Oh Mr. Sandman, Bring Me a Dream

This morning, Alex told me about a dream he had last night. He said "I dreamt that Jennifer Love Hewitt died and it was a national tragedy like when Kennedy died." Apparently, we were all huddled around the TV watching for news on her death.

This made me laugh out loud. No offense Jennifer, I'm sure in the land of Alex Minchdom it would be a national tragedy if you died and in the real world it would certainly be a tragedy. However, everyone huddled around the TV all day as if you were John F. Kennedy, I think not. I mean, I love Ghost Whisperer, but still, no way.

This prompted me to start thinking about dreams and how they always seem so wacky, as opposed to "dreamy." I, personally, dream in technicolor. I can remember my dreams as if they are movie scenes. I can still visualize people, places and scenes from many of my dreams. I know others are not so fortunate. Some claim they never dream, or at least they just don't remember them. Everyone dreams, it is a proven fact. Most people average three to five dreams per night.

Very rarely do I remember dreams where something fabulous has happened. It seems like most of the dreams I have or have heard people talk about involve something that makes absolutely no sense at all.

For instance, my Aunt Mary told me about a dream she had once where she was preparing to get married. She proceeded to come down the stairs in her wedding dress with a veil on her head that featured an ironing board. Go figure. I wonder if she had the dream shortly after watching the classic Carol Burnett episode where she portrayed "Starlett O'hara from Went with the Wind." You know, the one where she comes down the stairs in a fancy dress made from the velvet curtains. Except Carol's version of the dress still had the drapery rod in it and rested on her shoulders. You can view a clip of it at the end of this posting.

My Aunt Mary also had dream where she was in a casino and Johnny Carson walked by. He stopped and asked her if she perchance knew how to answer a telephone, to which she replied "oh my gosh, yes I do!" He asked her to come work for him.

Ed tends to dream about sports or robots. The only way I know this is because occasionally, he talks in his sleep. If he's dreaming about robots, he talking about technical stuff. If he's dreaming about sports, he's acting it out and has been known to startle me. Like the time he dreamt he was cussing out an umpire in a little league game. Or, the time he dreamt he was catching a baseball while I was driving us up north and he flung his left arm toward the steering wheel in an attempt to catch a fly ball.

Cameron's dreams are generally too involved and I have been forced to have him describe a dream to me in 10 words or less.

All I can say is thank goodness Martin Luther King's dreams were much more inspiring than ours.

Sweet dreams!

To view the Carol Burnett skit, click on the link below.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjhtxfSMIWk

American Idled

This is a picture of Cameron from our trip to Florida in 2006. We went on a deep sea fishing charter which left early in the morning and returned late in the afternoon. He was probably exhausted from catching the biggest fish out of anyone on our boat (I'm not kidding).

When I was a kid I loved to take naps. My mom has told me stories of how she would take me with her to her ladies bowling league every week and I would take a nap right there near the lanes. I'm yawning right now as I type this.

When Cameron was a baby, he could not stay awake for more than a few hours in a row before he was ready to go down for a nap. Then when he turned one, some sort of body alarm clock went off and he decided he was done napping--until high school that is.

Who doesn't love a good nap? Some people are capable of taking a quick power nap, like Alex, but not me. If I can't have a good two hours, then forget it.

Ever notice that when kids and babies nap, they are cute. But when you see adults napping, it's not a very pretty sight. More often than not, their mouths are wide open, drool is running down the side of their face, and one of their feet is generally twitching as if they're being electrocuted. And some people just don't have that ability to wake up from a nap in a calm, relaxed manner, like my dad. I think it's because he was in the service and was always on alert. When he wakes up it's always in a panicked frenzy, even if you tap him ever so gently and only whisper "incoming!"

My cat, Stanley, loves to nap. What a great life. Eat, nap, throw up a hair ball and poop. That's pretty much what his day consists of. But, dang, he is one cute snuggle-bunny when he is sleeping. But for some reason, he doesn't like it when I'm sleeping and he's not. If you are a cat owner, I know you can relate to this funny clip like I can. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go take a nap.

Score: Rebecca 2, Cancer 0

Sometimes I feel like I am a goalie in the net of life--stopping, blocking, and deflecting disappointments and tragedies. Always on guard, always moving side to side to keep life from throwing a biscuit in my basket! Sometimes life wins and manages to squeak one by. Not this week, however. I had a shutout!

Today, my mom had her medical procedure to check on the status of her pancreas and gall bladder. The development of cancer is a possibility, but thankfully, all is okay for now and we get a reprieve on bad news for who knows how long. I'll take it. Years ago I learned that each day is a gift and I need to appreciate it for what it is. Stop worrying about the past and trying to control the future. Deal with the present. In the past year I've had to remind myself of this philosophy.

On Friday, Russ and Cora will be able get out of this frigid weather and return to Florida as planned. Yea for them!

On Monday, I had my annual mammogram. As all you ladies know, it's not high on the list of fun things to do, but something we must, must, do! I swear, though, the technician compressed my breast so much that I felt like if I had a tumor, it would have popped out on the floor and I would have been cured. Even though it's not pleasant, I urge you to get your mammogram scheduled for this year if you don't already have it on the books, especially since it can take months to get on the schedule, wherever you go.

Many of you may not know that in 1987, when I was 25, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was a shock to my system, especially since we have no family history of it. I underwent a mastectomy, reconstructive surgery, and a year of chemotherapy at the University of Michigan Hospital. There were so many questions, would I survive, would the chemotherapy destroy my chances of having children, would my long, thick hair fall out (what can I say, having cancer doesn't make you any less vain)? Then, there was always the thought of when and if it would return.

