My Baby....

Last night, I had to face a little reality (something of which I'm not very fond...lol). For seven years, I have trotted my sweet princess to dance classes, cheerleading school and piano lessons. I have watched her attempt gymnastics, struggle to "get" her cartwheel, and attempt to look and behave like the graceful swan I had convinced her to be. Last night, however, my diva, my forever-in-pink ballerina, my glitter and sequined cheerleader--last night, she went to her first karate lesson. I watched her in a small pack of hyperactive boys, all dressed in their white ghis with barefeet and wild smiles, kicking and punching, and I realized that she finally seemed to be in her element. She had already sworn off the "girlie" activities, and in spite of my belabored attempts to get her back to the "rah rah" squad, she insisted on taekwondo. At first, I resisted. I mean, she could get HURT right? But she was persistent, and last night I was glad she was. I was so proud of her as she gazed attentively at the instructor, waiting to learn--WANTING to learn. She called the head master "sir" and bowed at all the right times. She even looked distainfully at the boys as they raced about instead of paying attention. I couldn't be more proud! I will, however, tell you a little secret--I'm keeping her ballet slippers in a back drawer; just in case. ;)

Friends

It's always amazes me when I look back upon the years and realize the number of people who have drifted in and out of my life. It is with equal amazement that I reflect upon the relationships themselves. There are some positively incredible people out there with whom I forged great connections only to find that those associations waned with the passage of time. In some cases, friends moved to other cities to raise families; in some instances ideologic differences were simply too much to overcome; in still other situations, misunderstandings and miscommunications were the source of a falling out. There are also, I readily admit, times when I was too self-absorbed, for whatever reason, to reach beyond myself to do "the right thing" and feed a friendship, and to those people who I have known and lost I owe a great apology. The relationships that haunt me most, however, are those in which I whole-heartedly indulged, only to be sucked dry emotionally. These are the "friends" who came into my life and used me to feed their own neurotic need to share the high drama that surrounds them. Those are the hurtful ones--those are the ones that stick.

I need at this point in my life to weed those people out of my life. I don't have the energy or the emotional stamina to sustain them--nor do I particularly want to. With that said, I am refocusing my attention to those in my life who truly matter. My husband has taught me that time is short--that loving and being loved is it's own reward--that a best friend can take you through your darkest hour. Cheryl, you let me back into your life after I fell far short of being the friend you needed--when you needed one most. I can't thank you enough. You were always a woman of great character, and I am honored to count you among my true friends. Dana, you've been there for me throughout the years and never once have you turned your back. You hugged me when I cried, listened to me without judging and continue to be one of the most incredible women I think I know. I can't imagine my life without you as my friend. Dina, the things we've been through, apart and together, allow us to share a bond of friendship that is unmistakeably special. You gave me the strength, through your own experiences, to do what I needed to do to be happy, and for that I will always be eternally grateful. You know me better than I think I sometimes know myself, and you love me anyway. I can't tell you how much that means to me. Nina, you have stood by me through some pretty major drama, both in our professional and personal lives. Your strength in the face of adversity continues to inspire me and motivate me to be a better person. Thank you for your friendship--it means the world to me. Jamie, you gave me the confidence I needed to continue long after I would have given up. You made me feel like I had made a difference, and you wouldn't let me feel sorry for myself. I wouldn't still be teaching if it weren't for you. I love the humor you bring to my life, and the amazing talent you possess. Laurie, my sister, my friend. It never mattered how badly I screwed things up or how many mean things I said, you were always there, ready to take me back, patch me up and set me on my feet again. We are so very different, and yet you accept me for who I am and continue to support me--I don't tell you enough how much I love you. Mom, it goes without saying that I consider you a friend--what you've done for me this past year has gone above and beyond the call of parenthood. I hope you know what a wonderful woman you are--and how much I learned from you about not only being a mom but being a woman.

There are many others out there whom I consider friends--folks who invite us to parties, who call to share news (both good and bad), who laugh and cry with me. Each of them is special and all are important in my life.

Perhaps the person who has changed my life the most, however, is my husband. Michael, you came to me in times of uncertainty and offered your friendship. Throughout the past year you've stood beside me even when the going got tough--very tough. When our friendship turned to love, I knew I had the best of everything--a best friend, an intimate lover, and a soul mate for life. I look at you everyday and thank whatever gods may be for bringing us together. I love you so much.

And so, the point of this post? To let those who have set out to intentionally hurt me know that my life is rich beyond words--rich with friends who have stood by me; to let those whom I love and admire know just how important they are; to say all the things we sometimes wait to say until it's far too late.

Amusement Parks: Modern Torture for the Modern Mom

When I was a kid (yes I remember back that far thank you very much) I used to look forward to going to Kennywood Park. Every year the entire school district would shut down, buses would show up in front of each school, and the whole community would pack up and spend the day riding roller coasters, ferris wheels and carousels. For one day we were all equal--we all had enough tickets to keep us sufficiently dizzy and subsequently ill, and we always took a few extra dollars for Potatoe Patch fries.

