SuperHubby vs. Rocky

We have a little situation at our house ... we have a lot of squirrels that like to stop by and visit. Unfortunately, they tend to hang out in the attic, and this drives SuperHubby absolutely nuts (bad pun intended).

We have 2 separate attics at our house. The previous owners built on an addition, and felt like they needed more attic space, so there are 2 attics with 2 different accesses. It's weird, but we have a lot of storage space, so we can keep way more junk than any family really should.

The attics both have these little vents on the sides of the house, plus one out front, where our furry little friends enter. They then get inside the attic and scamper around and generally make a lot of noise. It's bad when SuperHubby can hear them - which is pretty often.

Now, the vermin don't just sneak into the attic - oh no! - they will hang out on the side of the house and wait for SuperHubby to make eye contact, then they'll snicker at him and creep inside. This drives SuperHubby crazy. And then the war begins.

It's not unlike Caddyshack. If he had a gun, I'm sure he'd be shooting at them. As it is, he will drop everything he's doing and rush up into the attic, outside, or wherever else he thinks he has the advantage, and try to get them out. He has put up a grate but they knock it out. These are smart squirrels.

The exterminator said you can't kill squirrels. I say that's a lot of garbage, just pretend like you didn't know it was a squirrel, and oops - rat poison! But apparently you can get into a lot of trouble for that (who would know?!) and SuperHubby has made it a personal quest to simply have the critters move on. I'm all for death and destruction, but he'd rather just fight with them. Constantly.

It's really pretty funny. We'll be sitting in the house, calmly watching TV, and suddenly SuperHubby will leap to his feet and rush out the front door. He won't come back for hours. The children will start asking when Daddy's coming home. It's sad. But he never catches anything, and they always come back. We don't even have cable anymore -- we've got free entertainment.

A Clean Slate

I havea confession to make. I am a daytimer addict. I can't help myself. I absolutely love getting a new daytimers. New, improved daytimer. Ah, the bliss.

Until I actually write in it. Then it's an old yucky daytimer. Just like the other 627 daytimers I have in the closet. And then the quest begins again.

There's something intoxicating about having clean, fresh, empty pages on which to write the details of your life. Even if your life is relatively boring, which mine is. The sheer joy from noting my friends and family's birthdays (in pink). The fun of writing in the entire family's comings and goings (in purple or green, depending on the mood - but always consistent throughout the daytimer!). Of course, if there's a cancellation, TIME FOR A NEW DAYTIMER!

I realize this may sound extreme to those that don't enjoy the daytimer fascination. It's a rare breed that can admit they are quite so anal. And yet, I believe a new, PERFECT daytimer enters my life approximately every 2 weeks or so. Can we say "perfectionist"? How about "just plain weird"?

I've spent the better part of the day today writing down everyone's birthdays, appointments, etc. in my most recent daytimer. I didn't actually purchase this one - wait, yes I did (it's not like I stole it!) - I just didn't purchase it recently. I bought this one many months ago and was at least smart enough to hold onto it when it bored me the first 2 go rounds. Before I could get all the pertinent info in, I was bored with this little planner. Sad.

And so, the quest continues. I write big ("flowery," SuperHubby calls it) so I need space to write, but I want my planner to fit in my purse. Pages can't be too thick or the planner will weigh down my purse and I'll walk like a hunchback, but they can't be too thin or the ink will bleed through and then I'll need another planner. I'd like to have to-do lists for the week but I want daily pages (figure that one out!). So - if anyone knows of the perfect planner - PLEASE - let me know!!!

Now That's Good Eatin'

I have a new favorite restaurant. It took me a long time to go in; I was suspicious of it based on the name alone. I felt like it was ripping off Sticky Fingers. Plus, it's on Rivers Avenue by the mall, and there just aren't that many tasty treats up that way. My new fave is Smokey Bones.

We've only been a few times, but this is what I can say about it: This place has terrific atmosphere. There are TVs all around the restaurant, with different shows playing on different screens, and each table has a voice box that you can have as low or as low as you choose, playing whatever you (or your kids) might be watching. The last 2 times we went in, we asked them to change the channel so the boys wouldn't have to watch "girl shows" and they graciously obliged. Very nice.