After almost 22 years, I'm ecstatic to report that I am still cancer free! Every year when I go for my mammogram, I remind myself not to get ahead of myself. Of course, that's always easier said than done. It's been so long since I've had bad news regarding my health, I have to make sure that I don't get too cocky or overconfident. So, I sit in the waiting room and have my private discussions with God. On Monday, I told him that this would really not be a good week for a cancer recurrence because my parents are in town. All I can say is, "thank you God."

I must admit that having cancer is really what taught me that "attitude is everything." Having a positive attitude doesn't mean you'll always have positive outcomes, but it does help to cushion the negative impact.

Thoughts for Today

Hello. Long time no post. On Friday we traveled to Kalamazoo College for a campus tour and the weekend was spent preparing for my parents arrival. All went well with their flight. Although my sister, Maria, was a little nervous when she arrived at their gate and saw an ambulance and medical personnel on the tarmac. Someone on the flight had fallen ill, and after discreetly trying to pry information from the gate agents, she discovered it wasn't my mom.

My parents arrived at the Fort Myers airport nice and EARLY for their flight. So early, in fact, the Northwest ticket counter wouldn't even be opening for another half hour after their arrival. When I booked their flight just a few weeks ago, the seating was limited and the only seats available were in the absolute last row--window and center. There were some handicap seats available, and I thought if I embellished her "condition" a bit I could move them up there. The words "in her eighties" and "heart condition" were mentioned but unfortunately you had to be wheel chair bound and the wheel chair had to travel on the plane with you. So, handicap seating was out. I could just see my mom being wheeled up to the gate and sprightly hopping out of the chair skipping to her seat. Hardly the look of someone who was "handicapped." The day before their flight, some seats did open up and I was able to move them up considerably into a middle and aisle seat.

No issues at security. All liquid bottles in baggies passed with flying colors. She was a little miffed, however, that they didn't even bother to check any of her prescription medications which she took time to remove from her daily pill organizer and put back into their original bottles. I myself am pretty surprised they didn't check out her traveling pharmacy. Apparently, committing any terrorist acts via blood pressure and heart medications along with multiple vitamin supplements is not high on the alert scale. I heard there were two Filipinos on the plane but I have refrained from asking her if she knew them.

As I mentioned, Maria met their flight at the gate. We all know, you don't just get to stroll down to the gate anymore due to security risks, you need permission. She had to ask for a special pass. When she arrived at the ticket counter she, too, tried to make my mom and dad sound like they were decrepit and on their deathbeds in order to get around the rules. She explained that my mom was in her eighties, had a heart condition, and was flying home specifically for a medical procedure. She mentioned that my dad had suffered a stroke (so what that it was almost 30 years ago and he's fully recovered) and they relented. She was given a pass that officially described her reason for being at the gate as "to escort the elderly."

As they coasted on the moving sidewalks throughout the terminal, my sister and dad were so engrossed in catching up they didn't even notice my mom was quite a distance ahead of them merrily power walking along. So much for being handicapped and elderly.

Tomorrow is her procedure, and if all goes well, they will be heading home on Friday. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers for me.

On another note, I was just thinking that it hasn't even been a week since President Bush left office. It's almost like he never existed (except for the little mess he's left behind). It seems as if he's already faded into the woodwork. I suppose he's enjoying some privacy after eight years in office. Which by the way reminds me of a funny story that Ed told me on inauguration day. As he and Cameron watched the former president and his wife board the helicopter and leave the grounds, Cameron said "what do you think it feels like after eight years to suddenly not have a job?" To which Ed replied "I don't know Cameron, I can only tell you what it feels like after 20 years."

Anyway, for a good laugh out loud moment for the day, be sure to click on the link below. Oh, George we will miss you (or at least we'll miss your speeches).

http://www.funnieststuff.net/viewmovie.php?id=1083

Hats Off to Obama! (Aretha, This Means You)

Whether or not he realizes it, President Obama has already stimulated the economy after just one day in office. Certainly, everyone has seen Aretha Franklin's hat that she sported at his inaugural festivities. You either love it or hate it. Aretha does tend to be a flamboyant dresser and likes to make a statement. I'm all for making a statement, however, it seems to me that her singing voice should be statement enough.

But, you've got to give her credit. She chose a hat that was designed, produced and sold by Mr. Song Millinery, a family owned business in Detroit. The hat cost $179. Since the inauguration, the store has sold over five hundred and a store they are affiliated with in Dallas has sold an additional 500, and they are running out of the material used to create it. Calls are coming in from as far away as England. Who could have known? It even has it's own website now where you can check it out. There is also a link which will take you to a clip from Ellen Degeneres' show where she modeled her own version. You can find it at http://www.arethahat.com/

The colorful coats that were worn by the first daughters, as well as the green gloves worn by Michelle, were from J Crew. Their website crashed due to such an overwhelming demand for the coats, which haven't even been massed produced yet! They were specifically designed for the first family.

We sure are a world of wannabes. Princess Diana's haircut, Sarah Palin's glasses, red carpet designer gowns and now, Aretha's hat. But I'm wondering, where the heck would you wear such a hat? What event could be more spectacular than the historical inauguration of Barack Obama that would warrant such a statement? All I can say is that I feel sorry for the person that was sitting behind Aretha and couldn't see a darned thing. Now if only she was wearing a button on her lapel that said "brrrrr mama President Obama, it's cold out here!" I'd be rich.

