldly ravaged her body. Piece by piece, it took her away from her family and her friends.

Amazingly enough, I’ve actually had some people say to me, “At least you knew it was going to happen, you were prepared.” I’m here to tell you that nothing prepares you. Nothing. Just because you know it’s going to happen, that the cancer will eventually end their life, it doesn’t make it any easier and it doesn’t make the pain any less.

When my dad passed away, I was young, just barely 22. And while his death saddened me, I knew that I still had my mom. My mom - the woman who chose me - who cared for me, nurtured me and loved me unconditionally...despite my many faults.

When I got the call, I literally raced to Oklahoma, praying that I’d get there in time. My girlfriend Mary told me on the phone as I was driving, “She’ll wait for you.” I literally drove like a bat out of hell. I found out later that my friends and family placed bets on how fast I would drive that day. (for those of you who were wondering, 80-85 all the way.) Weird truth - I didn’t see a single state patrol in Nebraska but saw quite a few in Kansas and Oklahoma. Not a single one of them stopped me. It was like they didn’t even see me as I went flying past them. I truly believe I had angel wings helping me get to my mom that day.

When I got to hospice and my mom realized I was there, she took my hand in hers, looked at me and said, “There’s that beautiful smile that I love so much.” My mom and I spent some time alone together on Sunday chatting about various things and her last words to me were, “Take care of your sister. I love you so very much.”

The pain of losing my mother is profound. Since her death, a piece of me is missing and my heart sometimes feels as if it will never heal. More than once I’ve caught myself picking up my cell phone to call her - to ask her a question, to tell her something about one of her grandkids or to share the progress of Lynsay and Cody’s wedding plans. Or, just to say hi and tell her that I was thinking about her. I miss her.

I wasn’t ready and I wasn’t prepared.

~ This Is Your Life

~ Airplane Etiquette

Last Sunday, KJ and I flew back to Cali from Omaha. It was a 6am flight, which meant we were at the airport before 5am and in all honesty, my happy ass was not happy at all. The early hour could very well have been the reason I was so intolerant of other people and their blatant inconsiderateness. Okay, that and the fact that there was so much Texas orange around the airport, I felt as if I had suddenly been transported to Texas. *shudders*

We eventually began to board our flight and I was immediately aware of the other passengers. Once on board and in our seats, I became even more aware. I couldn’t decide if they were simply ‘airplane etiqutte ignorant’ or just blatantly rude and inconsiderate of others. By the end of the day, I had decided that some of them were a lot of both.

Why have I never noticed this before? Maybe I have and at the time, I just shook my head at them and thought, “Bless their hearts.” Or, maybe I was so engrossed in the Bloody Mary that I was sipping at the time and I was in a mellow ‘I really don’t care’ attitude.

On the flight from Omaha to Denver, I mentioned to KJ that I was going to write a book on airplane etiquette. Like I said, I was fully aware of the other passengers, quietly watching them. And this time, instead of shaking my head, I was making notes to myself.

This is what I’ve come up with so far. I’m sure I’ll have more to add.

A Simple Etiquette Guideline:

1. While waiting in the terminal to board your flight, please remember that some airlines board by seating group. Also, take a quick glance at your ticket to see what Seating Group you are in. If you are in Seating Group 3, this means that you board the airplane when they announce that Seating Group 3 is now allowed to board the plane. This does not mean that you try boarding the airplane when they call for Seating Group 1 or Seating Group 2. It also does not mean that Seating Group 3 is the new code for First Class. Instead of crowding the aisles and getting in the way of those who are really supposed to be boarding, keep your happy ass planted firmly in your seat. You'll find that you have a few more minutes to finish that cup of coffee. This rule is simple enough for a 6 year old to understand. Here’s a tip - close your eyes and pretend that you’re a kindergartener. Then, listen to the instructions.

2. Ladies, when they tell you that you’re allowed 2 carry on bags AND your purse, this does not mean that you can carry on your purse (which is usually the size of a small suitcase), your briefcase, your tote bag, AND your suitcase. That, my dear, equals 4 carry-ons.

3. If, for some reason, you’re wearing a backpack, take the damn thing off before boarding the airplane. If you hit me one more time while standing next to my seat trying to find space in the overhead bin, I’m likely to rip that backpack right off your shoulders. Trust me, the flight attendants will thank me.

4. Ladies, if you can’t lift that big ass carry-on that you're wheeling behind you to place it in the overhead bin, check the damn thing. You have no business carrying a bag onto the plane that weighs more than you do.

5. To the passenger sitting next to me: It’s quite rude of you to be an armrest hog. Not only did you dominate both armrests, you had your legs spread wide apart to where I, (who was sitting in the middle) had to sit with my arms and legs pressed close together. It’s uncomfortable as it is to be seated in the middle, but you only made it worse by being an inconsiderate jerk.