The staff at Smokey Bones is tremendously friendly. From the minute you walk through the door, everyone is asking if this is your first visit, blah blah blah, and they make sure you're taken care of immediately, rather than waiting for your server to get to you when they darn well please. That's always nice.

On our most recent visit, I ordered a salad with no lettuce. Yep, you read that right. And I'm sure I'll get a lot of grief for that -- I certainly did that night. But the grief was from SuperHubby, not our waiter. Oh, he laughed a little, said he'd enjoy telling the kitchen about my request, but THEY DID IT. The manager even came over to make sure that my lettuceless salad was to my liking. (In my defense, they have this awesome salad but it's so huge you can't finish it, and I really would rather eat the yummy stuff and forget about the lettuce). So while I'm sure the entire wait staff of Smokey Bones was laughing at me from the kitchen, they were kind enough to not walk by and point while I ate my crunchies in sheer bliss.

I highly recommend Smoky Bones, but only if (1) you haven't eaten in a couple of days - the portions are huge and (2) you're ready to hand over your firstborn (Spanky, we miss you). It's expensive, but worth it, especially if you don't go often. Truly a culinary delight. And that's some compliment, when you have a trained chef and a trained eater saying it!

Eew, Gross

I have no other name for this blog. I've tried to be clever, but it simply alludes me. I am entirely too nastified by the realization that I have married my brother. And my brother has married his sister.

Before I go further, let me first confirm that no, we do not now, nor did we ever, reside in Alabama.

Here's the thing: My brother (The Professor, as he chooses to be called in blog world) started dating this really cute girl when she and I were both juniors in high school. They met at the grocery store where he worked and her family shopped. Sweet. They started dating, she and I became friends, there you go.

Several years later, I started dating a friend of The Professor's. Cute guy. Had similar interests to The Professor. They both ran cross country and track. That meant that during high school, when I was nurturing a slight crush on this friend of mine, I was able to watch him run and blame it on my brother. But I digress.

Fast forward to 1990. The Professor marries his sweetheart. Fast forward 2 more years - I marry SuperHubby (yep, that's right). And then we all noticed something...

My brother's wife looks an awful lot like me. Always has. At first, we both had long, curly brown hair. Awesome hair, I might add. Both terribly skinny (oh, for those days!). Personalities for miles. Anyway. We got married and had babies. Our figures got less skinny (hers not so much, but it makes for a good story). We both started cutting our hair because we had better things to do than fix it in the morning.

My brother and SuperHubby, very similar story. Early on, they're both runners, so they have the same friends and run in the same circles (bad pun). They both had lovely heads of hair. They got married. Hair started graying. They started shaving their heads. Even go to the same barber. Ugh.

We take an annual family vacation together. I took a picture this year of the guys on a dock. Pictures don't lie...they're twins! I also have a photo of my sis-in-law with her daughter and my youngest ... and everyone thinks it's me!

So okay - it's weird. We married each other. We even got people with the same initials. Even stranger. Sometimes my brother forgets who he's talking to and calls me "Babe." Creepy. But it's fun to go out and confuse people about how we're all related. And it's great because even after all these years, we're all still friends. I just hope we all age well.

Ode to a Commode

We have one bathroom in our home
That means we have but just one throne.
There's four of us that have to share
This single most important chair.

The bowl is always sparkling white
It really is a lovely sight
Clean-up's easy when you have kids
They usually only hit the lid.

Our toilet handles two small boys
It's eaten a fair share of toys.
It's been removed and replaced again
To fish out blocks and Superman.

Because it's seen so many hineys
We like to keep it fresh and piney.
Our john has seen a lot of butts
A job like that takes lots of guts.

So flush on, my porcelain friend, flush on,
You are our most beloved john.
And when your job begins to stink
Just let us know; we'll use the sink.

SuperHubby's Mid-Life Crisis

Most guys, when they start getting a little old, go through what we call a mid-life crisis. They'll get a sports car. Or a motorcycle. Or they'll start doing the bad dye job or serious combover. SuperHubby has gotten himself a girlfriend.