Red, White, and New

New hope....new challenges....new attitudes. Like millions of other Americans, I have been enthralled with the election and inauguration of Barack Obama. I watched the swearing-in process, among some of the other festivities, and I was moved. I find him to be so full of energy and enthusiasm for what can be and he inspires me. As the mother of two teenage children who will be venturing into the world on their own in a few years, I need that inspiration. As a member of a family that has been affected by the nation's depressed economy, I need that inspiration.

One of the things I appreciate about Barack Obama is his humbleness. As a blogger, I am humbled that I have 10 followers. When I began this blog and saw I had followers, all I could say was "I have followers!" I was so humbled that people would actually be interested enough in what I have to say that they would take the time to sign up as a follower. Now, take that feeling and multiply it by a kajillion. When I look at President Obama, I can see and hear how humbled he is that he has followers.

His speech, which called on Americans to pick themselves up, get it together and to start giving back, rather than giving up, was refreshing. I feel hopeful that this is the beginning of a new era where we are not so wrapped up in ourselves and our pettiness...where we are not so consumed with greed and prejudices...where we realize what was and what can be. As an American who feels that our country is in such disarray, I need that hope.

I know that change will not be easy for some and it will not come quick enough for others. But you have to start somewhere. After witnessing the historic events of yesterday, the United States of America is starting to look a little more united to me.

Ding, Dong....College Calling

Quick...get away from the door! Pretend we're not home! Sometimes, this is what I want to say to life changing moments as they come knocking (or ringing) at my door. Other times, I welcome them as a natural progression of life.

This is a photo of Cameron when he "graduated" from preschool in 1999. Little did I realize how quickly 10 years would pass and I would be facing Alex's graduation from high school.

Since last year, like many of our friends, we have been in the throngs of preparing for senior year and life thereafter. It began with taking the ACT three times during his junior year. In June, we had senior pictures taken early so he could get on with growing his Wildcat mohawk for football season. In July and August, we began touring colleges and will cap off this week with two more visits. We have referenced countless books on how to survive getting into college, how to survive being in college, how to choose a major, 100 top job outlooks, how to improve your ACT scores, four-year colleges at a glance, and on and on. What we didn't read, however, was "how to survive the tour itself."

I'm not sure which is the lesser of two evils--strolling around the campus of Michigan State in extreme humidity or briskly walking around the University of Dayton campus amid snowflakes and temperatures in the teens. Hmmm.....I'll have to get back to you on that one.

In the heat of the summer, we visited Central Michigan, Aquinas, the University of Michigan, and Michigan State University, all within the span of three weeks. Three very hot and humid weeks. Our first campus visit was to Central and it was exciting. We brought Cameron along and spent the day listening to program directors, professors, administrators, and financial aid people.

When the visit started and we were sitting in the classroom Q & A sessions with professors and students, I was geeked. I was seeing all the opportunity and marveled at the new teaching and learning technologies that were now available. I was ready to become Alex's study buddy. "I want to go to college!" I exclaimed eagerly. How exciting. Your whole future ahead of you.

Then the came tour and everything changed. The itinerary literature we received in the mail confirming our visit failed to mention that perky "Janelle" would be our first-time tour guide and that I shouldn't wear flip flops because it would turn into a two-hour plus walk (my back and hips took months to recover from the lack of arch support.)

It also failed to mentioned that you might want to bring your anxiety medication in case you suffer a panic attack in the extremely tiny, claustrophobic, humidity-filled, non air conditioned, practically windowless dorm room which you would be crowding into. After we visited the dorm room, I realized I could never go back to college on campus. All I could think about was how horrible the view was from that room, how scarce the natural light was, and how unpillow-topped the skinny bunk bed mattress was. Closet space and drawer space...let's not even go there. I think my tastes and comfort levels have evolved since I was a teenager.

As we drove home from that first tour, however, we couldn't help but be excited about the changes and opportunities that were yet to come for Alex. Alex and I agreed that after being in the environment for six plus hours, we started to feel like he was already in college and sort of forgot that he had an entire senior year of high school to complete. It was exhilarating.

By the fourth campus visit, which was to Michigan State--which was ENORMOUS--we were suffering from heat exhaustion and brain overload. It was so hot and humid on the day Alex and I visited that we had to cut out early. When we arrived, we had a tough time getting our bearings and trying to find the building the orientation was to be held in. We had our maps in tow, but signage pointing us to where we needed to go was scarce, and when we looked up to find some sort of landmark, all we could see were tree tops. Finally, after taking wrong turns, and then huffing and puffing it up the stairs in humid temperatures equivalent to the rain forest, we made it to the correct room. I was a dripping wet, sweaty mess. After a 45-minute presentation, when my body temperature had finally stabilized, we had to go back outside and walk around with our designated tour guide. Uggghhh. I hate college.

Having had a six month break, we have had time to recharge our batteries and are making a couple of last visits. Yesterday we drove to the University of Dayton. We only had to get up at 4:00 a.m. to leave by 5:00 a.m. to get there by 8:30 a.m. No problem. This time Cameron did not join us. His preference was to stay home and study for exams with his buddies. Can you blame him? We were fortunate that the drive down and back were uneventful and we had decent weather. Temperatures were only in the teens as opposed to the single digits and it only snowed a little. All in all, though, it was a great visit.

On Friday we travel to Kalamazoo College. After that, the next few weeks will mean decision time for Alex. Lots of stuff to think about, lots of pros and cons to list. Like, community bathroom (which means I don't have clean it) or private bathroom. The campus near the fabulous burger joint, or the one near Skyline Chili. The one with the teeny-tiny dorm room or the one with the tiny-teeny dorm room. So much to think about.

Guess Who's Coming to Visit?