6. To the passenger in front of me: Seriously, do you really need to position your chair as far back as it will possibly go? We’re already crammed in like sardines. We all know that unless you’re flying 1st class or Business Class, Coach seating is not as luxurious. I really don’t need my seat tray resting in my lap or my knees jammed up to my chest just because you can’t be a little more considerate of your fellow passengers.

7. Guys, remember that your voice carries, even from 6 rows up or 6 rows back. I don’t want to hear about the fight you and your wife had before you left. I don’t want to hear how you were so tanked up the night before that you and the toilet became close and intimate friends. And I certainly don’t want to hear about your latest sexual conquest.

8. People, when the flight attendant announces tthat it’s time to shut off ALL electronic devices, that’s exactly what she means. This does not mean that you can continue to send text messages and emails on your Blackberry as we’re taxiing down the runway. Again, listen to your instructions. Turn the damn thing off. Trust me when I say that she’s not giving these instructions just to hear herself talk.

9. I understand we all get colds. Do me a favor - when coughing and sneezing, instead of turning your head in my direction, cover your mouth. If I get sick, I promise that I will haunt you in your sleep.

10. Upon landing, when exiting the airplane, please remember that the common and unspoken rule is that you exit the airplane much like you do in church. By row...starting at the front and ending at the back. This does not mean that you rush up from the back of the airplane and block the rows of those who are trying to exit the way they’re supposed to.

Common sense and common courtesy. Follow these simple etiquette guidelines and you too, can be smarter than a 5th grader.

Thank you and happy flying.

~ Dear Life

Dear Life,

I woke up last Wednesday morning and thought to myself, "Today, I'm 50 years old, how in the hell did I get so old? Where did the years go?" I felt my face for new wrinkles. I wiggled my fingers and toes to make sure I could still move around with no problem, I tried to check my cell phone without my glasses and discovered that the Birthday Fairy did not grant one of my wishes. *sighs* So, I got out of bed and attempted to see if I was still flexible by trying to bend over and touch my toes. The Birthday Fairy is now 0 for 2. Little does she know that she’s slowly working her way to the top of my shit list. I made my way to the bathroom to examine my face in the mirror. No new wrinkles, no new laugh lines and my boobs are still where they’re supposed to be and not hanging down to my knees. Two points for the Birthday Fairy.

I tell myself over and over again that age is just a number. Admittedly, I silently chuckled to myself the week before when KJ turned 50 and he acted as if the world had ended and his life had come to a grinding, screeching halt. I found myself wondering how turning 50 has the power to freak people out and have them hiding under the covers and shutting themselves away from the outside world until the day is long over and the sun has risen the next morning.

For myself, and yes, I was a bit on the unhappy side about turning 50, I think it's because I lost my dad to cancer a month after he turned 53. I was barely 22 and at the time I thought that 53 was old and he had lived a long time. My mom became a widow at the age of 50. I couldn’t imagine becoming a widow at 50; KJ and I still have so much life to enjoy. I certainly have a new perspective on the year my dad passed away and left my mom a widow at such a young age. Anyway, when this happens to your parents, as you approach that age, your imagination has the ability to run wild. And mine did. A teeny bit.

It’s now been a week since I turned half a century old (and putting it that way, well yeah, that's pretty damn old!) and I realize that I still have a lot of years left in me. I don’t feel 50. I certainly hope that I don’t look 50.

I do, however, realize just how young my dad really was when he died. I often think of all the events that have transpired since his death - the wonderful things that cancer stole from him and from us - the joy of knowing his 7 grandchildren & watching them grow up, high school graduations, college graduations, future weddings and future great-grandchildren . . .

I've been told that 50 is the new 30 and that, my friends, puts a big cheesy smile on my face, but only because I’m remembering my 30's. Okay, so maybe I’m remembering my 20’s, too. Makes me wonder if I can still do certain things the way I could when I was in my 30's. hmmm......

But for now, I think I’ll go have a glass of wine and celebrate my birthday... again and when KJ gets home, I’ll have a bit of a dance and a bit of a welcome home kiss and remind him that even at 50, we can still do those things we did at the age of 30.

Hell, who am I kidding? I’ll be sound asleep on the couch when he walks in the door.

~ In Memory . . .

On Monday, August 30th, my son and his friends lost one of their best friends . . .

Mark was killed in Afghanistan when an improvised roadside device was detonated. He was 24 years old and had his entire life ahead of him. He enlisted in the Army National Guard in 2004, graduated from college in 2008 with a degree in Criminal Justice and went into active duty shortly after graduation. He had only been in Afghanistan for a month. He was a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew.

