Keeping it classy in the class of 2022

Hello, Friends.

You should know that I've cried over a pin twice in my life.

The first time was during college when my BFFMB (Best Friend Forever Mary Beth) created custom-made pins for our circle of friends. I can't reveal here what it said on the pins because it involved inappropriate, graphic language, but it was a timeless quote stated by one of the dumbest men God ever created.

I still have this pin. And I'm still unsure why it inspired tears. Maybe because MB took the time (not that her student activities post was all that demanding That Summer) to make it for all of us and preserve our memories in such an interesting fashion. Maybe it was due to the several liters of vodka. Who could be sure.

The second time I cried over a pin was for much more logical reasoning. It said, "Chartiers Valley Class of 2022," and it was given to my daughter at Kindergarten registration. She was so proud to fasten it on her shirt, and she couldn't wait to show everyone in the family her primary school bling.

I've known about registration for months now, and I've had the packet of 15 papers filled out for weeks. All of the necessary proof was successfully rounded up as well, including a baptismal record signed by a wonderful man--the same reverend who married Larry and me.

I easily remembered conversations I shared with him about Cienna, and I just wanted to pick up the phone or mail him a note to tell him what it felt like to walk her through the main lobby for the first time. And I wanted to tell Munch and Pap and Gran. But I couldn't. Yet somehow I could feel their pride, their joy and their love.

Larry was amazing. So supportive. So devoted. So loving. He knew I would be all sorts of emotional, and he knew I would keep it inside. We all did. Both he and Gram Arlene accompanied us to the registration area, and I told them to take a little tour while I handled the paperwork. Maybe I've become too used to handling the big things in her life.

While I talked immunizations and family demographics, Cienna colored and waxed poetic about iCarly and Hannah Montana. In just a few minutes, Larry walked up to the table and said to the office aide, "Hey, how's it goin'? I'm Cienna's dad." Cienna confirmed. "Yeah, that's my dad. I have two brothers and two uncles and a bunch of grandparents too." I believe she then explained what she calls all of her grandparents--Nana, Pappy, Gramma, Pap, GG and Grandma Arlene. I think she may have inherited my outspoken and verbose nature. God help her.

Following the paperwork, we were invited to a workshop that focused on Kindergarten readiness. It was led by the school counselor and school psychologist. Larry said, "I have a feeling I'll be seeing a lot of them."

Before we left, we took Cienna for a walk around her new school. Several mismatched art projects were hanging in the hallways, each one cuter than the last. And I remembered being a reporter and covering education. A special project found me in several elementary schools one spring, when Cienna wasn't even 2 yet. I walked similar halls, wondering what it would be like when my daughter went to Kindergarten. It seemed so far away. Then she was in preschool. And now this, which feels so much different than preschool. I just know the years will pass by even faster now. I'm not sure what to do with that. I'm excited for her and scared all at once. People tell me that's normal, but I still can't believe she's old enough for this already. My little girl.

We had a celebratory dinner that evening, and I expected Cienna would go on and on about the prospect of new friends, new lessons and new adventures. But she was more interested in athletic prospects that were being discussed on ESPN's "PTI." She gets it naturally. Clearly, Kindergarten is no match for the athletic commentary she enjoys with Larry--especially "Around the Horn." Is it the beginning of her superior athleticism?

It's really amazing to see how love from various people--parents, grandparents, siblings, uncles, aunts, cousins -- can blend into one child. What they cling to and take away from those relationships is just so interesting to me.

Among other things, I think Cienna identifies me as the true communicator in the house. Or at least I'm assuming that's why every time I try to take a shower, she walks in, sits down Indian-style on the toilet and says, "Mom, can I talk to you a little bit?" And the conversation ranges from traveling to the beach to why she thinks dress shoes for Easter should be called "bunny shoes."

And when Larry is not making her clean her room, he's definitely a source of recreation for her. They watch shows and sports together, including the NCAA college hockey tournament. Seriously, I think she may know more than some writers. It's disturbing. I was amazed when she spoke of the frozen four and it didn't involve orange, cherry, grape and banana popcicles.

Ty is her best friend. For sure. They're practically inseparable. She constantly watches out for him, and when we're not with him, she wants to call and see how he's doing. It's precious. And I'm so glad they have that kind of relationship.

She's absolutely amazed by Dimitri. She and Ty make him pictures every day--we've even framed some for his walls. And the first time she saw Dimitri smile at her, she said, "It's like magic, Mom. He really loves me."

It's moments like that which I never take for granted. And I try to make them last as long as possible. Because you just can't get these years back.

Get sprung

Hello, Friends.

A festival of gay and a lot of vodka

I may or may not have attended a 50th birthday party for Barbie. And it may or may not have been inspiring, disturbing and a festival of gay. While I'm OK with all three, I am, however, pleading to Mattel to start designing some more realistic dolls. Don't get it twisted: I'm fine with Barbie's perfect body. I just now want to see some more age-appropriate models.