Next week my parents are flying in from Florida, where they spend their winters, so my mom can have a procedure done as a check-up. She started experiencing some health challenges in the last year and this is just a follow-up appointment. I sort of fell into the role as her patient advocate last year, which meant we spent many, many days together. I escorted her to numerous doctor appointments, medical procedures, and blood draws. This was all so new to me, because up until last spring, my mom was walking three miles a day. She had never been hospitalized other than to give birth to three children. I thought to myself "what the heck, woman!" Then, it dawned on me that she IS 80 years old and I suppose she is entitled to have a little hitch in her giddy up every now and then.

It's kind of ironic, really, my mom is all of five feet tall and probably weighs in at 99.7 pounds and my dad, suffice it to say, is neither of those. After years of her "gently" reminding him to limit his sugar and fat take and to ration his vanilla ice cream, she's the one who had a heart attack.

My sister inherited my mom's teeny tiny frame. I inherited my dad's swedish "big boned" body. I'm like an amazon woman compared to the two of them. My sister and brother also inherited my mom's perfect teeth. I wound up with the crowded jaw, crooked, gonna-need-some-braces swedish teeth. I can only hope that I'm fortunate to inherit my dad's swedish coronary genes as well.

My mom is a hoot. She came to this country from the Philippines upon completion of nursing school in the 1950's. She met my dad, who was in the service at the time, they corresponded for six months, and then got married. Can you believe that? She'd kill me if I had done that. They lived with my grandparents for awhile in Detroit, renting part of the flat from them, and then moved to Garden City in the early 1960's.

Having come from a well-to-do family in the Philippines, my mom was not what you would call the "domestic" sort when she started living the American dream. When they first set up house, my grandfather wrote to her and asked if she wanted him to send her someone to help out with the domestic chores. She quickly rejected that and told him about all the modern conveniences they had, like vacuum cleaners.

I remember her telling us a story of when she and my dad were first married. He came home from work and saw her sauteing ground beef in a pan. He asked her "what's for dinner?" and she replied "hamburgers!" Unfortunately, she didn't know that you had to form them into patties first. How could she? Thankfully, her cooking has improved ten-fold. From homemade eggrolls, Christmas butter cookies, marinated country ribs and her sock-it-to-me cake, to fried rice that we have with every family gathering, including Thanksgiving. We are probably one of the few families that I know of that has homemade fried rice on every holiday.

Her native language has smatterings of the spanish dialect. In english you might say "the red car." In spanish, the order of the words is more like "the car red." Thus, we grew up saying many words and phrases backwords. I'm not sure how old I was when I realized all those years I had been using the incorrect term "closet hall" instead of "hall closet." Farmer Jack's supermarket was more commonly known as "Jack Farmer" in our house. To the grandkids, she's known as "abuela" which is spanish for grandma.

After a lifetime of knowing her, my siblings and I are now able to understand what it is she's trying to communicate. We can finish her incomplete thoughts. My dad knows what she's trying to say too, but he likes to mess with her and pretends he doesn't understand. When we're out and about and she encounters another Filipino, she always asks what their last name is and where they are from, like she could possibly be familiar with every family from the Philippine islands (even though she hasn't been there in over 40 years).

My mom used to be a nurse in the operating room. Of course, she doesn't let 30 seconds go by upon meeting another nurse or doctor before sharing this information with them. I find it absolutely incredible that my mom was so very capable of working on human bodies in the operating room but can't remember a person's last name, the rest of a joke, or the name of a movie. All I can do is secretly think "I'm glad she wasn't my nurse."

Don't get me wrong, though. My mom is one sharp little cookie who taught me how to be strong and stick up for myself. She was a working mom through many years of my childhood. She learned to cook, cut the grass, maintain a beautiful garden, sew, dance like nobody's business, and has always been very active. She is kind and giving of herself and has never been interfering or overbearing. She is generous to a fault. Stubborn, but generous. She also's a wicked poker player.

My parents really haven't done much flying since 9/11 and all the security and liquid carry-on restrictions just might send them over the edge. My sister is a little nervous about them flying up here by themselves. In fact, she was so nervous, she thought that maybe she should fly down there just to escort them up here. I think they'll be fine, though. It's the chance encounter with a Filipino security guard or doctor on the plane that I'd be worried about.

Ch.. ch.. ch.. changes...

It's January 15 and Ed just realized the other day that he's only worked one full day in nearly a month. First the automotive shutdown and then his company's letdown. After years of business travel to far-away places, for days (and sometimes weeks) at a time, this has been a treat. But you know what they say about too much of a good thing.

The Christmas break was two weeks of just pure laziness for all of us. A wonderful break from school, alarm clocks, homework, making lunches, schedules, travel, shopping, baking, etc. Then January arrived and I was ready to get back into my routine. Ready for all of us to go out and be productive again. This meant that people would leave the house and stay gone for at least seven hours while I do my thing. Being a stay-at-home mom for the last 15 years has made me feel like my home is my office. It's my job. When people are hanging around your office all day using (what you perceive to be) your computer, talking on the phone nonstop, and taking up your workspace, it starts to cramp your style.

Having your husband home because he's off work is one thing, but having him home because he's OUT of work is another. I'm really trying not to impose on him during the day while he's here, because I know he's got calls to make, interviews to go to, and e-mails to send. As a matter of fact, when Cameron was ready for a ride home last week after workout, he called Ed's cell phone to be picked up. I went and retrieved Cameron myself and asked him to please refrain from "calling dad" for a ride. I didn't want him to think that "dad was just sitting around with nothing to do" (even though he kind of was).