Tomorrow this shining star will be laid to rest while my son and so many others watch and pay their respects. His absence will leave a void in the lives and hearts of many, but I know his memory will live on.

Mark Noszika - Oct 1985-Aug 2010

Although he is gone, he will not be forgotten.

~ A Moment of Silence

Take a moment and remember . . . .

~ It's Official

It’s official. My California drivers license arrived in the mail yesterday making me a licensed California driver but, like I told KJ . . . NOT a Californian!

I had to get ugly when I went back in (for the 4th time) with my marriage license. When the lady tried to tell me that my marriage license wasn't legit, I had finally had enough. I said, "Look, this is the 4th day that I've been in here trying to get something I don't even want. Trust me, I'd rather go back to Nebraska, get my license renewed there and be done with it but I'm trying to do things the right way. I've been jerked around for 4 days now by people who hate their job and are taking it out on whoever walks in the door. This is my birth certificate. This is my VALID Nebraska drivers license. This is my marriage license...with the Nebraska state seal on it. It doesn't get any more legit than that. Please just let me take the damn test so I can get the hell out of here and go home, I'm tired of spending 3-4 hours every day here trying to get a drivers license."

After giving me a blank stare, she got up and took everything to her supervisor who, I swear to God, looked at my marriage license for a good 10 minutes. Finally, the girl came back over, sat down at her desk and turned the form that I filled out around so I could see it. She then said, “I need you to fix the 'p' on your signature because it looked liked an 's'. I was like...."Seriously? All of this because of my signature?" Never in my life have I experienced anything as screwed up as the California DMV.

Oh, and to make matters worse.....the guy who told me I passed the test, poked a hole in my Nebraska license. I could have cried. Instead, I looked him dead in the eye and told him that was sacrilegious!

My happy ass may be in California - with a California drivers license - but my heart is deeply rooted in Nebraska.

~ Contentment

~ The Continuing Saga of the California Drivers License

Today I decided to give California and the DMV another shot by trying once again to get my California drivers license. Plus, if I wait much longer, my Nebraska license will expire and I'll have to not only take the written test, but I'll also have to take the driving test and the way the people who work the DMV are, who the hell knows what kind of wackadoo I'd be lucky enough to drive with.

The first time I tried to get my license, I sat in the DMV and waited for 2 hours before my number was called. When I finally got up to the counter, I handed the lady my filled out paperwork and my VALID Nebraska drivers license. I was then told I needed my birth certificate. I asked the lady if my Nebraska license, which is valid, isn’t enough ID for them. She said no. Evidently, living in the state of California, I now have to prove who I am.

Now, it took me three trips to the DMV to get California plates on my car and even then, I came home so frustrated and near tears, that I called KJ and said, “I’m done. I’m packing my shit and moving home.” I really should have known that it would also take 3 trips to get my license.

My first stop this morning was the salon to get my hair cut; I wanted to at least have a decent picture on my license. That done, I drove to the DMV and got there about 12:30ish. My number was G130 and as I sat down, they had just called G107. Fabulous....another long wait at the DMV. After waiting close to an hour, they call my nunber.....G130 now being served at window # 8. I jumped up, anxious to take my test and get it done and over with.

I make my way up to the window and the lady asked how she could help me. The conversation went something like this . . .

DMV lady: What can I do for you?

Me: I need to take the written drivers test.

DMV lady: Is this your first California license?

Me: Yes (and then I proceed to hand her the paperwork, my VALID Nebraska drivers license and my birth certificate)

DMV lady: (looks at birth certificate - which I was told I needed after trying to get my license the FIRST time - then looks at Nebraska license) You're married?

Me: umm, yes (nonchalantly waving wedding ring in the air)

DMV lady: Will you be using your married name on your drivers license?

Me: (thinking to myself, DUH but politely said) Yes, doesn't everyone?

DMV lady: I need to see your marriage certificate.

Me: Excuse me? First I had to prove who I was by bringing my birth certificate and now I have to prove that I'm married?

DMV lady: If you're using your married name on your license, I need to see official documentation that you're married.

Me: My Nebraska license has my married name on it, is that not 'official' enough for you?

DMV lady: No

Me: I have my Social Security card with me; it also has my married name on it.

DMV lady: That is not official documentation

Me: This is the 2nd time I've tried to get my license. The first time I was here, I was told I needed to come back with my birth certificate to prove who I was. Now you're telling me I have to prove that I'm married. Why was I not told this the first time I was here?

DMV lady: I don't know but I can't help you until I see official documentation.

Me: (muttering as I walk away) And people wonder why the state of California is so fucked up.

After my experience with the California DMV, I can now see why some wackadoo’s go postal. It’s now obvious to me why the state of California is broke and in such disarray. Trust me when I say that California might be a nice place to visit but it’s certainly not a place you want to live.