I'm not sure when I stopped going to Kennywood. I think it was during my college years. Money was tight, and it seemed like there was always something "better" to do. When I had kids of my own I was determined to rediscover the lure of the amusement park and let my brood enjoy those thrills of days gone by. In the past fourteen years, I've taken the kids probably a half dozen times, but this last visit has me wondering where the hell the magic has gone.

First, this park of my youth is no longer a "buy-tickets-to-ride" kind of park. No, they've advanced to the "Ride All Day" pass--and it will cost you $32.00 EACH to enjoy it. Ok, so that's a little much, right? Unless, of course, you go after 5 pm. Then you can buy a "Night Rider" ticket for a mere $17.50. Considering I no longer "ride" but prefer instead to enjoy the benches, that seemed a little high, but it was for the kids...and I had to keep reminding myself of just that.

We arrived at 5 pm on the nose to find that the HUNDREDS of parking spots provided were full. Yep. Not a spot to be had. Except, of course, in the shopping center 1/2 mile from the entrance. The good news was that Kennywood was providing shuttle buses. Oh good. We waited fifteen minutes for the shuttle and were the first to board. Thank GOD we sat in the front, because by the time we were ready to shoot for the entrance, it was standing room only (which incidentally included standing on my FEET, as evidenced by the 100 lb. red headed kid who planted his sneakers on my arches). I commented to the driver that I had never had to park so far away, to which he replied, "This is only the second time this year it's been this crowded." Great.

So it's off the shuttle and in line for tickets. We ended up behind Ms. Congeniality 1981--a woman who sometime in the past thirty years has lost the will to BE congenial and instead looks at the rest of us with great contempt (presumably because the years have also taken their toll on her once perky breasts and tiny ass). She glared, hissed and snarled her way to the front of the line at which point she mercifully left her husband to pay the admission. After paying a small fortune, we all FINALLY entered the park. It was already 6 pm--one hour from lot to park. Things weren't looking good.

The boys took off in one direction, promising to meet up with us in a predetermined location in two hours, and Michael and I took Kaeleigh and headed for Kiddie Land (an area of the park reserved for squealing, screaming, over-sugared children all under 40"). Kaeleigh's lit up like a Christmas tree as we closed in on the first of the kid-friendly rides, while my eyes quickly sent a message to my brain--1/2 hour lines. Yep. Kids of all colors, sizes and temperments, each with an overheated adult in tow (have I yet mentioned it was still 80 degrees?) were lined up, one after the other, in snake-like rows, each awaiting their turn to take a 60 second ride. Michael was sport enough to ride the first one WITH Kaeleigh--"Pounce Bounce", and I was happily snapping photos from a nearby bench (to which I was practically stuck by the time they were done). From there it was off to the Dumbo ride, where Kaeleigh was content to sit in a large plastic elephant by herself as it spun in circles and moved up and down in nauseating lurches. As she was finally coming down, I spotted the train weaving through the trees just off to our right. I convinced Michael and Kaeleigh that it would be great fun, and both begrudgingly agreed to humor me. It was another 1/2 hour wait to work through the line for the railroad ride, made only that much more intolerable by the howling mannequin put in by someone with a truly warped sense of humor. When we finally got to the train, I was able to find us a comfy seat under the canopy and sat back to relax. The swelling in my feet was just beginning to wane when we came to the end of the track, and we were once again forced into the heat. Two more rides, an icecream line that seemed to start half way across the park, and a game of "Guess My Age", and I was ready for bed. It was only 8 pm.

And so my friends, my still swollen feet, aching legs and pounding head are all testament to the fact that amusement parks are, indeed, modern torture. I am already dreading next year's trip to Kennywood and coming up with alternative locations. What do you MEAN I'm OLD?

The Cruelty of Nature

Female Luna Moth on our Garage Wall

Chalk it up to hormones--or perhaps it's just my flair for the dramatic, but I've spent the morning lamenting the fate of a female luna moth that landed on our garage wall sometime yesterday. I knew at first glance that she was, indeed, a luna moth, but knowing little about the species, I turned to the internet. Sometimes too much information is a bad thing. The luna moth emerges from her cocoon in search of a mate. She is "born" with no mouth, so she can't eat to sustain herself. No, her sole purpose is to mate, lay eggs and die--and she has less than a week to do so. In the past few hours I've concocted in my mind's eye what is surely a poetic version of this beauty's life.

Yesterday at dawn she emerged from her warm and familiar surroundings--the cocoon into which she wove herself as a catepillar. She blinked several times, adjusting to the growing sunlight, and stretched her wings, pumping them full of her life blood so that she could fly. After two hours, she was ready for her maiden, and final, voyage. She winged into the air in search of a place where she would meet the companion who would help her complete the life cycle.