For example, can we please get Cougar Barbie? Complete with the following accessories, of course: A pink phone with entirely too much bling on it. Her daughter's Aeropostale hoodie, over an American Eagle cami. Blonde extensions--and the entire do is heavily straightened. Several bottles of vodka--and no mixers because Cougar Barbie watches carbs. At least one silver tank with a copious number of sequins. And the phone numbers of several of my youngest brother-in-law's friends.

I'm also requesting Botox Barbie, Divorcee Barbie, Mother of the Bride Barbie and Mother-in-Law Barbie. They would all also share the vodka accessory.

Call me, Mattel. We'll make it happen.

S-wood Mac

Can we please discuss this season's American Idol?

I'll say now that my favorites are Kris Allen, Matt Giraud, Danny Gokey and Megan Joy (even though there are much better people out there in her genre). I have favorites every year.

There's a lot I do every year: question how drunk Paula Abdul is, gauge the gay between Ryan and Simon, wonder how some people made it to the top whatever, roll my eyes during country week and make fun of how trite Idol Cares is.

This year, I'm also annoyed with the frontrunner, Adam Lambert. He's just ridiculous. I wish I could explain to him that he's not Robert Smith. I wish I could explain to him that the reason most people are so impressed my his range and black nails is because never has anyone stood on the stage and screamed like that before. Really, it's like the crescendo of every Whitesnake song ever recorded.

Also...Scott MacIntyre. Look, it's hard not to be impressed with what S-wood Mac has accomplished, but he really doesn't belong in the Top 10. Let's be honest: he's there because he's blind. Wild Angels? Come on. That said, he could leave the competition now and sell a bunch of records. The same people--and by "people," I mean women who watch Lifetime--who bought Clay Aiken's Christmas Album will buy S-wood Mac's album(s).

And I don't know if I can handle Motown on Wednesday. I just know Simon is going to make some Stevie Wonder reference after S-wood's performance (while Paula whispers ever-so drunkenly in his ear).

The Dow n'@

Dear Yinzers,

You can stop talking about the stock market during happy hour. Most of you have never played the stock market. Most of you can't read the listings.

And I'm pretty sure you think Dow Jones must be someone who used to play for the Steelers.

Dirty 30

I'm in the middle of planning a 30th anniversary party. It's a surprise. It's a group effort, and by group effort I mean that A-son and I are telling the men involved what is expected of them. The organizing is going amazingly well, though I'm still debating a yummy alcoholic punch recipe.

What shocks me most is how inspiring it's been. They've been married longer than I've been alive. This June, I will only have even KNOWN my husband for four years.

But I want to get to 30 years with him. And 50 years. And however many more years I have until I die. I believe in us and our family, and I love what all that feels like.

And, the thing is, I think we can really do it. I honestly believe, despite the 50 percent divorce rate, that we will still be in love whenever forever is. Because we weren't high school sweethearts. Because we had lives before each other. Because we didn't do things according to plan.

I feel even more certain of this after recent conversations with Mary Beth and Joe. Both conversations were very different and the kinds of conversations that I can only have with those friends. They are both so wise and steady. They both love me unconditionally, which, if you're going to love me, is pretty much how you have to love me. And they will listen to me go on and on every year about how spring is love.

Another two friends, let's call them RC, will tell you that we are Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz in "What Happens in Vegas." Except that A) We, sadly, do not look like them. and B) The things they do in that movie to repel each other, we do to endear each other.

BringingsexyBackstage Mom

Thankfully, for everyone else, my backstage pass did not say that.

But it was obvious that I was so proud to see my little girl perform in "Coppelia." She was a bumblebee, and so she called it "The Bee Show." She refused to call it "Coppelia." When she invited her grandparents, she said, "Please come see me in The Bee Show. It's going to be so great."

And it was so great for her. And us.

At one point, I was doing some emergency sewing, and Larry was feeding Dimitri in the hallway. I said, "Who would've thought Larry Woodall would one day be feeding his son in a theater lobby in the middle of a ballet that he electively chose to go to."

Then a group of us went to Eat n' Park to celebrate. Because that's where you go in Pittsburgh to celebrate youth ballets.

Some time before the smiley cookies arrived, I realized how much I was smiling. My little girl loves something, and I get to provide opportunities for her to see her dreams come true. And this weekend that dream was dancing like a bumblebee. And she was just.so.happy. Not a care in the world. And that's just beautiful if you ask me.

Love yinz.

Candy go bragh!

There are many things we need to discuss, Friends.

But first, let us address the upcoming weekend's festivities. I'd agree with you that my performance during the last few years on St. Patrick's Day has been poor. Maybe it's because each year I seem to have another child or am pregnant. Maybe it's because I'd rather make more green things with the kids than drink green beer among Yinzers (I love you all!) looking for free beads. Maybe it's because I have jack and shit to do.