I think I'll just keep my Nebraska license and call it good.

~ Love Like Crazy

I remember after bringing Ryan home from the hospital, I often found myself wishing for a guide book of some sort. Something that would help guide me through all the ups and downs of caring for and raising a child. Seriously, what first time parent doesn’t happily and cluelessly bring their newborn home from the hospital and within an hour, isn’t scouring the internet looking for an instruction manual? With pictures.

By the time Lynsay arrived, I had a fairly good idea of what I was doing and could only hope that I didn’t mess it up. As the kids grew up and got older, KJ and I both came to the stark realization that all we could do was love them, teach them right from wrong, teach them values, encourage them to always do their best and to never give up on their dreams. The rest would be up to them.

As they grew, my dream for both of them was that they lead happy and fulfilling lives; lives rich with love and laughter, and a family and children of their own. Children of their own means grandchildren for me.

This past weekend, Lynsay took the first step of that journey. She and her boyfriend Cody got engaged while we were in Newport Beach. He actually got down on one knee and asked her to marry him in front of God and everybody. She cried, and watching from a distance, tears of joy silently slid down my face.

Over the weekend, I discovered an indescribable joy in seeing the way her eyes light up whenever she looks at Cody. Her face radiates joy and love. My dream for her came true.

As a mother, I want nothing more for my kids than to find a life partner; someone to share all the joys that life has to offer. Someone who will share not only the joy but the sorrow, a person who will share any burdens or hardships that life throws at them. Someone to dance with, laugh with, raise babies with and grow old with. Watching Lynsay and Cody this past weekend, I know that in Cody, she’s found that person.

I pray that their joyous times will always outweigh the times of sorrow and that love and laughter not only fill their hearts, but also their home.

And may they always love like crazy . . . .

~ Interesting

Hmmmm, maybe I should go check the inventory in my closet . . . .

~ Pappy & Harriet's

I can’t believe it . . . one of my favorite places is For Sale.

I better get up there as much as I can before the place is sold. So, I’ll be there tonight - my reservations are for 5pm and with any luck, we’ll be able to snag a table or a couple of places at the bar for the second seating. I can taste that Cuban sandwhich now . . . .

btw, anyone have an extra $1.9 million laying around??

~ College World Series

The College World Series is coming to a close . . . in more ways than one. Once the last inning is played and the winning team is crowned the victor, the series and Rosenblatt will come to an end. The CWS will move to its new home in downtown Omaha while Rosenblatt Stadium will be bulldozed, allowing Henry Doorly Zoo to expand. It’s kind of bittersweet. While the CWS will move on to something bigger and better, a monument & legacy in Omaha will be torn down. How weird will it be to drive down 13th Street and not see Rosenblatt? Don't forget who wins the series this year.....we might find it as a trivia question someday - Who was the last team to win the CWS at Rosenblatt Stadium?

For as long as I can remember, KJ and I have found our way to Rosenblatt during the CWS. Once we had the kids, we brought them with us. As they got older, it became a tradition that we’d go Father’s Day weekend. It's true what they say - baseball is definitely a family thing. The four of us would pick our favorite team for that series and from then on, it was ‘may the best team win.’

It soon became a family joke that one could pick whatever team they wanted because ‘Mom’s team always goes home first.’ It was like I was automatically jinxing the team I picked to win the series.

However, this year is different. Just because KJ and I now live in California doesn’t mean we don’t continue the tradition of picking our teams. When I told Lynsay what team I picked, I heard, “Mom!! Don’t you look at stats?” I stared at the phone and thought to myself, ‘Who IS this child talking to me about stats?’ When I told Ryan, I heard, “You’ll be going home first.”

Well, I’m here to tell you that the “Moms team always goes home first” streak has been broken. My pick, (South Carolina Gamecocks) is playing their 2nd game in the Championship right now, as I sit here typing. So, to my son, my daughter and KJ.......neener neener neener. Uh huh, I really did just say that.

Excuse me while I go cheer on my team . . . .

Oh, btw.....Go Cocks!!

~ Father's Day

“It is a wise father that knows his child.”

. . . William Shakespeare

In our family, the kids come to KJ and I for different reasons.

KJ is the ‘go to’ guy. When the kids need to know anything at all (and I mean anything), they go to their dad. He is a fountain of wisdom who seems to know the answer to anything they ask. It’s always been this way. We’d be driving down the interstate and Lynsay would see something and she’d say, “Dad, what’s that for” and he’d have the answer. Or Ryan would see something and say, “Dad, how does that work?” and KJ would have the answer. I don’t know how he does it.