She lights on a wall and waits for him, wafting pheremones into the air to entice him. And she waits. And waits. It's evening now, and he's not come for her, but she dares not move. She closes her eyes every now and again, trying desperately not to sleep--there will be plenty of time for sleeping soon enough. Eventually morning breaks, and she knows that time is short. She is still alone and glances about for any sign of her life's destiny. Six more days, if she's lucky.....

Hey, I told you it was a poetic version. Ah, the cruelty of nature. I wish I could draw some amazing metaphoric meaning from her plight--some symbolic connection to life. I've tried. The only thing I am able to do, however, is shed a ridiculous tear and vow not to check on her every ten minutes. Even that, though, is in vain as I glance again out the window to see if she's found Mr. Right.

Birdman Strikes Again

Yes, my husband, Birdman extraordinaire, has struck again. Unfortunately, this time he struck out. In an attempt to move past the now perfected hummingbird call, my handsome hubby reached out to the neighborhood bluejays--literally. Today I watched as he stood, arms straight out at his sides, palms up and chock full of peanuts--waiting for the jays. Though the sun pounded down on his browning skin; though the ants crawled through his leg hair and up his calves; though the heat was positively sweltering; he was unwavering in his almost half hour effort to convince a bluejay that it was safe to eat out of his hand. When it became crystal clear that the birds were in no way interested, Michael slumped his shoulders and dejectedly returned to our porch. From his cushioned rocker he watched with great disdain as the bluejays dove to retrieve peanuts--from the feeder. And so it is with great trepidation that I face tomorrow, as I'm not sure HOW one goes about enticing robins...but I'll bet I'm going to find out. Without further ado, I present to you--the Birdman of North Strabane.

A Man of Many Talents

My Husband: the Hummingbird Whisperer

When you marry, you know in your heart that you will inevitably discover things about your spouse as the years pass. Sometimes you learn the nasty little habits--maybe he cuts his toenails in the living room and leaves them on the carpet; maybe he scratches his bum when he thinks no one is looking; or maybe he combs his chesthair. Whatever the case, the "uncovering" process is often one that involves mutual trust, admiration and an understanding that no one is perfect. With all that said, today I found out something about Michael. Something...well, weird (and I say that with all the love and emotion of a newlywed). Michael can summon hummingbirds. I swear. And now for the explanation.

As many know, Michael and I are living in what many would consider "the cut"--the 'burbs; rural America; the country. As residents of such, we have lots of "wildlife." The bluejays come every morning for their peanut breakfast; the cardinals wait them out and scout for leftovers; and the squirrels scamper about for whatever they can scrounge from the feeders. We also have a hummingbird. Until today, it would come and go randomly, hover for a few seconds and fly quickly for the cover of the neighboring wooded lot. Today, however...today was "different." Michael jokingly did his impression of a hummingbird-flapping his arms about and buzzing his lips. I was mildly amused, though I gave him the "grow up" look. Now no word of a lie, within minutes, there was a hummingbird at the feeder, scouting the area. He/she didn't stay long, and again raced for the woods. With a little urging, Michael repeated the sound...and minutes later, back came the bird. He repeated this exercise three or four times, and each imitation brought with it a visit from our avian friend.

And so I offer these photos of our new best buddy--a thoroughly confused hummingbird being forced to believe he needs to defend his territory. But seriously, you have to love a man willing to make a complete fool of himself in order to get some great pics. Thanks baby...can't wait to unveil this "talent" to the family!

Bunny Bunny Pt. II: Hare from Hell

This photo made possible by a ZOOM lens

Technically the she-devil is not a hare, but the alliteration was too good to pass up. So...if you've been keeping up (and I know you have), you will know that Bunny Bunny is now a part of our family--a hissing, biting, evil-in-a-spawn-of-satan-sorta-way family member. Yep, the cute, cuddly ball of fur that was handed to me two days ago has morphed into a set of very sharp teeth, back legs that pack a punch, and eyes that burn holes in you. And have I mentioned the pungent nature of rabbit urine or that she doesn't sleep? A little amateur sleuthing via the web has revealed that bunnies are prone to attachment disorders far more often than one would think (and since I NEVER thought about it, 'far more often' is a safe bet). So while the little darling adjusts to her new digs, feeding and cage cleaning time will most certainly continue to be a nightmare gone bad on the level of Harvey with an axe to grind. Putting a hand in the cage for any reason is a kami-kazi mission, as she now attacks anything she can reach (I mentioned the sharp teeth, right?). I've stocked up on gardening gloves and neosporin and have been conning Michael into doing rabbit duty while my current wounds heal. How long DO attachment disorders last?? Hey Ann, thanks for the bunny...hope your move to Texas is real swell. ;P