Her name is Tang Soo Do. (She's Korean.) She has a lot of guys interested in her, but that doesn't seem to bother SuperHubby, so hey, more power to him. He spends every Wednesday with her. Frankly, it's nice to have a little down time.

Now, I love SuperHubby, please don't misunderstand. I just have an small issue with him dancing around in a dress, swinging a sword. Oh, he calls it "martial arts," but I beg to differ. It just looks like a mid-life crisis in motion to me.

The dress is nice. Basic black. It looks good on him. Looks nice with the black and white sandals he wears with it. And he carries a black bag, so he matches quite well. Still, I'm a more than a little concerned.

What if my children see this? What if my children want to be like "daddy." Honesty, right now, it's hard to tell us apart. (Actually, not really. He's the one in the dress.)

I guess it's better than a combover. At least he doesn't have to worry about his dress getting messed up when he decides to ride with the top down. Now if I could just get him to stop swinging that sword around...

Vacation Viewmaster

So I'm finally taking some time to write about our vacation. We had a fantastic time in PA and actually had a lot of first-time experiences. Other than the flying, it was a great time! Here, in a nutshell, is a look at our vacation:

• Our first day up north, we went to NY City. I've written about this in a previous blog. We saw the Naked Cowboy, rode the Ferris Wheel in the 3-story Toys-R-Us, saw the Statue of Liberty (across the water - we missed the ferry), went to Trump Tower, and did just about a million other really cool things.
• We lost our tickets to get back on the tour bus. Somehow my brother-in-law managed to get us on anyway.
• Spanky bought things from street vendors. Bootleg DVDs, actually. SuperHubby came home with a NY cap, FrogBoy got a picture of Lady Liberty, and I walked away with a Chanel purse.
• On the way home from NY, our rental van got a flat tire. We sat on the side of the PA highway for over 3 hours, arguing via cell phone with AAA and Enterprise Rent-a-Car (one on each phone). When the tow truck finally showed up (almost midnight), the guy looked like a serial killer. Seriously. And he couldn't find the spare. Thankfully SuperHubby was there.
• Once we made it back to our hotel, we all had Quarter Pounders with cheese. SuperHubby and I agreed those were the best burgers we'd ever had.
• We toured the Crayola Factory. Pretty cool for little kids. Lots of interactive stuff. Also extremely hectic as it filled up.
• We visited the PEZ Museum of Easton, PA. I've been in walk-in closets that were bigger. Wanted to get something to add to my uncle's collection. You'd think a "museum" would have unique items. They didn't.
• SuperHubby and his brother toured the Yuengling Brewery. Oldest brewery in the US. Lots of history. Whoopee. I remember hearing "prohibition" when they droned on about it. I'm sure it was thrilling.
• We went to the biggest outlet center I've ever seen. I could've shopped there for days.
• I saw a baby bear on the side of the road. He was eating soap and drinking beer.
• We saw more deer than I've seen the rest of my life combined. They come up in the yard.
• The boys went swimming in the pool in my brother-in-law's backyard. That was an almost daily event. They loved that.
• We made smores in the backyard fire pit.
• We went to the horse races at Pocono Downs.
• We spent 3 days searching the mountain for souvenirs for my niece and nephews. Alas, they ended up with flattened pennies.
• We went to the top of a mountain and looked out over what might possibly be one of God's most beautiful creations. That's good stuff.
• We never got the minivan back. We spent the week in 2 convertibles. What a shame.
• We ate a lot of good food and had a tremendous amount of fun with family we rarely get to see. The boys were able to spend time with their aunt and uncle and everyone got along great. It's nice to get some one-on-one time. Hopefully we can do this more often as the boys get older.

We had such a wonderful time, we were commenting on how great it was every night. We just couldn't believe how blessed we were to get to go and to be having such a fantastic time. Even the things that went wrong were fun. We don't have much to compare it to (mostly time spent at MUSC), but this may well have been the best vacation we've ever known.