The first few days I really held off on asking him to help out around the house with the occasional errand, like putting away the outdoor Christmas decorations. I was treading lightly, because again, I didn't want him to feel like he was just sitting around with nothing better to do. However, now that more than a week has passed and we are well past the point of our "72 hours of job loss mourning" things are starting to look a little bit different to me.

Now that he's had time to complete that 1,000+ page book by reading it morning, noon, night, and now that he is awake enough to analyze the 11:00 p.m. news and wonder "how much time do they need to spend doing news stories on the weather, roads, school closings and what would they be talking about if it were summer?"--I'm starting to feel like he has nothing better to do!

Fortunately, I can tell that his spirits are up and he is feeling optimistic. That is a wonderful feeling and in this economy, I am grateful. So, I better take advantage of his presence around the house while I can because next month it could be me that's putting gas in my car and filling up the bird feeders in these frigid temps because I have nothing better to do. I doubt it, though. I ALWAYS have something better to do!

Brrrrr Mama!

Brrrrr mama! Yes, that's what I said. Somewhere, somehow, over the years, that has become my way of expressing how cold I think it is inside or outside. I don't know why I can't simply say "Gee, it's chilly today." Apparently, I feel that doesn't succinctly describe just "how cold" I feel.

I am a person that loves to use nicknames and make up phrases. It's not something that I consciously do, it just happens. It's almost like I have so much crap stuffed into my brain that words from one compartment are spilling out and hooking up with words from another.

For instance, my first cat that I adopted when I lived in New York City was named Brie (like the cheese!). I came to call her Boo-Boo Kitty. Our current cat, Stanley, is affectionately known by me as Knuckle Bunny. For some reason, I would NEVER call Stanley Boo-Boo Kitty. Why a Knuckle Bunny can't be a Boo-Boo Kitty, I don't know. After all, they are both cats. But it just doesn't work like that.

Over the years I have also been know to refer to my nieces as Clare-Bear, Kendie-Koo and Jylie Vanilli for as long as I can remember. Cameron is known as Cam-cam, the Camster, and Cameroon and Alex is AJ (for Alexander Jefferson) or Alexio. Ed is forever "little Eddie" or Mr. Ed (poor thing, he'll never live that one down). My friend Chuck is better known as Chuckles (because he makes me chuckle). I once had a neighbor who, unbeknownst to him, was "doofus" because, frankly he was one. And then there was the guy I worked with who's initials were P.U. and if you think I didn't call him "Peeee Yewww" on a regular basis, then you don't know me very well.

But, you know, it's not just me. We all like to use nicknames and make up phrases. I think that's how we express our emotions and affections (or lack of affection) and it shows what our comfort level is with one another. That's why Chuckles and his wife Cindy sometimes refer to me as "Becky." Not many people, other than my family and high school friends are allowed to do that. And my Aunt Mary (and only Aunt Mary) is allowed to send e-mails and birthday cards addressed to me as "Becky Wecky" (try it and see what happens). My sister used to call her son, Russell, "peanut" when he was a baby. He's more like "Mr. Peanut" now seeing as how he will be turning 20 this year and towers over her in height.

In 47 years of life I have never, never, never heard my parents call each other by their first names. As a matter of fact, when I was in kindergarten and we were learning about our families I wrote down that my mom and dad's first names were "Honey" and "Honey" because that's the only way I've ever heard them refer to each other. Hon, honey, or dear. Even when they are having a disagreement.

Even Ed has his favorites, like when he refers to watching his favorite show "24" as "Bauer Hour," because Jack Bauer is Keifer Sutherland's name in the show. To him, Cameron is lovingly known as C-Dog, and he used to call his dad "Johnny" just for kicks.

And so it goes. I will continue to use my favorite phrase "brrrrr mama" multiple times over the next few days since the temperatures will be dipping below zero. In fact, if I had the resources, I'd be copyrighting it and heading to Washington D.C. next week to sell it on T-shirts that would say "Brrrrr mama, President Obama, it's cold out here!" as inauguration souvenirs to which he would probably reply "Lady, you're a knuckle bunny."

Unconditional Love

Today's photo really needs to be two photos and should be labeled "Before" and "After."

This is a picture of Alex and one of his first adventures in the snow. As you can see, there wasn't scads of snow to make a snowman (notice the bare grass spots), but he and Ed managed to do it, and he was a beauty! Alex looks so proud standing next to his creation. As the day wore on, I remember that it was warming up and we knew Frosty's days were limited. Kind of like that cell phone commercial that is running on TV these days where "Snowball's phone didn't get the message about the warm up" (because he has less than stellar service) and now his nose and head are falling off.

Anyway, later in the day, it became apparent that Frosty was in need of some cosmetic surgery. So, being the wonderful optimist that he is, Ed bundled Alex back up and headed outside to get to work. The second picture makes me laugh out loud! Look at how sad that little retouched snowman looks! He looks like he went a little overboard on the latest fad diet. There's barely enough snow to scrape together for a body, his lips and one eyeball are missing, not to mention all of his buttons! He is in dire need of a haircut and the scarf, which once barely fit around his neck, hangs all the way down to his waist. Really scrappy and pathetic looking. And yet, look at Alex. He still looks just as proud to be standing next to him. Although, notice now that Ed is in the photo (Alex probably didn't want to take all the credit for this dude).

Unconditional love is something Ed and I have always tried to instill in our boys. When the going gets rough or the snowman gets ugly, don't abandon ship. We couldn't have been more proud of them when they showed us how well they had been paying attention. In the fall of 2006, Ed's dad had came home to live with us under hospice care. He had been battling cancer for a couple years prior, had some success, but in the end it proved to be too much. Bringing him home to be with us was a no-brainer. We were worried though, about how the severity of the situation and the reality of life and death in our home would affect the boys.

