tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19704466223748083412024-03-13T20:20:37.217-04:00Suburb-dwelling SierraIt can't get better than this.Suburb Sierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12049942927713063446noreply@blogger.comBlogger400125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-35410237269717925922014-10-07T13:37:00.000-04:002014-10-07T13:37:02.046-04:00Get your gems here!Ugh. If we are friends on Facebook you already know my drama from yesterday. If not, here it is in a nutshell:<br />
<br />
Nine year old needs an app on his iPad for school. Forty-five year old mother puts her debit card into his iPad to buy said app. Mother forgets to "remove" debit card from son's iPad. Mother goes into la-la land after surgery for 4 days and when she emerges she checks her bank account to find 36 transactions for iTunes. Now, mother is pretty sure she was feeling good while on her happy pills, but not happy enough to agree to 36 transactions for gems for Clash of Clans.<br />
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The sum of the story: $1,326.47 to be exact.<br />
<br />
The moral of the story: It is WAY too easy for kids to push that buy button when they think there is an endless supply of gems...er, cash...in the bucket.<br />
<br />
I do agree there were several missteps along the way, and they have all been corrected - mainly due to the "generosity" of Apple to <i>eventually</i> refund the purchases because they were done by a minor - but I think the larger lesson is the cultivation of a plastic generation.<br />
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When I bought the app for the iPad I used my debit card. A square card with numbers on it. That is eerily similar to the iTunes cards my son gets as gifts. Square. Plastic. Numbers. And with that comes hours of excitement as he gets to draw from this magical plastic card and buy whatever he's in the mood for - until Apple says "all gone". This time, no one said "all gone".<br />
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Our conversation yesterday will remain private - but I will say that the biggest eye opener was this idea that they wait for someone to say "all gone" because we (or I) have raised them on the currency that is the gift card.You enter in the numbers and they will notify you when you have run out. Unlike my generation when you handed the clerk the money and you knew right away when it ran out.<br />
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I'm optimistic that thanks to mothers like me, the iPad 7 will be currency based only...it would be a lot harder for my son to get himself to a bank and clean out my account the old fashion way if he had to slide $20 bills into his iPad! Anyone? @SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-76034461616009784032014-09-30T19:44:00.000-04:002014-09-30T19:44:46.267-04:00I used to do nothingIt's a true statement: I used to do nothing.<br />
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On Sundays, I would sit on my bed, turn on my stereo (yes, stereo) and listen to music while doing nothing. Nothing.<br />
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I would come home from school, wrap cheese up in a piece of bologna and sit in front of the TV with only 22 channels to flip through and do nothing. <br />
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There were the random days when I was young that I'd sit under our back porch, on the cold cement and crack open rocks to look inside - but basically doing nothing.<br />
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I would start, then stop. Then start. Then stop. Then start a "diary" - which contained a whole lot of nothing.<br />
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Even as recent as 15 years ago I'd meet friends on a random Tuesday night, drink some Miller Lites (hold the comments), go home, lay on the couch and fall asleep - thinking about nothing.<br />
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Now this is where you expect to me say, "But my life is so full now. I savor every moment with the hectic sports schedule, long work days and constant "what are we doing today?" questions"...right?<br />
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Sorry to disappoint. I reallly, reallly, reallly long for a day doing nothing. Nothing as in not thinking about dinner or food shopping. Or school events. Or the commute in or the commute home. Or cleaning the house, bathroom, clothes, dishes, bedrooms or yard. Or checking email, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, Texts or SnapChat (OK, you caught me. I don't have SnapChat).<br />
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I kinda think if you are reading this, you sort of long for it, too. Let's schedule a national "Do Nothing Day". Who's in???@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-15458466923000395002014-09-26T12:00:00.000-04:002014-09-26T12:00:04.424-04:00I'm being introduced to a new language: TweenWhen I first started this blog I would chronicle all the funny things my young children would say. The words they'd mispronounce. The popular phrases they'd get wrong. But now that they are so much older and speaking English, I'm still discovering I have a lot to learn about their language. And I'm not talking about the texting kind...I mean the one using WORDS! <br />
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My daughter will be 12 in December. Let's think about that - but not too long because it scares the crap out of me. She is exploring her sass and swagger and is <i>PERFECTING </i>the eye-roll. Bravo my dear.<br />
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She also insists on talking. All the time. About things I don't understand. All the time. All the time.<br />
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Typical evening in my house.<br />
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I arrive sometime after 6 because traffic sucks, again.<br />
I walk into the house with an almost-12-year-old trailing behind.<br />
A puppy attacks me for attention so I walk into the other room. <br />
I put my bags down and it begins:<br />
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<i>"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mommy. Mommy Mom. Mom. Mommy. Where'd you go?"</i><br />
"Right here Abby!"<br />
<i>"Oh good. You know what happened at school today? It was so funny. Matt and Tom almost fell and then Gabi said "You're a chicken" which made Cooper laugh. </i>[shoves a snack in her mouth and continues]<i> (Muffle, Muffle) and then I ran backwards. Brendan didn't see that. So Matt threw the ball and hit Brooke, but that's okay because she's tall. And I had to go to the bathroom. It was so funny LOL!!! Oh, and then I saw Ryan but he was wearing green. I'll let Sandi know."</i><br />
"That's great Abby. Did you finish your homework?"<i> </i><br />
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What?! Did you get that?? Cuz I certainly didn't. But that represents a typical story. Every night. In fact, after sitting with her at Alex's football practice for two hours, I told her I was going to look for the "off" switch. She said "Good luck. It only comes on at night." I think she's right! <br />
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So, I am going to implore Rosetta Stone to create the Tween package instead of Spanish, German and Italian. Because there must be mother's around the globe that prefer to learn THAT instead. Raise your hands!! And I do love that she talks to me - and I do listen - it's the comprehension that throws me for a loop. <i>Mom. Mom. Mom. Mommy</i>!<br />
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<br />@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-32145351807564980982014-09-24T07:30:00.000-04:002014-09-26T11:19:59.165-04:00My fear of small spaces...it's all Fred Flinstone's fault. When I was 7 or 8 or 9 - the memory is the first to go, they say - my parents finally moved my bedroom to the attic of our Cape style home in Waltham. The smell of the paint and the glue from the linoleum - what, who could afford hardwood back then - seemed so fresh. It was my own room. My own closet. My space to find comfort and joy!!!<br />