Nothing

When I was in high school, I had this mini-poster on my bedroom wall. I remember it vividly. It was a pink photocopied piece of paper, with 1 word in beautiful old-style script: Nothing.

I saw this hanging in the hall somewhere and stole it. I'm pretty sure they wanted you to take one. There were about a hundred of them in a stack. So I think I'm safe on the stealing thing.

I loved this poster. It was fun. Unique. And it drove my brother (Dorkimus Maximus) crazy. Sorry Larry, but you've been the subject of enough posts to warrant a nickname.

DM would come into my room and point to the poster and ask, "What does that MEAN?!" And I would reply, "Nothing." He would grow frustrated. He's a very logical person. This was not an acceptable answer. He would ask again, but differently, "But what is it saying?" Again, same answer. It was great.

I kept that poster until I got married. It got lost in the shuffle somewhere along the way of growing up. Yet it still makes me smile. A simple sheet of paper that irritated the snot out of my brother. The gift that keeps on giving.

Sleep Deprivation 101

I didn't sleep very well last night. It started when my brother called at 9:30. Anyone who knows anything knows I go to bed at 9:30 - but since it was my brother, I answered. This is a person who has never had a quick conversation in his life, and we were on the phone over an hour. I could've gotten off earlier, but he was saying nice things about me, and I didn't want to be rude.

Now usually I'm asleep before SuperHubby comes to bed. He likes to stay up watching TV, and as I mentioned before, I'm in bed early. It takes a lot of sleep to be as sweet and cute and cuddly as I am on a day-to-day basis.

But last night, SuperHubby decided to come to bed early. And I was still up. Bad combination. I had almost drifted off when I heard Kane, walking around in a million circles, trying to get comfortable. I yelled at him. He got settled and started sighing. Heavily. Stupid dog. Then Layla started doing that thing dogs do when they're sound asleep (it doesn't take her long) where they bark (sort of) and their legs go super fast because they think they're chasing something. Like she would ever do that if she was awake. Why do we have these dogs again?

Now I sleep with earplugs in, because frankly, there's a lot of noise happening in my room at night ... so after about an hour, I started blocking out the dog noise. And about that time, SuperHubby starts with his Restless Leg Syndrome. The bed feels like we just fed it about a million quarters (well, that's a little TMI, isn't it?) and now I'm starting to get nauseous. But this is a nightly deal, so I can sleep through the earthquake.

And then it starts ... The Noise. SuperHubby doesn't snore. Let me give credit where credit is due. What SuperHubby does is more of a Death Rattle. He has asthma, and I'm pretty well convinced that he has some sort of sleep apnea. So he'll be sleeping, peacefully, and suddenly there's this loud sound of him sucking air, then nothing. Nothing. He's fine. Meanwhile, my heart is racing. It's hard to keep sleeping until I know he's not dying.

Then the neighbors came home late, which just added to my frustration, and I ended up getting to bed well past my bedtime. I thought about calling in tired today. Somehow I didn't think that would fly.

Simply the Best

I attended a wedding this weekend that was, quite possibly, the Best Wedding Ever.

I like weddings. I like being invited to weddings. Something about a couple choosing to share something to personal with you ... it's great. And yes, for those inquiring minds that just have to know, The Queen wore a dress.

Back to the wedding. This particular wedding was very sweet, simple, short. Not No-One's-Going-to-Like This, We'll-Just-Go-to-a-Justice-of-the-Peace simple, but We-Want-to-Get-Married, Would-Love-for-You-to-Come simple. There were 2 attendants - a bridesmaid and a best man. The groom and the best man wore linen suits. The bride's dress was made by her mother (and it was gorgeous!).

This was my brother's brother-in-law getting married. My brother told me not to be late or I'd miss the wedding. He wasn't kidding. There were no unity candles, no long songs in the middle of the ceremony (a mistake SuperHubby and I made), just an exchange of vows and rings, 8 minutes tops. The groom cried when he saw the bride, which I always find refreshing, but there was laughter during the ceremony as well ... If only we could all handle our Big Day with such grace and style.