It’s been a joke in our family for as long as I can remember . . . if you need to know an answer to something, go to dad. Kj knows it, I know it and the kids know it. I’ve gotten to the point where I’m no longer offended when the kids say, “Oh, well, we’ll just ask dad, he’ll know” because I know that not only will he have the answer the kids are looking for but it will be the right answer. I have no idea how he does it!

I’m the mom, so they come to me for ‘mom’ type things and that’s perfectly okay with me. I nurture, I love, I advise, I give a boost to their sagging attitudes, turn their frowns into smiles, dry their tears, clean their scraped up knees and try to heal their bruised or broken hearts.

I’m not, however, the ‘go to’ guy. That job falls to KJ...always has and always will. And I’m okay with that.

So, to the man who definitely knows his children, loves them, fulfills their every wish & their every need and who has the answer to all their questions big and small....Happy Father’s Day. From the moment the doctor took Ryan out of my stomach and placed him in your arms, I knew what kind of father you’d be; the look of awe and wonder on your face was definitely a “kodak moment.” You wear the role of fatherhood like a second skin. Everytime I see you with our kids, my heart swells with an indescribable love and joy. You, my love, took to fatherhood like it was what you were born to do. I know it, they know it and now you know it. Happy Father’s Day . . . you’re the best.

~ Summer

Summer . . . never-ending days of flip-flops and swimsuits - the smells of summer always in the air....fresh cut grass, bbq grills and suntan oil and the shrieks & laughter of the children floating through the air.

When I was growing up, summer was absolutely my most favorite time of the year. The last day of school could never come fast enough. In grade school, I spent my summers chasing after my brothers & cousins and shopping with my mom and one of her friends who had a daughter my age. This friend of my moms made a lot of my clothes and on these shopping excursions, my friend and I were often dressed exactly alike. Hey, in those days, it was kinda cool. I think. In junior high, I spent my summer days at the pool, crushing on the redheaded lifeguard from afar. He was probably all of 18 but when you’re 13, well.....the redheaded lifeguard seemed like the perfect summer crush. In highschool, I spent my summers at Peony Park, slathering baby oil & iodine on my skin and still crushing on the lifeguards.

After I got married, had kids and started working for the school system, the last day of school and summer took on a whole new meaning. I mean, seriously....when you spend 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, 10 months out of the year with hormonal teenagers....you’ve got summer AND adult beverages on the brain from August til May.

In the early years, summer meant trips to the zoo with the kids, fishing trips to Canada for Ryan and trips to Oklahoma for Lynsay and I. It meant spending every day for hours on end at Papio Bay with the kids and friends. For all I cared, summer could have gone on and on and on. The carefree days were what recharged my batteries and got me ready for fall and a new school year.

These days, I still love summer. I still spend my summer days out by the pool but instead of crushing on the redheaded lifeguard, I find myself . . . shhhh, crushing on Roarke because I’m usually reading an Eve Dallas book. Oftentimes, I close my eyes while floating in the pool and in my minds eye, I’m at the beach instead of my own backyard but hey, who wouldn’t want to be at the beach, right?

Sundays are pool days here.....KJ and I will spend the bulk of the day floating around in the sun, enjoying the peace and quiet while sipping strawberry margartias. Shrugs, sipping sounds much better than guzzling.

And when the days of triple digit weather gets to be too much, we’ll find ourselves on the beach and trust me, there is nothing quite like having your lawn chair in the sand with the vast ocean right before you.

Summer days . . . . gotta love ‘em.

~ Memorial Day

On thy grave the rain shall fall from the eyes of a mighty nation.

~ Thomas Williams Parsons

~ Mopey Murphy

Look at this face . . . how adorable is he? Admittedly, he’s a bit spoiled. Not like a child and in the sense that he gets absolutely everything, but in the sense that he’s so loved. He’s used to being home with just me, as KJ travels a lot. He’s used to KJ coming and going and that’s okay with him. It’s okay with him because his little world revolves around one person and one person only. Me. He’s not used to me leaving and being gone for days on end. And, as I’ve been gone since the 16th, KJ has changed his name. He’s now known as “Mopey Murphy.” Poor thing misses his momma!!

Just a few more days, Murphy . . . .

~ Grins & Giggles

I wonder.....if I click my heels together 3 times, will my fairy godmother show up??

I’m off to find my red slippers . . . .

~ Happy Anniversary

May 15, 1982 . . . . the wedding that almost wasn’t. Well, let me rephrase that. I should say, ‘the wedding that was almost held at the hospital chapel.’

That’s right....hospital chapel - I had been admitted to the hospital 4 days before KJ and I got married. I had come home from work on Monday whining to my mom that my stomach hurt. And, it really wasn’t my stomach, it was this constant pain right under my breast bone. Later that night, my dad called our doctor and the doctor said, “Now Glenn, she’s getting married this weekend, it’s just nerves. Or, maybe she had something for lunch today that didn’t agree with her. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” So off to bed I went and spent the next few hours talking to KJ on the phone. I mean hell, we were getting married in less than a week - we had lots to talk about!!