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Until I had a nightmare. A horrific, awful, larger than life nightmare. In that safe, wonderful room I was being held hostage by Fred Flinstone and Barney Rubble. Go ahead...laugh. You can do it. But it was terrifying.<br />
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They were laughing these evil laughs and every time I reached for the door they stood in the way. And when I screamed for my parents, my voice was empty and silenced. Oh the fear!!! There was no escape and suddenly the room seemed so small...and was shrinking. <br />
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Now, I don't know if I ever shared this story with my parents, but the memory followed me for 29 years (see how I just reduced my age by 15). And I think that, in some weird way, it played into my fear of small spaces as an adult. Which brings me to another post for another time...my upcoming trip on a cruise.....in an inside cabin.......think about that for a while, will ya? If I see a turkey leg in someone's hand, or a shirt made of animal hide, I might just jump overboard.<br />
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What scared the poop out of you as a kid? My guess is it wasn't a killer cartoon character...@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-73330866144031181192014-09-23T16:21:00.000-04:002014-09-23T20:02:40.539-04:00The trouble with being "all about that bass"!I was a size 2 at my aunt's wedding in the early 90's. Or maybe a 4. I don't remember. I think I was 118 pounds. I was pretty thin. Oddly, I actually had a hard time finding clothes. I guess when you're 5' 8" you aren't supposed to be that weight because everything was usually too short - in the arms AND the legs - likely because they assumed I had a little more meat on my bones at that height. I'd love to say I was a happy, healthy, aerobic loving machine and that's why I was shopping the single digits... but the real reason I was that size was stress.<br />
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Who had time to eat when it felt like my world was being tipped upside down and was in a constant state of "nauseous"? When I wasn't sure about my job, my relationship, my future. And when the paycheck wasn't covering the bills and the food, I'd skip the food and pay the bills. Beer was a main food group, cigarettes dulled cravings and rice packets were on sale for $1. Thank God for Beer Fridays at work - we had snacks. <br />
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My point? I haven't seen that size in <b>decades</b> and when I was "skinny", I wasn't happy. Just like when I was a size 18 I wasn't happy. After Abby was born, you'll find very few pictures of me. Pushing 200lbs when I was pregnant proved really difficult after she was born. Add all the other emotional changes that come with being a first time mom and I was a whirlwind of emotions shoving chips and dip down my throat. I was laid off, laying low and eating my way through parenthood.<br />
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See the trend here....just like money, weight<i> can't be the driver that makes you happy</i>. YOU have to be the driver that makes you happy. So while I love the song by Meghan Trainor, and sing along with my daughter, I don't think we should be "all about that bass", just like I don't think the life of "treble" is much better.<br />
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I do think we are an unhealthy nation. I also think we perpetuate it by obsessing over looks and body image. Wouldn't it be wonderful to flip through a magazine and see thin girls that the thin girls can relate to, right next to full girls that full girls can relate to, all in the name of reality!!! Like real-reality, not "size-8-is-full-size" reality. Because when I look around my world, I don't see all size 2's or size 22's. I just see people. Seriously. I don't know the size 8 from 12 these days...or the 16 from 20. And who gives a crap.<br />
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Funny that body image was the trigger to get me blogging again. It has been "weighing" on my mind (yes, pun intended) ever since I noticed my son weighing himself incessantly this spring. I removed all of scales from the bathrooms and have been keeping a watchful eye. Eating disorders aren't just for the females, my friend, so this Momma isn't taking chances!!<br />
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Plus, I guess I'm tired of beating myself up over this roll or that jiggle. Talk to me next week when I complain about my jowls, or my larger-than-life ass, but for now I'll just remember that skinny or heavy doesn't make me happy or sad...I control that from within. <br />
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<br />@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-28868175857281716302013-03-07T18:49:00.000-05:002013-03-07T18:49:00.070-05:00My God is Santa ClausEvery now and then I pause and question my faith, and then I question why I am sending my kids to Catholic School. It would save us thousands of dollars each year if we sent them to the local public school. It would help avoid the blank stares I give when my kids ask me questions I can't answer about Catholicism. And it would certainly make me *feel* like less of a hypocrite. Lord knows (no pun intended) I breezed through CCD without a care for any of it and haven't confessed a sin since 1986.<br />
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I've written about this struggle before, but from a different view. Now that Abby has spent 5 years in her school, I'm forced to look at it from the view of of my children. What does going to Catholic school mean to them...not what do *I* want them to get out of it. What does all of the studying of religion provide them on a daily basis? Does it steer their decision-making? Do they even think much about it?<br />
<br />
Recently, my daughter had a sobbing meltdown in her room before bed. We had gone to church that Sunday and given the Easter season, there may have been talk of death more than normal - I was too busy with my own insecurities thinking that every parishioner there (it was a full house I tell ya) KNEW I hadn't been to church...well...EVER when you really think about it. So later on when she was inconsolable talking about her fear of dying...her fear of never "seeing" anyone again...her fear of growing up, I was stunned. She said they were talking about all the dead people in church. What? I was clearly not listening.<br />
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Then it kept on. She was asking me where her soul was? Was it really inside her? How did I know? I panicked. I assumed she'd never question it since she was spending endless hours at school "learning" about it. I guess I just thought she'd accept it until she got much older and could understand the complexity of it all. <br />
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I calmed her down and tried to explain that God didn't want her worrying about what happens next, but wants her to enjoy every moment of now. He wants her savor every minute with friends, family and explore all of the wonderful things that can be! And then she said it....<br />
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<i>"What if there is no God....?"</i><br />
<br />
How do you believe in someone or something you can visually see? How do you hold onto hope that when your body stops working (or in her words "your eyes rot") that there really is a final resting place in heaven?<br />
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Then it sort of hit me. Just because she's learning more than I ever did about her faith, doesn't automatically mean she's comforted by it.<br />
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And so I began to think about my belief in God again. And I realized that my God is like Santa Claus. I never saw Santa Claus as a child, but of course he was real. As a child you want to believe SO BADLY in the enchantment of it all...relish in the wondrous joy that an unseen force loves all the good you do day after day and you are rewarded beyond your imagination on that one morning....so you behave and do good and be good and make smart choices. It's the blind faith in something. <br />