The reception was equally simple yet perfect. I'm used to the southern wedding reception ... lots of food and nowhere to sit. This particular reception had tables and chairs for everyone. They had a buffet of sandwhich fixins and chips, fruit, drinks (including sweet tea ... I love these people!) and a dessert table. They even had M&Ms and Skittles! Now I ask, who among us has had M&Ms and Skittles at our wedding? Who doesn't wish they'd thought of that???

The children at this wedding were great. Granted, I was related to 5 of them. But this was a family-friendly, relaxed, grand wedding. I can't believe how much fun I had.

My dad offered me and SuperHubby $10,000 back in 1992 to just elope. We opted for the big elaborate wedding, mostly because we wanted the pictures to remember the day. A problem at the photo shop and we ended up with no photos from the wedding. I wish I'd had the nerve to do something that more expressed my personality.

Tommy and Becky - you guys rock!!!

Lift Me Up

When I'm feeling down, I turn on some good 80s tunes to lighten the mood. What could be better? A few of my favorites:

• Luka by Suzanne Vega. A sweet ditty about child abuse. Written in the first person. Charming.
• Human by Human League. Boy cheats. Boy apologizes profusely. Girl forgives boy. Girl has cheated too. A wonderful commentary on the times.
• Candle in the Wind by Elton John. Sir Elton waxing poetic about Marilyn Monroe. A very dead chick. Re-made in the early 90s when Princess Diana died. This song made him a lot of money...twice.
• The End of the World as We Know It by R.E.M. The only thing more depressing than a song about the end of the world is a song about the end of the world where you can't understand the lyrics.
• The Gambler by Kenny Rogers. Okay, this may have been late 70s, and I realize it's a very country song, but it bears mentioning. First, it's a great song. Second, the dude dies in the song. Happy, happy.
• I'm My Own Grandpa by Ray Stevens. This is actually a very funny tune. And in the south, all too true.

If you're not singing one of these songs to yourself at some point today, I have failed in my mission to spread joy, 80s style. Big smiles!

Now I lay me down to sleep
Into my mind these thoughts do creep
Of things to say and posts to make
I have to blog when I'm awake!

A Tale of Two Bosses

I have two bosses. They are both Diet Coke addicts. At least they were until this week. That's when the world of "As Secoast Turns" was turned upside down.

Shawn decided he needed to give up Diet Coke cold turkey. He doesn't want his new baby to be born with a can of DC in his/her hand. I applaud his resolve. I also think it's a little humorous; I remember giving up food and being super-healthy as a first-time parent; by the time #2 rolls around, it's all about eating the good stuff. But Shawn is convinced he should be caffiene-free for his child, so more power to him.

Geoff immediately joined in with an "I'm-here-for-you-brother" attitude. Wonderful. What a friend. But wait, these are men we're talking about. It took about 4 minutes for the whole "we're in this together" thing to become a Major Competition. Who didn't see that coming?!

It's been a week (5 days really) since they start on the no-DC quest. I think they've both held off pretty well. Frankly, I thought they'd both be a little cranky by now, but I haven't seen that. Of course, Geoff left town, which was probably smart, but Shawn has actually gone overboard in the other direction...he's been Mr. Super-Nice since dumping the caffeine.

Now may be the time to ask for a raise. Or gifts. Shawn had claimed he was going to get me an iPod. I didn't believe him. But I think a little friendly competition in the spoiling of The Queen might be in order. What do you say, Geoff?

Mistakes My Parents Made

When I was 24, I knew everything there was about children. I could tell you what I would do, what I wouldn't do, and what other people were doing wrong. On January 11, 1995, Spanky was born, and I immediately lost all that knowledge and joined the Parents Don't Know Anything Club.