They were 15 and 12 at the time. But the way they welcomed "papa" home with open arms and weren't afraid to sit with him amid the oxygen tank, medical equipment, and medications was comforting. We were worried they would see him in different light. But they didn't. He was still the same papa that Alex enjoyed watching the Tigers with or Cameron enjoyed playing his violin for. We thought we would have at least few weeks with him, but in reality we only got a few days. But those few days turned out to be wonderful gift for all of us.

As parents, we are proud of our kids and their achievements, but the bottom line is that sometimes we only see them as a child who has much to learn, no matter how old they are. Then, suddenly, you realize that they have evolved into a person with skills, and talents, and maturity and you think, "what, the heck!" You find that you've grown to respect the hard work they put into school, sports, hobbies, and life in general. They understand sports and technology like nobody's business, read music like you never could and carry, move and lift anything around the house you ask them to. Yeah, they still can't keep their rooms clean, but you begin to see them in a whole new light.

Lately, we have had conversations with the boys about seeing their parents as people, not just their parents. People who have their own hopes, and dream, and feelings! And I realize that goes both ways. So today I say to you, Alex and Cameron, I see you in a new light every day and I love you unconditionally.

Rebuilding

This week I spent some time working on my resume. I have been out of the professional workforce for almost 15 years! Who the heck is going to hire me? Fortunately, I found a copy of an old resume I had started to work on a few years back. Being a stay-at-home mom for the last 15 years has been a wonderful opportunity for me. But as the boys grew older, I found myself in the last few years saying, maybe it's time for me to go back to work. Now that Ed has suddenly found himself unemployed, I find myself saying "it's time for me to go back to work!"

I know it won't be easy. The unemployment rate in Michigan is expected to rise to 11.3% this year and peak at 11.7% in early 2010 before we even begin to see any declines. I will be competing against people who have already been in the workforce and have current experience and skills. However, I started thinking about all the qualifications I have amassed as a mother of two boys and the sometimes single parent of a traveling salesman. If I could submit my resume based on those job experiences, it would read something like like this:

President and CEO (sorry honey, you get to be CFO) of small Fortunate 4 company seeks position where she can utilize her wicked organizational and communication skills to help build a successful future. Excellent at multi-tasking, project management, following through on details, budget management, and purchasing. Experienced with meeting tight deadlines, coordinating multiple schedules, and able to work long hours and weekends. Past responsibilities include the training of all personnel in multiple phases of life, managing expectations, smoothing over egos, and communicating massive amounts of information in easy-to-understand mediums. Excellent phone, computer, and embarrassment skills.

As I started working on my real resume, I realized that I actually used to be a valuable member of the professional workforce and have real skills and talents. For me, being able to stay home and raise my kids has been awesome. But, with one about to head off for college in the fall, and another in high school, I've known for a while that it's time for a change. The events of this week have only expedited the process.

After many years of not being a "professional" you start to forget what your true value is. You find yourself reminding your kids that at one time you were a real person with different goals and dreams and other responsibilities before you became "mom" and you did get paid for doing those things. You remind your kids, that contrary to their popular belief, you aren't really the out-of-touch, overbearing, nagging, social embarrassment parent they perceive you to be. I will say, however, I think they're starting to get the message. Last night, Cameron was reading my resume. He said "I had no idea you knew how to do so much stuff!"

This morning I read the paper and saw a headline that said Rod Marinelli had gotten a job with another football team. I thought "holy crap!" If he can get another job after the season he's had, Ed should definitely be able to get another job (as well as myself). If not, then we're in the wrong industry. Hmmm...perhaps I should send my resume to the NFL.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Today is my dad's 75th birthday. Russ....big Russ....Rusty. A man of simple tastes. His favorite dessert in the whole wide world is vanilla ice cream. I'm not kidding. Recently, my Aunt Mary and I took him and my mom to one of the Detroit casinos for an afternoon of losing. We had accumulated some points over the year and were eligible for a free meal at their buffet. Holy Shmoly! You could not believe all the fancy and various desserts that were available to us. Anything you could imagine was dipped in chocolate. Cakes, pies, tortes, flans, and gelatos. Fancy cookies on a stick. Fresh fruit tarts, creme brule, and it went on and on and on. I came back to the table with one of everything. What does Big Russ come back with? A dish of vanilla ice cream. The only thing that surprised me more was that he didn't put ketchup on it. Did I mention he LOVES ketchup?

In 1973, when I was in fifth grade, I discovered that President Richard Nixon had the same birthday as my dad--January 9. So, I proceeded to write him a letter inviting him and his wife to our house for a little cake and ice cream for a joint birthday celebration. I'm sure when I told my mom I was writing him a letter she probably said, or at least thought, something along the lines of "yeah, yeah, whatever...now go away, I'm watching Perry Mason." I was fortunate that she was gracious enough to actually drop it in the mailbox for me while I was at school.

A few weeks later, when a large manila envelope arrived addressed to me with a printed return address of "The White House" she snapped to attention. I distinctly remember getting into the car as she picked me up from school and her looking at me and saying "what did you put in that letter?" She then handed me the large envelope and instructed me to "open it." She probably thought I was in trouble, or she was being shipped back to the Philippines, or who knows what.

Anyway, it happened to be a lovely one page typewritten letter signed by Tricky Dick himself. The White House letterhead looked (and still does) so impressive. It simply stated that while he and Mrs. Nixon were quite pleased by my gracious invitation, "their schedule usually did not permit them the pleasure of accepting personal invitations." Nonetheless, they were "deeply grateful" that I took the time to think about them. Perhaps I should have stipulated that we would probably be having chocolate cake with homemade buttercream frosting and vanilla ice cream! That might have made him think twice. On the otherhand, maybe I DID tell him that and the vanilla ice cream was the deal breaker.