<br />Growing older brings certain realities about Santa Claus, and it also brings certain realities about God. There is a jaded quality that uncontrollably emerges as we age - the horror on the news. The life experiences that break you down just a little bit. How can this happen? What is going on?<br />
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But just like your youth, there is also an innocence that comes with getting older. The innocence in knowing that your time spent has done some good. Has made some difference. Has had a real impact so when that one day arrives, you just know.....one way or the other, you know. And you can be at peace with that - regardless of what you believe will come next.<br />
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So when Abby asked me to "come back when your dead and whisper in my head to let me know you can see me", I'm remaining hopeful that is many, many, many years from now and she won't need any whispering. She'll hold onto her faith. She'll believe what she's been taught is good and wonderful and it will guide her to continue to do great things. And when she finds out about Santa Claus, she'll be ready. And when she figures out her own relationship with God, she'll be ready. I'm just proud, amidst the tears, that she's asking questions and talking to ME about her fears. I'll continue to just wrap my arms around her as many times as she'll let me. But don't ask me if I completely believe in God yet. I'm not *that* old. I still have a lot of questions myself...and I'm sure I'll know when I'm ready.@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-2456420459151946672012-11-16T16:00:00.000-05:002012-11-18T18:04:26.328-05:00When I hit the lottery...When I hit the lottery...<br />
<br />
I will give it all away.<br />
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Well, most of it away. I'm not sure if this blog is a binding contract so I want to be clear in my intentions.<br />
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I've learned in recent years the value of "stuff" and by "stuff" I mean the non-essentials to live. The things that are cluttering my basement, filling my home and stuffed in my drawers. The items that I "had to have" because the marketing machines told me I did - or because I felt I had a right to own them because I had worked so hard to earn them. The tangibles that don't make my days any brighter or my family any happier. This "stuff" really has no value, especially when it sits in a drawer or on a shelf. It's just stuff...so when I win it big, I'm going to figure out how to keep giving for years and years. I totally understand now why Warren Buffet and Bill and Melinda Gates want the uber-rich to make <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10000872396390443995604578003043533208534.html" target="_blank">Giving Pledges</a> as a way to increase awareness of American philanthropy. (Note: I'm not to here to discuss the pros and cons so keep your politics to yourself for the moment.) And this is where my fantasy stops and reality starts...<br />
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Fact is, this holiday season I'm trying to give *just a little more*, because giving makes my days brighter, my family happier, and those around us smile.<br />
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We can't afford to give much in comparison to many in this world. We can't serve 1,000 hot meals to the homeless out of our kitchen. Or send $100,000 to every charitable organization. But we give what we can. Sometimes it's just our time. Sometimes it's $10 worth of groceries or $20 worth of cleaning supplies. I don't think the details matter, I think the actions matter. It took me too long to realize the reward that comes with doing small deeds. Give these simple ideas some thought:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Next time you are in the supermarket parking lot, take a glance around and see if an elderly person could use a hand loading groceries in his/her car.</li>
<li>When you purchase something and get change - see if there is a can or a donation jar close by and drop your coins in there. Do you really need 38 cents? </li>
<li>Instead of grabbing one of something on sale, grab two and see if your can donate one to a local pantry. Many supermarkets have boxes up front for donations. </li>
<li>Get your old sheets or blankets that aren't suitable for giving to families and see if your local animal shelter could use them for pets waiting for their forever homes. </li>
<li>Think about what you love to do in your spare time and see if there is a non-profit that needs help with your services. Maybe you love photography and could give them an hour of your time at their fundraiser event. Or perhaps you love crafts, knitting or quilting and you have scraps that a local preschool can use for crafts. Games in good shape can also be a nice donation to after school programs (I know our kid's school loves getting games in good shape!)</li>
<li>Traveling at Thanksgiving or Christmas? Pay the $2.00 toll for the person behind you in line. You don't know them, but if you're fortunate, maybe they pay it forward in some way. </li>
<li>Buy local. Purchase one holiday gift from your neighbor-owned store. It may not seem like "giving" but your patronage could help them put food on their own holiday table (or better, help pay the salary of a worker who desperately needs their job). Small businesses don't make millions like the big guys. They work hard and pay taxes towards keeping your community safe and clean so adding to their sales this month could go a long way. </li>
<li>Give blood. I'm a wimp and can't bring myself to do it - but I bet you could!</li>
</ul>
I know we're inundated with requests to give money, give more, sponsor this, sponsor that. But in the end, there are some inexpensive, much needed ways you can help right in your own neighborhood. And simply put, be kind. Kindness is the best thing you can give to those around you. Judgement and hate are equivalent to "stuff"...it really has no value.<br />
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Carry on. You have some good things to do today.<br />
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<br />@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com84tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-22125585781612058382012-09-20T10:58:00.000-04:002012-09-20T11:00:54.344-04:00My Love of Hotel BarsThere are two moments in my life when I vividly remember feeling like a real adult. This could go to a bad place, but I'll keep it on track.<br />
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First is when I went away to college. I had the opportunity to attend Emerson College which is an exceptional communications school, but is only 20 minutes from my childhood home. The other option was Ithaca College, which has an equally impressive communications school, but was over 6 hours away from home....where no one knew me....where only one other person from my high school was attending....where I could be anyone I wanted to be.<br />
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Most popular? Sure! Prom Queen? You bet! Played 10 sports and ran for student council? Absolutely! Had every lead in every drama production? Now we're talking!<br />
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But in reality, those little "mistruths" would catch up with me in college where people actually get to know you over time, so I stuck to the facts!<br />
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Which brings us to Hotel Bars! The other time I remember feeling like an adult was my first solo business trip sometime around 1995! Or 1994. Or 1996. Lord, I can't remember the year. Point is, whenever I walk into a hotel bar now, I relax. I feel grown up, but not in the "I'm getting old" way but in the "I can be anything I want to be" way. I'm taken back to an exciting time when I was figuring out my path and my goals.<br />