There's absolutely no way I could cover all the mistakes my parents made when I was growing up, but I would like to highlight some of my favorites:

• They let me listen to heavy metal music. I'm going out on a limb here...I think most of that genre is from the devil.
• They let me wear skin-tight leather pants. I was much thinner then, but it was still innappropriate. Maybe even more so, as I was a mere babe of 13 when I started this little fashion trend. Fortunately, it ended rather quickly.
• When I was 13, I won front row tickets to Duran Duran. Only the hottest band of the time. And they didn't let me go to the concert. It may well have ruined my life, if I weren't such a well-adjusted person. Plus, I sold the tickets and made a fast $100.
• When I was 14, they allowed me to date a 17-year-old. What were these people thinking?
• When I was 18, they let me have an unchaperoned co-ed toga party in an empty house. Are you kidding me? Does this sound like a good idea? Even people without kids don't think this is logical.
• When I was 18, they also let me visit my boyfriend at the time...in Rhode Island. Hello. Is this what a sensible parent would do? No, I didn't think so.
• Throughout high school, my friends and I had unlimited use of a beach house on Folly Beach. It belonged to one of my friend's parents. We would spend weekends out there, without any adult supervision whatsoever. Why? Because we could.

I would like to point out, I never gave my parents any reason to NOT trust me. I deserved the leeway I was given, as I was quite the goody-goody (for the most part). In high school I was accused of being a narc, and sadly, I had to ask some of my "rougher" friends to explain the meaning of that word to me.

And yet, I still managed to get into some trouble. I'm sure I would've found a way to do the things I wanted to do, but I just don't think parents should give permission for such nonsense. At the time I thought it was cool; I would think of arguments to get my case in front of the parental jury, only to have them say "Okay, great!" before I could finish asking.

I just truly hope that when my boys are older and start requesting such insane privileges, I can remember that I'm not supposed to be their friend, I'm supposed to make the decisions for them that they're not yet able to make for themselves, and teach them how to be wise adults.

NYPD Blah

I am addicted to NYDP Blue. I am pretty certain this show was created simply for my enjoyment. I have seen every episode at least 20 times, which is no small feat considering I just started my obsession with teh show on January 1, 2004. I remember it well...it was the New Year's Day NYPD Blue Marathon on Court TV. 24 hours straight of this terrific drama. With TNT and Court TV showing reruns every day, my habit is fed constantly.

Yet I have a serious problem with this program. They have some of the worst dialogue I have ever heard. Some examples:

• After a "romantic interlude," girl-cop says to guy-cop: "We just made a baby." Okay, right, like people talk like that. The only thing worse than this comment was his reply: "Good." Feel the love.
• One of the detective's wife is accidentally shot in the courthouse by a madman. This after a very lengthy discussion about how great their life is. Indication number one that someone's going down. As she lay in hubby's arms, dying, she utters her last words..."Take care of the baby." Ugh. First of all, the baby was 3. Second of all, he has a name. And third, what is this garbage???
• People are constantly saying words like "perp" and "skel," and they have all mastered a head nod that must mean something but seriously just looks like a bad seizure.
• Two people on the show actually had the following conversation: She: "That would be me coming over tonight." He: "That would be me, answering the door." Yuck.

Like I said, I really enjoy the show. I do not, however, see why we have to ruin good crime dramas with romance (and other stuff that doesn't even come close to romance). And the weird allegedly-New York talk is hard to follow. Too busy laughing.

Other than that, I love NYPD Blue. Just give me blood and guts and crime-solving anyday, and skip the other junk.

Why I Married SuperHubby

I love Top 10 lists. And I love SuperHubby. Not necessarily in that order. So I thought I would combine 2 of my great loves and provide those who care (both of you) with my Top 10 Reasons I Married SuperHubby:

1. He asked.
2. He's a chef.
3. He can fix stuff.
4. Green milk on St. Paddy's Day.
5. He knew my brother, so he was pre-approved.
6. He puts up with my dorkiness.
7. Did I mention he cooks?
8. Two words: Neil Diamond.
9. He "gets" my purse / daytimer obsessions. I won't say he understands them, but he tolerates them.
10. I wanted to send money to MUSC every month for the rest of my life, and I was afraid if I called it "charity," I'd be audited for sure.

So there you have it. Certainly not a complete list, but some of the highlights as to why I got married to SuperHubby over 13 years ago. It seems impossible. These days, when I hear of KIDS getting married as young as we did, I'm shocked, appalled, amazed. I pray that they will make it. After all, they don't have a clue what they're signing up for. And yet, it's been a great ride for us.