Random Thoughts

First, thank you everyone for your overwhelming show of support, kind words, and friendship. Today is a brighter day. Ed is out of his pajamas, showered and shaved!

Today is a just a potpourri of my thoughts.

Why does Detroit City Council President, Monica Conyers, need to go on a seven day trip to Israel to study Arab-Israeli conflicts? I don't get it.

What about the New York surgeon who donated a kidney to his wife in 2001 and now wants it back (or at least $1.5 million for it) because she had an affair and they are getting divorced?

Then, there's the show that aired on MTV at the end of 2008 which featured Paris Hilton and her search for a new "Best Friend Forever" aka BFF. I actually happened to be flipping around TV channels at the end of December and came upon this show. The particular snippet I saw featured Paris sitting on a throne, with two desperate girls nervously awaiting her decision on who would be her new BFF. Ultimately, Paris threw her hand up to her forehead and declared it was all just too much and she needed a break. At which point she arose from the throne and dramatically left the camera's eye. This whole concept is so stupid to me, I can't even articulate it. What a waste of name recognition and money. Think of all the good she could be doing with her fame and family fortune. What's even more amazing is that she is famous for being absolutely good at nothing.

Fortunately, not everyone is so caught up in themselves. For instance, the RE/MAX Classic realtors in Canton have been participating in the Massachusetts-based "Cell Phones for Soldiers" program and in five months has collected nearly 1,350 phones. The program is a non profit organization which was started by two children several years ago. Their mission is to help troops call home. Each cell phone that is donated is recycled and in return a 60 minute calling card is distributed to a deployed soldier. If you have some old cell phones sitting around that you'd like to donate you can call the Canton office at 734.459.1010 for more information or visit http://www.detroitmetrorealestate.com/.

The Geneva Presbyterian Church in Canton recently held their annual Boxing Day which raises awareness of the homeless and the need for donations. The event is based on the British and Canadian custom of boxing up clothing no longer needed on December 26 and donating it to the needy (I always wondered what Boxing Day was). Teens also spent the night sleeping outside in boxes, much like the homeless do. Detroit's homeless population is about 12,500.

Isn't it funny how reality TV is nothing like reality?

New Roads to Travel

Apologies for not posting anything yesterday. I found myself needing 24 hours to compose my thoughts.

Yesterday my husband, Ed, was let go from his company after almost 20 years of service due to "economics." We were stunned. Yes, we knew cuts were coming, but we naively believed that service and past performance might be considered in this decision. After all, he was one of the top performing account managers in the firm revenue-wise . Unfortunately for Ed (and many others) that was not the case.

Job losses in Michigan are nothing new, but I guess you just never think it will happen to you, or at least when it does, you'd like to think that you might have had an inkling. But when it sneaks up on you like that, you literally feel like you have been punched in the stomach. You're in shock, all the wind gets knocked out of you and you feel defeated. But these are times unlike anything we personally have experienced.

So, much of yesterday was spent trying to get our bearings. The overwhelming support Ed has received from some of his friends, family, coworkers, customers, and even competitors has really touched him. Even though you know you were not a failure at your job, it's hard not to feel like a failure. It's hard not to feel humiliated, or dispensable, or like 20 years of blood, sweat, and tears was all for nothing. Gone, goodbye, not even a "thank you for your service." We've heard the stories from so many people who know people who have lost jobs. You're let go and then promptly ushered to the door like a shoplifter. You get to go back after hours and reclaim your personal effects and clean out your computer files, all while being closely monitored. You went from hero to zero in eight seconds. Yeah--congratulations on securing that multi-million purchase order. Goodbye!

So, we will take the prescribed "72 hours" of mourning that was communicated to us in the employee (or should I say former employee) packet of information. Seventy-two hours of shock, awe, disbelief, anger, humiliation, self-pity, and whatever else and then regroup and recover.

I kind of liken this experience to finding ourselves on a road that perhaps we had seen, read, heard about, or driven by so many times, but had actually never traveled down. And then, all of a sudden we somehow took a wrong turn and find we have up ended there and say to ourselves "so this is what's down this road."

We are remembering to keep everything in perspective. I can't help but think of John Travolta who has more job opportunities, money and power than one man could possibly need. I'm sure he would give it all up in a heartbeat to have his 16-year old son back. The loss of a job is devastating. Especially after 20 years. You have built relationships and formed friendships over a lifetime. Yesterday I felt like I had received news of a death in the family. But in reality, I had not. I am thankful that my children are healthy, that Ed and I are healthy and that the rest of my extended family is healthy.

I have no doubt that he (and I) will find jobs. I didn't say it would be easy, but I do have hope. After all, isn't that what 2009 is about? I do believe that things happen for a reason. I'm not sure what the reason is for this yet, but I'll let you know when we get to the end of the road.

Be Careful!

I love this picture of Cameron! To me, his face is just beaming with pride and independence being on those roller blades. I love how the roller blades practically come up to the knees, the knee pads go up to the thigh and not very much leg is open for sidewalk burns. However, the skewed helmet is another story.

Yesterday I signed Cameron up for driver's ed. He will be 15 in February, which means he'll be getting his permit, if all goes well. I'm scared to death. I wish there were magic helmets and knee pads I could strap on his body for the rest of his life.