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Plus, they are always so clean - the bar stools lined up, the little bowls of crunchy snacks, the clean tables with their little tealights lit. In a hotel bar, not a single person cares if you are..well...a single person. Tables of 1 are everywhere and it is perfectly okay to spend the whole time with your head down, immersed in a book, a smart phone, a lap top or a newspaper. Bartenders offer friendly banter, and if you're lucky, some great insight to the area or a "No way!" story about a past patron. <br />
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People there don't know if I have 2 kids or 9 (could you imagine??!!), if I'm local or from far away and if I choose to engage in a conversation with someone nearby, it could turn into a business lead, funny story or wasted moment. But who cares! You're in a swanky hotel bar!<br />
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I promise I don't spend hours trolling the local hotels pretending to be someone I'm not, but as I was building my career that occasional business trip out of town helped me to build a little confidence and a lot of independence. And when this Mom of 2 had to drop off a PTO flyer the other day to a hotel restaurant and was directed to the hotel bar to find the manager, let's just say I wasn't a Mom of 2 for a moment but a 20-something excited about my first business trip! Man I love hotel bars. Wanna go for a drink?<br />
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<br />@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-88563291001083819742012-09-10T15:08:00.000-04:002012-09-10T15:08:36.804-04:00My Rock Star WeekendIf we are friends on Twitter or Facebook, you already know how this story goes...but I have to say, playing groupie for a weekend is a lot of fun!<br />
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First, thanks to a totally hooked up cousin, you are invited to hang with your favorite band ever, ever, ever...AND when you meet her in the hotel lounge for a pre-concert cocktail, you unknowingly (for a fleeting moment) get to see that band in their natural habitat surrounded by family and enjoying some down time before the "gig" (that's rock and roll for concert).<br />
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After they depart the bar and you wipe the <strike>drool</strike> <strike>sweat</strike> smile from your face, you head to a small theater for a private show, try to compose yourself as much as possible while your heart is pounding out of your chest, remind yourself over and over that you can in fact form sentences and think of something witty to say so he'll remember you FOREVER, and step up for an exclusive meet and greet:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUE8QwsP0z7_h5ePgHvnYKf9CGFOzQ9ZgdJ38pTLAz-zcceX4FMleDEl2Eh27c8QmhO0em5TZYA4P0AXcUnJ-uyhwGR0Z7tCD8EeHWI7yRq8xOZu9rA0jMWsqa5QSJKzSrlVvPwAQzPsW/s1600/392448_4562706994285_1177918614_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimUE8QwsP0z7_h5ePgHvnYKf9CGFOzQ9ZgdJ38pTLAz-zcceX4FMleDEl2Eh27c8QmhO0em5TZYA4P0AXcUnJ-uyhwGR0Z7tCD8EeHWI7yRq8xOZu9rA0jMWsqa5QSJKzSrlVvPwAQzPsW/s320/392448_4562706994285_1177918614_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kyle Cook and Rob Thomas from Matchbox Twenty. Rob is also known as my pretend husband, boyfriend, crush muffin and lover...depending on who you ask.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Oh, and make sure everyone with you understands VERY CLEARLY that you claim the spot next to said crush muffin so there is no confusion as you dart to <strike>attack</strike> shake his hand.<br />
<br />
What did I say to my pretend lover?<br />
<br />
After Kyle and Rob politely introduced themselves (as if I had <i>no idea</i> who they were) we posed for this lovely photo and then I stopped, touched him gently on the upper arm and poetically stated,<br />
<br />
"I wanted to thank you for all of the work you do with charitable causes. I think that is wonderful."<br />
<br />
His response, "Thank you. Thank you very much. That means a lot."<br />
<br />
At which point my hysterically funny cousin (in the blue pants) stops and exclaims, "I don't want you to think I'm a weirdo (Kyle interjects with "you're a weirdo." We laugh.) but I know your friend (won't mention his name in my blog for security reasons) and he's kind of disappeared. Could you please tell him to call me!"<br />
<br />
Rob, with a big smile on his face replies, "I remember you! Yes! He's been traveling for a month so that might explain it."<br />
<br />
I swoon, try to stay close to him longer - because holy shitsters we're really engaging in a conversation - but am shuffled along for the next group of less-than-impressive fans to take their photo.<br />
<br />
<insert my heavy sigh as I relive the moment one more time reading this over><br />
<br />
Once in a lifetime? Perhaps. Memory for a lifetime? Yes, thanks to this blog.<br />
<br />
Okay, rock and roll friends, the fun continued on Saturday when, lucky me, I scored VIP tickets to the official MixFest concert at the Hatch Shell in Boston. I decided that hubby needs some love too, so he joined me for the festivities.<br />
<br />
What did our day include? Only a chance to meet these hot boyz:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWaXvBuitGkc428f0iqyQkBI8ua9RuLFiPmYeXaA9iLbc7HVv-2rpRAnT4D9WbAMBu-5AuhfqlsfXsXl8x1IQHnZ6txpOOzUCITYPi_fQPF4BktcRWK0YIhY6KCaK1nQXhKjf3qjWjPN7i/s1600/andygrammer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWaXvBuitGkc428f0iqyQkBI8ua9RuLFiPmYeXaA9iLbc7HVv-2rpRAnT4D9WbAMBu-5AuhfqlsfXsXl8x1IQHnZ6txpOOzUCITYPi_fQPF4BktcRWK0YIhY6KCaK1nQXhKjf3qjWjPN7i/s320/andygrammer.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andy Grammer with perhaps the bluest eyes ever!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gavin DeGraw who is very polite and unexpectedly sexy in all black strutting around the stage</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little band named Train...you know who they are Soul Sister (and you're welcome now that I put that song in your head)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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In addition to our backstage fun, we sat about 4 rows back from the "stage" and met some fantastic people who has paid a nice penny to be part of the experience. Had I not been lucky caller 14 over Labor Day weekend, my rock and roll weekend would have ended Friday.<br />
<br />
The event machine that is <a href="http://www.mix1041.com/">MixFest</a> really was amazing. Over 30,000 people on the lawn at the Esplanade in Boston, enduring rain and heat for upwards of 6 hours, is a testament to the publicity engine they have at the station. It's obvious I clearly understand the draw of your favorite singer or band, but as a marketing person I really was in awe of the coordination and logistics it takes to pull off a completely free concert with popular, headlining acts. So bravo Mix 104.1 - I'll be dialing next year to be a VIP again!<br />
<br />
<br />@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-58208545731821251232012-08-16T16:18:00.003-04:002012-08-16T16:28:03.758-04:00Our Neighborhood NunAs we were seated, sharing a table with an older woman for lunch today, Abby asked, <i>"Mom. Is that who I think it is?" </i><br />
<br />
She had this excited look on her face. So I turned around and sure enough, at the check out counter of our local farm stand, was Sister Janice.<br />
<br />
<i>"Why, yes it is!"</i><br />
<br />
Alex was asking, <i>"Who? Who?"</i><br />
<br />
I pointed her out and he got excited as well. I told them to go say hello, but to remind her who they were because while she looked the same, she was definitely aging. <br />
<br />
Alex approached first and tapped her on the shoulder.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Hi Sister Janice."</i><br />
<br />
She looked a bit confused. Abby followed suit with a smile.<br />
<br />
Sister looked back at me and then it clicked.<br />
<br />
She hurried to pay for her fruit and vegetables, parked her grocery cart and walked back to me with her arms around both of the kids.<br />