On Being Blessed

In a couple of weeks, we will mark the 1-year anniversary of FrogBoy's autism diagnosis. We knew something was going on, but we weren't prepared for those words. It was just a word, a label, nothing really changed; and yet, everything changed. Our world was shattered.

We didn't leave the house for a couple of days. Didn't want to see anyone. Didn't want to talk to anyone. Not even each other. Then the realization hit: "You can't hide forever." We went to church.

So in the middle of praise and worship, I'm standing there feeling sorry for myself, and we start with the song "Blessed Be." I always liked that particular song, but that night it took on new meaning.

Blessed be Your name in the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name when I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be Your name

Every blessing You pour out I'll turn back to praise
And when the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name

Blessed be Your name when the sun's shining down on me
When the world's "all as it should be"
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name on the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord blessed be Your name.

A gentle, loving reminder to focus on Him and give over my worries and my child to Him. I left that place with a peace I've never felt, and though I won't claim to not have moments where I need a little pity party, I can choose to invite only myself to those, as I know the Lord will join me, let me fuss a little, then pick me up and help me realize what a great life we have. We are truly blessed.

The Ride of Our Lives

Since we don't get to NY often, and we apparently aren't the brightest bunch, we decided to take a cab ride while in the city. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

We were tired. We'd been walking for over 6 hours, my sister-in-law had a brace on her ankle from a camping injury, it was the middle of a "heat wave," and I'm not the most physically fit person on the planet.

We hopped into a cab in front of Trump Tower. We needed to get back to our minivan and we were all done for the day. It seemed innocent enough.

Our friendly cabbie was Ahmed Mohammed. He looked mean. Couldn't tell much else, since there were 5 of us squished into the back of his cab, with my brother-in-law riding shotgun. He is, quite possibly, the smartest of us all.

Soon enough, Mr. Mohammed starting cursing. A lot. Seems he doesn't like NY City traffic. At this point, neither did the rest of us, but we were all too busy hoping and praying we'd make it out alive to complain. Not Mr. Mohammed. And not my brother-in-law.

Remember that SuperHubby's brother is supposed to be smart? Well, he starts antagonizing the cabbie. Our lives are in his hands, and he starts ribbing him about how cab drivers are the worst drivers and they're really the problem with NY traffic.

Apparently he felt like we were close enough to our van to walk if we got kicked out. I'm not entirely sure he wasn't aiming for that. Ahmed let us ride all the way though; we looked like a clown car emptying out when we got to our stop.

If I ever make it to NY again - which may be difficult, considering I don't intend on flying anytime soon - I think I'll skip the cab and walk til I drop.

Flying the Not-So-Friendly Skies

As if I weren't terrified enough of flying, a couple of weeks before our trip there were several bombings in London. Granted, they were on the subway, but it was enough to remind me of 9/11 and get my proverbial panties in a wad.

I started thinking -- A LOT -- about what a terrorist would look like. I was certain I would be able to spot one a mile away. What is wrong with these so-called security experts? Why can't they see these people coming? In my opinion, frisk everyone and ask questions later. But I digress.

So we're leaving PA, after nary a hint of terrorist activity on the flights over or even while in NY (although I was pretty sure our cabbie was going to kill us). And then I spotted HIM. Anyone would have picked him out of a crowd. He was...The Amish Terrorist.

I'm not kidding. Here's this Amish guy, in all his Amish glory, with his great big Amish hat, boarding my flight. Not good. He had as his carry-on's a metal briefcase (yeah, right, where does HE work?!) and a box of what appeared to be those gigantic chocolate bars that your kids sell for school fundraisers. Now I ask, who wants to board a plane with that???

I searched my brain for any knowledge of all things Amish. Didn't take long. I remembered that Amish people don't exactly travel in cars. So what's this guy doing getting on a plane?!?!? Hence the conclusion: he must be an Amish terrorist.

He looked nice enough. Even took off his shoes going through the metal detector. There were no signs telling you to do this, so I knew he was a seasoned Amish traveler. Nothing beeped and no one jumped him, so I took that as a good sign.