About midnight, I couldn’t take the pain any longer. I went upstairs to my parent’s bedroom and they were both still awake, reading. I was in tears as I told them how much pain I was in. My dad was in the process of getting up when my mom said, “No, I’ll take her.” Now, this was coming from a woman who seriously hated driving at night. She’d have rather had a root canal than have to drive at night. That night, she was the best mom in the world.

Once we got to the ER, it was quite obvious to the doctors that I was in immense pain. They got me hooked up to an IV and immediately gave me Demerol. Which I immediately proceeded to throw up. Finally, at 2am, they decided to admit me. My bloodwork came back fine but they had no idea why I was in such pain.

My mom, along with my future mother in-law, sat with me at the hospital all day. About 4pm, my dad called to see what the doctor had said. Well, the doctor hadn’t been in to see me, but when we were in the ER, they had told my mom my doctor knew I was there and would be there later on that morning. My dad immediately called my doctor who had no idea I was in the hospital. He came up after his office was closed for the day, ordered some bloodwork and did an exam on me. He immediately had me sent to the OR to be prepperd for surgery...my appendix was ready to burst.

While I was in surgery, KJ and my dad were checking out the hospital chapel, thinking we’d have to get married there! No way, I said. I begged my doctor to let me go home. So, on Friday, the day before I got married, he sent me home and KJ and I got married at 2pm the following afternoon . . . 3 days after I had major surgery. It was the shortest Catholic wedding in the history of Catholic weddings.

Those few days before our wedding should have been KJ’s first clue about what a whirlwind of chaos our life together would be. Instead of running away screaming in the opposite direction, he met me at the alter, ready to say “I do.”

28 years and two kids later, we’re still going strong. It’s been a lot of work but it’s also been a lot of fun. We’ve laughed and we’ve cried and yet it’s been worth every milestone and every speed bump we’ve had along the way. Marriage is never easy, it’s not always pretty and it’s not always pure bliss. But if you really love each other, if that person is the one you’re meant to be with, then you do what you have to do to make it work, to make the marriage as fresh as it was on that beautiful spring day when you said, “I do.”

Happy Anniversary, KJ . . .I love you.

~ Simply Said . . . Happy Mother's Day

To those who make it a seemingly effortless job . . .

To those who mother not only their own kids, but the friends of those kids . . .

A mom is a doctor, lawyer, cook, teacher, taxi driver, secretary, pet walker, laundress, seamstress, personal shopper, maid, nurse, accountant . . . all rolled into one.

To all of you . . . Happy Mother’s Day.

~ Remember When

Being home this week, staying with Lynsay and being able to hang out with the kids, I’ve been able to watch how they navigate through their lives. I have to say that I’m somewhat in awe of the seemingly effortless way that they have both taken control of their lives. Awed and proud. Very proud.

I watch them interact with not only each other but with their cousins and their friends. I listen to them talk and giggle. I then sit back and remember when they were small and growing up. That then takes me back to the days of my own childhood and the simple days of growing up without the worries and concerns that we have now.

Things were different when I was growing up. I grew up in a time when our parents weren’t afraid to send us out the door and let us walk to and from school. We played outside at all hours of the day, no matter what the temperature was. If we got hot and thirsty, we’d head for the nearest garden hose and drench ourselves before quenching our thirst. There were times when I’d leave the house in the morning and not come home til dinnertime.

When I was in grade school, my aunt and uncle lived around the corner and oftentimes that is where I could be found...with my Aunt Joyce. Summers with my cousins were spent playing outside, having peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches for lunch with gallons of Kool-Aid to drink. With sugar added to the pitcher. Vitamin D milk was always on the table and pop was a special treat.

In junior high, we moved to a neighborhood where our backyards flowed into a community greenbelt. We had a community pool and during the summers, that is where I spent all of my time; we weren’t afraid or aware of the dangers of the sun. OUr house was where all the kids seemed to gather and all of my brothers friends had a built-in radar.....they seemed to know the exact moment when my mom took chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. And they were homemade chocolate chip cookies.

At night, we’d all gather after dinner and play kick the can and never worried about the fact that it was dark and we were hiding in a cornfield. Our parents weren’t haunted by the thoughts that there were bad people in the world and someone might be waiting for the perfect opportunity to snatch us from the sidewalk. They were confident in the fact that we all had a built-in compass and when the street lights came on, we knew it was time to go home.

We seemed to do things with a reckless abandon. We weren’t afraid to go off and explore our surroundings. Bike rides were an every day adventure.