<br />
I told her we missed her and hadn't seen her recently. She explained she had spent a year in Biddeford, ME but was now back at the convent across the street from the kid's school. She was elated to see the kids and couldn't believe Abby stood as tall as her (Literally! She's a crazy, petite thing).<br />
<br />
She asked us all for hugs. Told us she'd make a special trip to our neighborhood soon and was so grateful the kids recognized her. She was grinning from ear to ear, as were we...it was like a lost family member. To be honest, we had often wondered if something had happened and I will admit to checking the obituaries looking for her name. <br />
<br />
The older woman who was sharing our table got up after Sister left and asked me, <i>"Was she one of their teachers in school?"</i><br />
<br />
I replied, <i>"No. Just a wonderful woman who used to take her daily walks through our neighborhood and who always shared a smile, a hello, a hug and a God Bless You."</i><br />
<br />
Somehow, knowing her always made us feel a little bit extra special. Kind souls will do that to you. I hope you have someone in your life like our neighborhood nun - because every time you see them you're reminded that people may come into your life in the oddest ways but for the best reasons. Even if it's just to make you smile.<br />
<br />
<br />@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-85406189636255257662012-08-09T15:47:00.000-04:002012-08-09T15:47:00.212-04:00Bedroom mannersWe have a nice playroom in our basement for the kids. It's super cool in the summer on a hot day and super <b>cold</b> in the winter on a subzero day - but that's a conversation for another blog post.<br />
<br />
When the kids have their friends over, they can all go downstairs to play. There is a mix of toys, a TV and a table and chairs. Good stuff.<br />
<br />
Inevitably, at some point during the visit, they start to wander back up to the main floor of the house. They'll use the bathroom, get a drink, sneak some snacks, ask a question, chase the cat....and then they seem to try and wander to the second floor to the bedrooms.<br />
<br />
Now as a child, the only play area we had was our bedroom. I get it. Not everyone has a <strike>shit </strike>play room. I remember spending HOURS with my girlfriend in my bedroom playing school, house, library, restaurant - you name it! But I don't remember boys in my bedroom. My brother would have his friends in his room. I'd have my friends in my room. End of discussion.<br />
<br />
As I have a mixed age group of 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10 year olds running through my home now, I expect the same thing. If you all want to play together, then you go to the basement...if the girls want some alone time, head up to Abby's room. If the boys need a break, then Alex has Lego's in his room and off you go.<br />
<br />
But somehow, without fail, they go back and forth and back and forth from bedroom to bedroom. I've set the bedroom rule but now I wonder if it's fair?<br />
<br />
Am I too restrictive? Am I too old fashion? Am I expected to roll with the flow because it's the 21st century, dude? Do they all play together in the bedrooms at other houses? At what age do I really start to worry about bedroom manners? Should I loosen up a bit?<br />
<br />
Nah. I think I'll keep my rules, thanks. What are your rules for bedroom play? For the under 12 crowd, you dirty mind..... :)@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-49112818322118835032012-08-06T12:42:00.003-04:002012-08-06T12:42:35.300-04:00BubbaWe named him Coach. But we called him Bubba.<br />
<br />
In fact any variation of Bubba would do. Bubba-licious. Bubba-lips (don't ask). Bubba-biskie (I think that was biscuit gone bad). Bubba-do.<br />
<br />
And lately, at the oddest moments, I've found myself shedding tears for my little friend. Not totally sure why, as we had to say our good-bye over 3 months ago. But my guess is that the love you hold in your heart doesn't always break at once, but breaks in pieces over time.<br />
<br />
I miss my little office mate, vacuum cleaner, protector, and snuggle buddy. This tear is for you, Bubba. May there be no snow this winter in doggy heaven. You deserve that much. <br />
<br />
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<br />@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-70476167859045523762012-07-30T19:38:00.000-04:002012-07-30T19:38:35.457-04:00What I learned at Jury Duty 20121. There are plenty of parking lots near the Lawrence Superior Court. There are not, however, a lot of attendants at those lots at 8:15 so I was quite surprised that a local officer didn't pull me over for violation of entering and exiting too many parking lots in a state of confusion.<br />
<br />
2. People snore. Especially the ones that fall asleep in the jury waiting room. They snore loudly.<br />
<br />
3. When they tell you to shut off your cell phones, that's not for everyone. For example, the super important lady in the pink shirt and the preppy guy in the plaid shirt don't count. They get to keep theirs on...while the rest of us suffer through offline time itching to tweet "He looks guilty" as we enter the courtroom.<br />
<br />
4. I crack under the pressure of a court room, judge, attorneys, stenographer and microphone. Even I didn't understand my answers. Do I or don't I support drinking and driving? Yes, I have...wait, what?? I DON'T KNOW!? Can I phone a friend?<br />
<br />
5. I secretly wanted to get picked. And was quite pissed when I wasn't...still feeling rejected even though the judge told me not to feel that way. Sniff.<br />
<br />
6. Court Officers can be funny...and nice...and accommodating. And they don't all look like Bull from Night Court...just a few of them do.<br />
<br />
7. Our judge played tennis this weekend. He told us.<br />
<br />
8. I secretly didn't want to get picked. And was quite happy to walk out the door and turn my cell phone back on. Disregard #5<br />
<br />
9. You can hook a DVD player into an old VHS player connected to a 1982 TV on a 1974 metal TV stand from the local elementary school to watch the orientation DVD. It was amazing.<br />
<br />
10. I am in awe of our judicial system. It could have been my abundance of American pride with the kick off of the Olympics occurring the same week as my jury duty, but I wanted to lead a sing along of God Bless America in the court room. Plus that would have guaranteed my dismissal. But I refrained.@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-56746409295839904882012-07-27T12:00:00.000-04:002012-07-27T16:19:39.314-04:00I didn't forget about youThought I forgot about you, right? No....I didn't. I just went on a little vacation with the family. It's our annual pilgrimage to the White Mountains of NH. We've been heading north for 6 years and when asked if they wanted to try something new this year, the kids gave us a resounding "NO!", so off we went to bear country (sadly didn't see any bears this year).<br />
<br />
But now that I'm back I thought I'd look up the word "vacation"...see what is says.<br />
<br />
<h3 class="r g0">
<span style="padding-bottom: 14px; padding-right: 15px;"><i>va·ca·tion</i></span><span style="font: smaller 'Doulos SIL','Gentum','TITUS Cyberbit Basic','Junicode','Aborigonal Serif','Arial Unicode MS','Lucida Sans Unicode','Chrysanthi Unicode'; padding-bottom: 7px;">/vāˈkāSHən/</span><span class="speaker-icon-listen-off" id="speaker_icon" style="margin: 0px;"></span></h3>
<br />
<table class="ts"><tbody>
<tr><td style="color: #666666; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-top: 5px;" valign="top" width="80px">Noun:</td><td style="padding-bottom: 5px; padding-top: 5px;" valign="top"><table class="ts"><tbody>
<tr><td>An extended period of recreation, esp. one spent away from home or in traveling.</td><td></td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
I was extremely pleased to see that there were several words missing from the official definition, such as "stress-free", "relaxing" and "peaceful". It did not read "extended period of <b>joyful</b>, <b>tear-free </b>recreation", much to my delight.<br />
<br />