Then I started really thinking. If this guy is truly an Amish terrorist, what's his purpose? Why would he blow up my plane? Is he speaking out against cell phone use? Maybe the fact that people have used way more buttons this year than last year, and he just can't take it anymore. And, of course, there's been that great ShooFly empidemic in PA, which renders them unable to make ShooFly Pie.

I decided to board, simply because I realized that blowing up in a plane would actually be better than having the plane crash. At least it's over quick and you don't have to wait for impact. My Amish friend never uttered a word or even used the lavatory during the entire flight (modern conveniences, you know).

I may have overreacted. But at least I pay attention.

The Fitzgeralds Take Manhattan
(aka: The Beverly Hillbillies in NY)

The first day of our trip to PA was actually spent in NY City. This was a much anticipated trip, as we were planning to visit the Statue of Liberty and the gigantic Toys-R-Us with the ferris wheel. Nothing touristy about us.

Our day started well and we had a blast in the city. A few too many people for my tastes, but I guess no one had been informed the Queen was coming to town. People didn't get out of my way or even say "Excuse me" when they bumped into us...something I'm not quite familiar with...and forget saying "Thank you" or "You're welcome." Apparently manners are not en vouge in NY.

We took a sightseeing bus around the city and even got CLOSE to the Statue of Liberty. You have to take a ferry to the island, and although the ferry was 98% empty, we weren't allowed to board. Something about being 5 minutes late for the boat...although it was just sitting there like it was boardable. We bought a picture of the chick for FrogBoy's room and moved on.

We did and saw more things than I could ever cover here, but the most impressive thing I encountered in NY was the Naked Cowboy. No, I'm not kidding.

There's actually a man who stands in the middle of Times Square in his tightie whities (with "Naked Cowboy" in rhinestones on the buttocks, mind you), boots and cowboy hat, playing the guitar. I've seen this guy on the Today Show, but I honestly thought he was a gimmick for the station, not a real guy. No, he's real all right. And proud of himself.

I've got to give the guy credit. He stands there all day, posing for pictures with people and playing his guitar for tips. I'm assuming this is his gig. He's cornered the market. I didn't see any competition. And he's the best Naked Cowboy I've ever come across.

We thought what he was doing might be illegal. If it was, the 5 cops on the corner weren't doing anything about it. And Mr. Cowboy had a line of people ready for their close-up. Whatever.

So although SuperHubby lost our tourbus tickets (we got on anyway) and my sister-in-law had her foot in a cast (long story) and we missed the ferry and we got a flat tire on the way back to PA and had to wait on the side of the road for 3 hours, we had a great first day of vacation. I've never seen anything like NY in my life...and the boys were mesmerized. Thankfully the rest of the week was spent on top of a mountain.

I'm a little concerned about this blogging epidemic. My brother actually called me today to find out how my vacation went, then promptly asked if I would be covering it in my blog because he would rather read about it than hear about it. This may be out of control. On the other hand, I may have stumbled upon a way to communicate with more people while -- if this is possible -- actually giving less of myself to the task. I love technology!!!

Flying Lessons

We made it home from vacation. Thank God. It was touch and go there for a while. I learned a lot on the flights from Charleston to PA. So without further ado...

1. If you look pitiful enough, the strange man sitting next to you will hold your hand so you won't be afraid.
2. So will your 7-year-old son.
3. The things you worry about and plan for often don't come to pass.
4. The things you don't think about, will.
5. When it rains, it pours. It also grounds planes when accompanied by intense lightning.
6. Sitting next to a 7-year-old is NOT the best way to keep your mind off flying. There will be questions.
7. Running to a small plane in the middle of a thunderstorm is reminiscent of the scene in "La Bamba" before Richie Valens and the Big Bopper bite the dust. Fun.
8. Runway delays are worse than airport delays.
9. Pilots don't get mulligans.
10. If you pry your eyes open, flying at night in a thunderstorm is really rather beautiful...especially the rainbow.
11. Never watch the news the night before you fly.
12. I should have taken the Valium.