You would think that after growing up in a seemingly carefree world, I would have been more confident as I got older. But looking at my kids, I don’t know that I would have been able to do what they’re doing now. They’ve made lives for themselves and they’re surviving in a world that is totally different than the world that I grew up in. They have a confidence that I don’t think I possessed at their age. At Ryan’s age, while I was married and pregnant with him, I don’t know that I could have been single, working and living on my own and with the confidence and ease that Ryan and Lynsay seem to possess.

I’m awed . . . . and a little suspicious at how they do it.....

~ Surprise, Surprise

Nothing brings a smile to my face faster than the laughter of my children. The sound of their voices and their laughter filling a room puts me in a total state of bliss. Needless to say, I’ve been in heaven this week.

We flew into Omaha on Friday to surprise Lynsay for her birthday. She knew we were coming to town for my niece’s graduation party, but she wasn’t expecting us until the following Friday .

The minute our plane touched down at Eppley on Friday afternoon, KJ’s phone started ringing. It was Lynsay. A few minutes later when we were waiting for our luggage, KJ’s dad called. I didn’t dare answer it while in the airport because they had no clue we were coming to town. They’re terrible secret keepers so we had to keep this visit a secret from them, too.

I stepped outside to call him back and he wanted to inform me that Lynsay had been trying to reach us all day. I made up this huge story about a wind storm and how power was knocked out, blah blah blah. I thanked him and told him I’d give Lynsay a call. I then sent Lynsay a text message, giving her the same story, apologized for worrying her and then told her I’d give her a call later that night.

Imagine her surprise when we walked into Brix 45 minutes later. Talk about the best surprise ever. We were able to celebrate her birthday with her and her friends on Saturday night (we were the drivers...lol) and omg, have you guys ever been to Club Patrick??? Good Lord . . . .

But the surprises weren’t over. I had told Erin that we wouldn’t be able to be here for her graduation party. Have you guys ever seen her pout when her Aunt Mickey can’t be in town for her? Hell, now that I think about it, she’s been pouting ever since I left! Ha! Imagine her surprise when I went to school on Monday morning. I don’t think she knew whether to laugh or cry so she did a little bit of both. God, I love that child.

It’s been a week of surprises, a week of laughter and smiles and the good thing is....I’m here for 3 more days.

(The picture is of Lynsay and my niece, Erin’s sister Kristin at their first bar stop on Saturday night)

~ Quote

Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.

~ Happy Birthday, Stinkerbell

“I hope when you get married and have kids, you have a daughter just like you!” Those words are what I call the dreaded “Mother’s Curse”, the words that probably should have made me think twice before having kids of my own; the words I’m sure my mom said to me on a daily basis when I was growing up.

My mom’s wish came true in the form of a 7 lb, 11 oz brown-eyed bundle of joy who I soon discovered was full of piss and vinegar. Lynsay Michelle, born on April 25th, 1988 was welcomed into this world by two parents who had no idea how their world had just shifted under their feet and by a brother who thought his newborn baby sister was the best live toy ever.

It was no surprise that she had her dad wrapped around her finger in less than 24 hours and her mom vowing to beat to a bloody pulp the first boy who would ever dare to break her heart.

She brought a light into our lives that to this very day, continues to shine as bright as the brightest star. And, it was only a matter of days before I realized that this beautiful child reminded me of someone. Me. She is definitely her mother’s daughter. Even KJ will say, “She’s just like you.” Now granted, sometimes when he says that, I’m not sure it’s a compliment!

Headstrong. Stubborn. Passionate, kind and loving. Cheerleader of the underdog and for those who are less fortunate. Cruelty breaks her heart. She dances through life one pirouette at a time, never once missing a beat.

I’ve seen her courage and her strength on a daily basis since the day she was born. She learned early in life to voice her opinions, to stand up for what and who she believes in and to always speak her mind. She dances to the beat of her own drum and I wouldn’t want her any other way.

Like most mothers and daughters, we’ve butted heads many times throughout her 22 years. She’s been the reason for countless sleepless nights and several gray hairs. During her teenage years, whether it was fashion, boys, curfews or piercings, we often disagreed. If I said be home at 10:30, she’d walk in the door at 11:00. But sometime over the past few years, we’ve seemed to have formed a different type of mother/daughter relationship, one that I deeply treasure. I have a deep respect for her and all that she’s accomplished.

Whether it’s our daily phone conversations, our random conversations on Facebook or the ‘Holalala’ text messages that make me giggle, she is and always will be my Stinkerbell, a nickname I gave her when she was about 2 or so.

On this day, her 22nd birthday, I have the same hopes and dreams I’ve had since the day she was born . . .