You see, I love getting away and letting someone else cook my meals and make my bed, but nothing about vacation sends me into a relaxed state. I seem to worry more when I'm away with the family than I do when we are home.<br />
<br />
<i>Where will we eat breakfast?</i><br />
<i>Where are we headed next?</i><br />
<i>Have they had enough water to drink?</i><br />
<i>What time does that park close?</i><br />
<i>Do we need dinner reservations?</i><br />
<i>Who will share a bed with Alex, the world's most violent sleeper?</i><br />
<br />
And trust me, the list of worry doesn't end there.<br />
<br />
I will say that our vacation definition does include words the official one forgot, like "fun", "spontaneous", "memory-making" and "priceless"! Because after all the bickering, worrying and a few tears, we are so fortunate to be together exploring new places and revisiting some old. And in the end, the time "spent away from home" as a family is what makes it so special.<br />
<br />
Now, in the words of a Mom right after a vacation, go pick up your dirty clothes and clean your room - vacation is OVER!@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-64058912373846731902012-07-09T22:45:00.002-04:002012-07-09T22:45:58.212-04:00The lovely ladies in my life!We had drama last night with little guy but he's over it. He had a fun day at camp and loves his life again. Sadness averted for now!<br />
<br />
But it really got me thinking about my girlfriends. And ironically, one of the women who inspires me to be the type of Mom that I am today recently moved to Arizona and is back for a visit and we had dinner tonight - and I realized how much I missed her!<br />
<br />
As women we come across those straight shooters that tell it like it is;<br />
<br />
<i>"That shirt makes you look fat." </i><br />
<i>"What were you thinking with that hair cut?" </i><br />
<i>"Time to use face cream."</i><br />
<br />
But she isn't one of those shooters, she's the type of shooter that supports your decisions, encourages you to achieve and makes you believe you're doing the best you can, given what you are handed in life. And I love that! Because that's the type of girlfriend I want to be. <br />
<br />
I would never want to be remembered as the friend that points out your weaknesses, but rather the friend that reminds you of your strengths.I'd want to support your decisions no matter how hard they are for you, or how different they are from the decision I'd make. Because at the end of the day, friends are there to lift you up, make you laugh, remind you of the beauty you often forget is there, and support your dreams...no matter how crazy they may be. I hope each day I can give that back to the women I know.<br />
<br />
And with that, I want to thank the lovely ladies in my life that laugh at my silly stories, tolerate my insecurities, and remind me that no matter how much I doubt myself that I'm doing an okay job. YOU keep me grounded and help me get through the crap. And whether we've known each other 40 years, 20 years, 10 years or 5...there is a special place in my world for all of you and that is so freaking cool!<br />
<br />
xo<br />
<br />@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-88296546801745142452012-07-08T20:58:00.003-04:002012-07-08T20:58:34.814-04:00Seeking Best Friend for Little GuyI am a girl. I love my girlfriends like they are my sisters. That's the way it has always been. I have bonds that go back almost 40 years and that simple fact amazes me every time I think of it.<br />
<br />
I am not a boy. I don't completely understand the role that boys play in each others lives. I do know that my son is capable of inserting himself into most groups without hesitation and will emerge with a "friend" or two by his side.<br />
<br />
Take baseball camp last month, for example. It was 1,000 degrees out when a group of kids, ages 6 - 12 were thrown out onto a scorching hot baseball field to learn some basic drills. Within a few minutes of learning how to karaoke (a dance-like skill I mastered quickly myself, but I'm sure I'm calling it by the wrong name) he was laughing and chatting with the boys in his group. For me, that was mission accomplished! He is capable of making friends and creating bonds. Or so it seemed.<br />
<br />
Flash forward to tonight, when I found him fixing a Lego in his room and I quietly reminded him, "It's bed time, not time for Legos" at which point he dropped his Lego and exclaimed in tears, "I hate my life!"<br />
<br />
Ouch. It's just a Lego. You can fix it in the morning. With a few questions and some gentle coaxing, the real underlying issue is that he doesn't feel like he has any friends. A best friend, to be exact.<br />
<br />
It never occured to me that something like that would be important to him at 7 years old. He had a play date with a boy from his school today, and other than the adrenaline kicking into overdrive to the point I had to remind him that basketball on rollerblades is a sport for outside the house, they seemed to have a lot of fun. <br />
<br />
He rides off on his bike every afternoon to play with the kids in the neighborhood (which is a pretty even mix of boys and girls all near to his age) and never mentions being left out or left behind. But his sister has a BFF...someone that comes to the door looking for her. Someone that schemes about sleepovers, the next time they'll see each other, and how much they'll miss each other when they're apart. He doesn't. And it just became clear how important that could be for boys, too.<br />
<br />
Now what's a mother to do? Seeking a best friend for my little guy. Inquire within.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-78358148098474978422012-07-03T15:36:00.001-04:002012-07-03T15:36:06.741-04:00The mojo has returnedYou know what's awesome? I figured out how to login to Blogger with my new persona without having to keep logging in and out as the old persona - which is what was really preventing me from blogging!<br />
<br />
Ok, which was deterring me from blogging. <br />
<br />
Ok, ok...which was my excuse for not blogging.<br />
<br />
It feels great to be typing so I'd just like to wish you and yours a Happy July 4th and I'll be seeing you on the Blogger!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />@SierraSezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11200830932351684949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-33520136630462981672012-06-29T10:30:00.000-04:002012-06-29T10:30:36.139-04:00It has been a long, long journeyOh, this blogging trip. What a long journey.<br />
<br />
First was the road of trepidation.<br />
Then the street of uncertainty.<br />
Which lead us down a dead end of ideas.<br />
<br />
But I hooked myself up to a new wagon and decided I needed to "make" time to put the thoughts in my head, and at my fingertips, down on paper (which is so not true because this is not paper, but "down on computer screen" doesn't sound right!).<br />
<br />
Our world over the past 9 months has been full of milestones and adventures. A winter that never arrived (fine by me!). End of another school year, beginning of another summer. <br />
<br />
The hardest hurdle was the loss of this awesome little guy:<br />
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<br />
I still tear up when I discover pictures like this on the computer. He loved Christmas chaos and this year will be especially difficult when Santa doesn't leave a stocking for our four legged friend. It will be a while before we think about adopting another dog. We miss you Coach.<br />
<br />
On a happier note, Abby isn't terrified of the dentist any longer. What? That's not a big enough deal to blog about? I totally disagree...because <a href="http://suburbsierra.blogspot.com/2011/03/does-floss-get-stuck-forever.html">back then</a>, I never thought we'd be in and out of a dentist office in 30 minutes! Yesterday she proved me wrong. She is turning into a lovely young lady who will be 10 this year and that just freaks me out the point that I am unable to catch my breath....breathe, breathe. Where does time go??<br />
<br />