I know when my older son, Alex, took driver's ed it all seemed so surreal then. But, that was my first. It's supposed to be a shock that this has all come around too soon. By the time you get around to the second kid, you would think that you'd be more comfortable with the natural progression of growing up. But I'm not! You spend their whole lives telling your kids to "grow up!" And then when they do, you're dumbfounded.

But, no matter how old you get, or how old your kids get, you never stop worrying about them and for them. To this day, my mom worries when I have to drive in the dark. I'm 47 years old for goodness sakes! She always say "be careful." To which I reply, "no mom, I'm going to drive with reckless abandon." Duh---of course I'm going to be careful, right? However, it never ceases to amaze me that if it's such common knowledge to "be careful" then why am I always saying it to my kids? Chalk it up to "Parenting 101." It's the first phrase you learn when you have kids.

From year one, you can't wait until they learn how to walk and then once they do we say "be careful, or you'll fall." Then, we're so excited when they become a little more independent and they are feeding themselves but we can't help but say "be careful you don't choke on those 38 pieces of hotdog you just jammed into your mouth." Or, what about "be careful you don't hit someone with that"..."be careful with that Spiderman mask on because it's covering up your eyeballs and you'll be tripping all over the place." Be careful, be careful, be careful!!!! Even the police sargeant from Hill Stree Blues said it everyday "let's be careful out there."

After a lifetime of telling them to "be careful" it becomes an addiction, a way of life, an illness. Call it whatever you want, but it just comes out of your mouth. They could say "mom, I'm going to bed now" and you could find yourself saying "be careful you don't suffocate while you're laying on your stomach!" I feel as if I don't say "be careful" and cause them to stop and think about what they are doing, I've been neglectful in my duties as a parent. I suppose that's why my mom still says it. It becomes a habit. The one time you don't say "be careful" something could go wrong and then you'd have to use that other life long phrase "what did I tell you?".

Think Spring

Okay, now that Christmas and New Year's are over we can start focusing on spring, right? I know that winter just officially started on December 21 but I'm ready to move on Mother Nature.

When I was younger I used to dread January. Of course, it meant that all the fun holiday doings were over and it was time to go back to school. Then, as I grew older and became a mom, I came to LOVE January because it meant that all the fun holiday doings were over and it was time to go back to school!!!

No more shopping, no more wrapping, no more Christmas carding, or baking, or socializing. Kids head back to school and I resume my routine. Don't get me wrong, however, I do enjoy the two-week break from getting up early for school, having Ed home for the two-week auto shutdown, and catching up with friends we don't see on a regular basis. But after awhile, I realize we all need to get a life again and start being productive.

The other feature I hated about January was that it was such a loooooong month. Thirty one days of cold, snow, darkness, and more cold. But now, the older I get, I feel like the time whizzes by, whether it's June or January. I find I can rationalize things a little bit differently, if even in my own mind.

Once January is over, comes February, and it's such a short month that you can hardly even count it! Plus with another week off from school and routine due to mid-winter break it's practically nothing. Then comes March. March is a tough one though. It too, is a loooooong month. And what's hard about March is that you start to get excited about the prospect of spring being right around the corner, except this is the month where we seem to get the worst snow and ice storms. Winter just doesn't want to let go. But I keep reminding myself, "if I can make it to April, I'll be good."

April generally means Easter, which means another week off from school! For our family, it has also meant traveling to Florida to visit my parents over the break. For me, I'm focused on having my "aaaahhhhh" moment. That's the moment after we arrive, make it to the beach, and I sit with my face to the sun and feel its incredible warmth, relax every muscle, exhale, and say "aaaaaahhhh". No more worrying about last minute details before we leave Michigan, no more packing or security lines, no more school projects or running around to do. Just me, my family and relaxation. But as the boys get older, the demands of high school sports steals that family time away from us and I will have to learn to adjust.

By the time I return home from Florida, the first day of spring (April 21) is certainly near if not already past. This means that high school baseball has started and because it's Michigan, I will most likely be wearing my ski jacket and bringing my green wool blanket to the games because it's still freezing. But May is almost here, so I don't care. After all, spring has arrived!

New Year, New Attitude

The power of positivity. Is "positivity" even a word? If not, I'm making it one. Blame it on Galinda. She's the good witch character in the musical play "Wicked." She has a penchant for making up words to suit her needs. For that matter, so does George Bush, so let's blame it on him too. While we're at it, let's blame everything on him! I'm sorry, that sounded negative. So I must point out that, on the positive side, he has provided us with lots of funny bloopers.

Anyway, my point is it's a new day, new year and I'm going to try and look at things with a new attitude. Finding something positive about each day shouldn't be too hard, right? For instance, take a look at this cute mailbox. It almost makes getting bills out of it fun! Okay, that might be a stretch, but it is a start, and you have to start somewhere.

Earlier in the week, I caught part of an Oprah show where she was featuring people who have overcome great tragedies in their lives. One woman lost her young son and husband in a small plane crash. She talked about how she came to realize that instead of asking "why me?" the real question should be "why not me?". She started to look at what she had been given--time with her husband and son--rather than what she had lost. Of course this was not a realization she came to overnight but in the end it helped her come out of the darkness.

In the Free Press this week there was an article about a mother who lost her 11-year old son to a tragic accident at home. In order to make something good come out of this, she donated his organs so that someone else wouldn't have to suffer the loss of a child.

A while back I mentioned a friend of mine who passed away from esophageal cancer two years ago. As he was going through his ordeal he declared that he "refused to get on the bitter bus."

Many of us have been blessed to not have experienced such challenges as these. However, we all face adversity, no matter how small. These people have set some incredible examples of how you view dying can help you start living.