May she love and be loved with a passion that only gets stronger as each day goes by. May she find a man to stand by her side not only on the good days but also on the not so good days. I hope she never loses her childlike sense of wonder. I hope love and laughter continue to fill her heart. I hope she never loses faith, always dances and never gives up on her dreams.

22 years ago today, the ground shifted beneath our feet. Our lives were missing something we didn’t even know about until Lynsay was born. Our family of four was complete.

Happy Birthday, Stinkerbell. You are the star that continues to shine brightly for me . . . wherever I am. I love you . . . to the moon and back.

~ Me? Exercise?

~ The Best Thing . . .

The best thing in life is finding someone who knows all your mistakes and weaknesses and still thinks you’re amazing.

~ Life Is A Series Of Many Journeys

I’ve been working on this for weeks. And now, as I sit here in the quiet of the house, Murphy not only sleeping soundly, but gently snoring on the floor next to my feet, (which, I have to say, sometimes makes me chuckle to myself) a glass of wine at the ready and Wayman Tisdale jazzing it up from my iTunes, my mind has decided to go blank. Go figure, huh?

Isn’t it funny how once we hit mid-life, we realize our lives have almost come full circle. As teenagers, we’re rebellious; full of piss and vinegar and ready to take on the world. Our motto was, ‘we’ll do it first and think about the consequences of our actions later’. Much later. By the time we’re ready to get married and settle down, our parents have finally heaved that huge sigh of relief, thankful that we (and them) made it through those tumultuous teenage years. We go on to get jobs (real ones), buy a home and have a mortgage, have babies and find ourselves muddling through parenting as best we can. And at the end of our babies teenage years, we heave that huge sigh of relief. Just like our own parents did so many years ago. Full circle.

At almost 50, I can honestly say that I’ve led a full life. Not, by any means, one that I’m prepared to give up. I’m married to a man who loves me more than life itself. He’s learned to just shake his head as he tolerates my quirky and sometimes Type A ways. He’s forgiving of my shortcomings, of which, I tell you, are many. He’s a good provider and loving father. I find that I’m damn lucky to have him in my corner.

I have two kids who never cease to amaze me. One is quiet and laid back like his dad while the other is sensitive and passionate like her mom. They’re both a good mixture of two parents who love them more than I can say. And Stinkerbell? I’m sorry you’ve got more of me than you do of your dad...lol.

I have a loving family and while we’re scattered all over the place (okay fine, I’m the only one who’s so far away) we still manage to keep in touch while loving and supporting each other through life’s journeys.

I have a circle of friends who stand beside me through all of the speedbumps in the road. They love me and support me and vice versa. Without our friends, what do we have, right? We have our family, but sometimes, if we’re very lucky, we find a circle of friends who somehow surpasses ‘friendship’ and they also become ‘family’.

I’m sure all of us can say this about ourselves and our lives. But what I’ve discovered is it’s not until we find ourselves facing our own mortality that we sit up and realize what we have and know that we’re not near ready to give it up. It’s like we all of a sudden have this huge epiphany and we want the entire world to know.

Mine came about in January, after having my yearly mammogram. Following that phone call telling me that I had ‘abnormalities’ in both breasts, has been 3 months of worrying and waiting and oftentimes reflecting on the type of wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend I’ve been. I would find myself wanting to be alone where I could think. I’d find myself laying awake at night. I’d ask myself if I had been a good and loving wife and did KJ know how much I loved and respected him. Was I a loving mom? Did I nurture them and teach them everything I wanted to teach them. Did I prepare them for marriage and for parenthood. Did I leave them with memories of a childhood that they could look back on with love and laughter. Would they be able to laugh and smile and cry happy tears and was it a childhood they would want to share with their own children.

It’s really odd the things you think about when faced with the possibility of a serious illness. It’s like the demon of illness has suddenly decided to invade your head and make you question everything you’ve ever done in your entire life.

During these 3 months, KJ has been right beside me. Albeit, he hovers at times, but he’s been right here when I needed him. Loving me and giving me strength. Making me laugh and letting me know he loves me. I have to be honest here and admit that I’ve sometimes taken his love for me for granted. After finally letting friends and family know what was going on, all I can say is I’m blessed to be surrounded by such love and support.

In a way, it’s sad that we sometimes don’t realize how fortunate we are until faced with an illness, either that of our own or that of a friend or family member. I’d like to think that I’ve been everything I’ve wanted to be to everyone who has been a part of my life. I’d like to think that I’ve touched lives in a positive and loving way.

The thing is, I’m not perfect. However, the good thing is, I’ve got quite a few years left to become a woman that I can be proud of. Years and years to continue on with this life.....a series of journeys that will continue to come one after another.

~ Happy Easter

Happy Easter . . . . I hope the Easter bunny leaves you all kinds of gooey goodness . . . in the form of chocolate!