And our big man Alex has the attitude of a 14 year old but the coordination of a 7 year old which is proving to be interesting. Slow down little man...you'll be a "big kid" soon enough. He has taken a liking to hockey and baseball and was fortunate enough to go to baseball camp for a week in June when the temperatures hit 100 degrees. Such a lucky kid --- not! What are the odds that the "early" week of camp would lend itself to late July temps? He was a trooper and never asked to skip it or quit. I didn't relax for a moment, terrified he'd pass out in left field. It.Was.So.Hot!<br />
<br />
Hubby got a well deserved pat-on-the-back at work. He's worked hard for 6 years and it was dutifully recognized. I'm so proud of him for his display of work ethic which I hope the kids understand and emulate one day - because right now they run far way from anything that looks or smells like hard work!<br />
<br />
Me? I'm just me...working with some great clients with this <a href="http://www.carltonprmarketing.com/">great team</a>. What started out as a "let's see how it goes" has turned into a "let's see how it grows". My business partner and colleagues are amazing. Every week is a new adventure and opportunity so I am just blessed to be a part of it.<br />
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So, how are you?? We should get coffee some time. OK, that's a lie. I don't drink coffee, but I never pass up a glass of wine so let's make time, shall we?<br />Suburb Sierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12049942927713063446noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-25756599092236698932011-11-15T12:36:00.001-05:002011-11-15T12:38:28.585-05:00Best Tooth Puller Ever<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGktAiKul5xROlniuPmwfoC7oTLMSBmDjOc3qb7JAR2Yty2d-YqxSNafige6ctaaaVtXij-JLG2uEeaDhMNJ-n_HVgaMvgs8tOPNNI63FZu6C2IfbtWVFBsLrLMSGDH8BT96DCSlUL81k/s1600/firsttooth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGktAiKul5xROlniuPmwfoC7oTLMSBmDjOc3qb7JAR2Yty2d-YqxSNafige6ctaaaVtXij-JLG2uEeaDhMNJ-n_HVgaMvgs8tOPNNI63FZu6C2IfbtWVFBsLrLMSGDH8BT96DCSlUL81k/s1600/firsttooth.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank goodness the fear of pulling teeth is not genetic. He'll be just fine ripping the rest out of his mouth.</td></tr>
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<br />Suburb Sierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12049942927713063446noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-55765772706796867622011-09-15T19:25:00.002-04:002011-09-15T19:28:33.520-04:00It's just like labor painAh, the emergency room. I have visited very few times in my life - thankfully - and our children (hear me knocking on wood LOUDLY) have escaped the repeated visits that often come with childhood accidents.<br />
<br />
Hubby...well...he's an ER master. Sprained ankle. Pneumonia. Asthma attack. Kidney stone.<br />
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He's a do-it-yourself kind of ER guy, too. He often drives himself. Doesn't feel the need for anyone to be by his side while he's waiting. Always seems to feel like a million bucks right after he's checked in and the pain meds kick in - but who doesn't?<br />
<br />
This morning at 4:30 a.m. while he was apologizing for waking me up, he announced he was in incredible pain and was driving to the ER. My thought was: pain + driving = bad idea. I offered repeatedly to call for an ambulance but he said no. Having two children sleeping soundly doesn't exactly lend itself to offering to drive him there - although the hospital is less than a mile away so even a drive and dump at the door would have had me missing for less than 5 mins (NO, I would NEVER leave my children alone! On purpose, that is...)<br />
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As he described his ailments I thought, kidney stones or appendicitis. And after walking him to the door to wish him luck on his drive to the ER, I quietly did a search online and, once again, earned my WebMD medical degree. <br />
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I lay awake waiting for the call that he arrived safely...or that he was being sent home...or admitted....any call at all. And sure enough that came a little after 5 a.m. There was an IV, pain meds and he was just going to wait for the Dr. I rolled over after we hung up and pretended I went back to sleep - didn't happen. The WebMD site had me second guessing my diagnosis so I tossed and turned.<br />
<br />
By the time I was able to get to the hospital after dropping the kids off at school and touching base with the awesome support network we have there, they were whisking him away for a cat scan. Sure enough it was a kidney stone that would now float around in his bladder until it decided to come out. The <s>kinda hot</s> nice male nurse explained what was going on and offered his brilliant analogy so I could better understand the situation....<br />
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"When the stone is passing through your kidney, it is similar to labor pains."<br />
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I was going to offer up, "Well then hubby has 39 more hours of kidney stones to go, because I was in labor for 42 hours with my first child...."<br />
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But then I quickly decided it really wasn't about me, now was it...so I nodded and bit my tongue...for once. The nice thing about this ER visit is our hospital just unveiled like a 10 trillion dollar ER renovation (ok, not 10 trillion dollars) so we got to check it out. Very nice. Just missing Diet Coke in the vending machine - so I'll be taking that up with the staff next time we visit. Which I'm hoping won't be until at least 2014.Suburb Sierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12049942927713063446noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-72760923143389769572011-09-06T11:45:00.000-04:002011-09-06T11:45:01.303-04:00Everyone take your place...The first full day back to school is exciting....for the dog.<br />
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You see, he and I have had this amazing routine for years now - it started in 2007 when I started working from home - I wait for the kids to leave the house (I'll admit - I don't do mornings so hubby is the one rushing the kids around and out the door) and then I saunter downstairs and head over to his dog crate in my office, all covered with his dark sheet so he isn't disturbed by the sunlight, and let him out.<br />
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He runs to the back door ready to chase a squirrel and do his duty and then back inside for his breakfast and some conversation. It usually sounds like this:<br />
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"Hey Bubba (although his name is Coach). Good morning. You hungry?"<br />
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He never responds.<br />
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I'll grab a quick bite, turn on the radio, <s>sometimes</s> rarely shower and turn on the computer to check the day's events. He curls up right behind or next to my office chair and away we go. Routine. For hours. There are conference calls, trips to the fridge for Diet Coke refills, barking at the UPS or Postal trucks (him, not me) and lots and lots of email.<br />
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This past school year things changed a little - there was bus duty thrown into the mix at 2:10 p.m. That usually involved barking on his behalf as I left the house to walk down the end of our street. This year, there will be trips to the school as the bus ride home is off the list. I'm sure that will evoke the same barking that the bus exit did.<br />
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So you see, for years now at the start of the school year there is this return of "normal" for the dog. This celebration dance I'm doing right now is not for me...it's totally for him. I'm so happy his routine is back! He's not getting any younger, ya know.Suburb Sierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12049942927713063446noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-27917678046780442342011-08-31T15:38:00.000-04:002011-08-31T15:38:22.228-04:00Growing up in a flash<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Dh5Ldbiir8yxXdHF5GaJn_9S6zis7jrzf9_ANAi4k4lyF2jJ43B21-uPq5qJexXacwYRL-qVNM58g6FDVnKDSEcuedJgLFRJ7hWhr4y9-_cfWnCgA9TaWbqqlej_4NvasCym10xPMzY/s1600/firstday2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Dh5Ldbiir8yxXdHF5GaJn_9S6zis7jrzf9_ANAi4k4lyF2jJ43B21-uPq5qJexXacwYRL-qVNM58g6FDVnKDSEcuedJgLFRJ7hWhr4y9-_cfWnCgA9TaWbqqlej_4NvasCym10xPMzY/s320/firstday2011.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matching outfits this year! Bring on 1st and 3rd grade. We can handle it.</td></tr>
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Suburb Sierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12049942927713063446noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-88212294122400103002011-08-28T20:07:00.000-04:002011-08-28T20:07:44.624-04:00The summer that got awayAs my daughter would say, "Holy Cheese and Crackers! Is it really the end of August?" (kudos to Hannah Montana for that lovely phrase, I believe)<br />
<br />
How can this summer wrapping up already? How can my little minions be heading into first and third grade? How can my shorts from last summer STILL not fit (ok, I know the answer to that one)?<br />
<br />
I'm sitting in amazement that the 500 blog posts that have been floating through my head have never made it online. Part of the problem is that my blog is not connected to my "work" login so anytime I want to post I have to log out of my email, calendar and overall current being and log back in as my previous being...which is way too complicated for my lifestyle these days.<br />
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I will say that we survived our first summer together - the kids and I. Every previous year they have been in full time daycare and even last year when I found myself unemployed we had already pre-paid for summer session so I sent them along. This year, we spent at least 5 out of 7 days together (I wanted to keep them in the program at least 2 days so I can keep a slot when school starts up - Mama is trying to get a business going!) and we all came out of it alive.<br />
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Of course there were tears, shouting, crying, pouting, stomping, and screaming - but can you blame me? I mean a Mom has to release some tension every now and then. <br />
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But kidding aside, we didn't do half the things I imagined we'd do but we squeezed in some pool time with the neighbors, a trip to NH then to Six Flags New England then to PA, time with friends we don't see enough like Liz, Julie, Jocelyn and Christina - and sadly not as many trips to the beach as I would have liked.<br />
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Overall I'd say I scored a 7 on the scale of "Keeping the Kids Entertained" - Hey it was my first time as a summer Mom! But I will leave you with this:<br />
<br />
Zero trips to the ER or doctor.<br />
One son who mastered the scooter and riding a two wheeler.<br />
One daughter who can swim in the deep end of a pool and rode in some waves at the beach.<br />
One Mom who is on her way to self employment - full time.<br />
<br />
Bravo summer of 2011. <br />
Suburb Sierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12049942927713063446noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-80399071639071364672011-06-02T19:30:00.000-04:002011-06-02T19:30:48.359-04:00Everything costs more these days - even paper towelsWhile on a mission with the kids to find an umbrella stand on Tornado Wednesday - something that proved to be more difficult than I thought - our adventure took us to BJ's Wholesale Club in the late afternoon.<br />
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Amidst all the running around from Target to Walmart to Home Depot and then BJ's I managed to consume 32 oz of Diet Coke <i>easily</i>.<br />
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God-willing, we were able to find a nice 50 lb steel umbrella stand at BJ's, roll it up and into a shopping cart, check out without any "extras" in our possession and head straight for the rest room where I corralled the kids in and made a dash to a stall. <br />
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Upon exiting with a renewed sense of relief to wash my hands I noticed my daughter was standing with her hands dripping wet from the sink and mumbling, "I don't like those dryers". The jet engine dryers that blow the skin on your hands in various directions are not her favorite. I waved my hands under the automatic faucet at the right angle to finally get the thing going when I hear her exclaim, "I did not know they had paper towels here!" I glanced over at the steel holder on the wall at the precise moment she screeched, "WHOA! They charge 25c for paper towels here. Why would they charge 25c? I can't believe anyone would charge for paper towels!! Look Alex, 25c for paper towels."<br />
<br />
For what seemed like eternity she "Whoa'd" and "Wow'd" about the 25c paper towel holder so much that my son was now fascinated at the steel contraption hanging on the wall that clearly did not dispense paper towels.<br />
<br />
With a quick and feverish motion I waved my hands and shouted "Let's go. We don't want anyone stealing our umbrella stand from our cart out side. Let's move. Step away from the box. It's not paper towels - carry on."<br />
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That last observation should have been kept inside my head because as we were exiting the bathroom the conversation continued with "What do you mean it wasn't paper towels? What was in there? What costs 25c? Tell me. What was in there for 25c?"<br />
<br />
"Can I buy you guys an icee while we're here?"<br />
<br />
Colored, sugar infused ice will distract them every time.<br />
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So, parents - when is the right time to discuss the expandable, tube shaped paper towels on a string with my daughter? I'm frankly not prepared to do go there yet with an 8 year old!!Suburb Sierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12049942927713063446noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1970446622374808341.post-7851039860506094982011-05-23T15:47:00.000-04:002011-05-23T15:47:41.464-04:00How do you like them...errr...strawberries?I failed as a home gardener - mainly because I hate weeding and also I didn't enjoy all the bugs that accompany vegetable plants. Last summer I was amazed by some perennial tomatoes that regrew after a fairly mild winter of '09 (that was kind of cool). However, in the summer of '10 I gave up on beans, lettuce, asparagus and herbs and was happy with the tomatoes and a few strawberries that sprouted up out of a strawberry pot we bought - that was about this size:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2F2EkOMp8vPmGaLZy3B_oSP4O-sDqws-GUksTll_x9uWRgw5ml3iex-jZihXAp9Vz8inMj_Zor1pvEOc_YyZyEDdGhiiSgUQvqO1oNWZqyz0UnmE-dSsarZxgKhuYryvNqRdifxPyYk/s1600/fruit2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2F2EkOMp8vPmGaLZy3B_oSP4O-sDqws-GUksTll_x9uWRgw5ml3iex-jZihXAp9Vz8inMj_Zor1pvEOc_YyZyEDdGhiiSgUQvqO1oNWZqyz0UnmE-dSsarZxgKhuYryvNqRdifxPyYk/s200/fruit2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
After the 6 feet of snow melted in our back yard, I noticed something happening in the "garden"...and I'm not sure what to do about it...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqJxyixP_0lcLxUF2SwqboEYINlKHYaEeW6MTQAfNPEtMX0QwFUoFdGIFvH0YN_-fwXGgge-3kXvq_q6qIqLPPH3MlKuZnF2TQivq0dVPdQjmtkrMjGBMmH8K8tuEB_8IHCHx_ILS2lNo/s1600/fruit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqJxyixP_0lcLxUF2SwqboEYINlKHYaEeW6MTQAfNPEtMX0QwFUoFdGIFvH0YN_-fwXGgge-3kXvq_q6qIqLPPH3MlKuZnF2TQivq0dVPdQjmtkrMjGBMmH8K8tuEB_8IHCHx_ILS2lNo/s320/fruit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It seems my little strawberry pot spawned some friends and now I have a strawberry garden. Who says I can't grow my own food???? Anyone need jam? I suspect that will be my next "do-it-yourself" project. Lord help me.Suburb Sierrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12049942927713063446noreply@blogger.com0