This year won't be much different, I'm afraid. I'll be spending the better part of the day at a "Coppelia" run through, sewing ballet costumes and chatting it up with the moms. Don't fret, though. I'll keep it festive with my shamrock antennae and a green, Pitt shirt.

I promise you that whatever I may be lacking in recent St. Patty's Days, I grossly overindulged in during college and beyond. I'm confident I drank enough Irish car bombs to level a continent.

Love it or beat it

Dear Rhianna:

I'm so disappointed that you and Chris Brown are allegedly back together. Not only did I have to scrap new lyrics to "Forever" (I've been waiting my whole life/for this one knife/gonna be me, you and Ike Turner...), but I was hoping for much more celebrity drama. I mean, it sets such a great example for the children who adore you to handle alleged domestic violence by allegedly running away to Hawaii. I know, I know. Life is tragically difficult when you are forced to heal along the Pacific Ocean.

Here's how you can redeem yourself, though: Beat him back. It's classy.

Octo-over it!

Does the Octomom have more important things to do than make rounds in the news? And how was she able to dial 911? The only phones that ever seem to work in our house are Cienna's Disney Princess phones which dial Belle, Cinderella and Jasmine. Very useful when you're in a jam!

I still maintain that most of the people judging her have nothing better to do, but enough is enough. Take care of your kids, and get off the media circuit!

And she's not Angelina Jolie because Angelina Jolie can afford her children.

Also, while we're on the subject, I will not be having as many children as Angelina Jolie or Octomaniac. The hormone hotel is officially closed.

Jon minus nine

Despite my numerous opinions about celebrity gossip today, I really don't follow it that much. In fact, the only way I ever really notice any of it is while standing in a checkout line or scanning the Yahoo! home page.

So imagine my horror when I read that Jon Gosselin, of Jon & Kate Plus 8 fame, was allegedly spotted in a bar, kissing women's volleyball players from Juniata. Juniata? Really? Now I have two questions about this: 1. If this was made up, would it really involve Juniata? 2. If it's true, can there please be an episode where Kate walks into the bar, puts the entire volleyball team on a schedule and throws down?

And then the message boards about this! Why are there message boards about this? And why do so many of the posts forgive his alleged transgressions because Kate is, as they claim, "too stressed and overbearing." She has EIGHT children!!! Of course she's stressed! Does that give the father a right to cheat on her? NO. And if he was doing his best as a father and husband, he wouldn't have time to cheat.

I actually have my doubts about the whole thing. I saw the photo that is supposed to be proof, and it looks severely edited.

More than you know, I hope this isn't true.

Sew into it!

I'm so into sewing these days. Well, I should clarify: I'm so into sewing ballet costumes.

Trust me, this is never something I thought I could do. I'm pretty sure we were asked to make a square pillow in home economics once, and I believed my finished product would best be described as a "neck roll."

I still have no desire to do pillows. Or curtains. Or "slacks."

But I love doing the ballet costumes. It benefits my daughter. It benefits her friends. It benefits the dance company that she loves. And I also enjoy the comraderie of a sewing circle and the parenting stories that are shared.

BG's Guide to Pressing

So BG and I are finally writing our masterpiece. Excuse me, our first masterpiece. And I know this is happening because I'm doing it. When it needs editing and perfect wit, I'll send it her way.

It's time that we share our genius with the world. Plus there's no time like a recession to press.

The first line? "It all started with an Italian hoagie."

You can only imagine what follows.

I'm also collecting ideas for our second masterpiece, "BG's Into It or Over It." This could be blockbuster, Friends.

As That BG put it, "Fortunes have been made on lesser things."

Get sprung

It needs to be spring. In the words of the Terminator, "Do it now!"

Seriously, though. I'm not one of the Yinzers who complains about the weather en mass. For example, the first time it reaches 80 degrees, they start begging for fall. OK, maybe I am that Yinzer, but only because fall is closer to the holidays.

I want the sun. And windows rolled down. And baseball I don't care about. And barbecues. And weekenders. And playgrounds. And inspiring breezes. And Memorial Day done properly. And Larry's birthday. And Easter dresses. And long walks. And popscicles. And watermelon. And no snow in April. And gardening. And turning the back yard into an outdoor family room. And swingsets. And all that love that seems to be everywhere when you give people a little sunshine and a long weekend.

Kryptonice

Most of you know my reputation as a superior athlete. I can only assume that it started with a double-shot of vodka and a stats book, much like Superman and Kryptonite.

Well, my superior athleticism is being called on once again. The Panthers need me. The Pens need me. Mayhem needs me.

I want to point out that I told Larry, before the NFL season started, that the Steelers would win the Super Bowl. And before the college basketball season started, I told him that it was Pitt's year. Sadly, before the NHL season started, I told him Pens would go one round and then be out of the playoffs. I'd love to be wrong about the latter.

Keep your eye on Pitt, though. Such a great team. So easy to watch. So unlike past years when Pitt had great teams, but they were difficult to watch. Enjoy the conference tournaments. Enjoy March Madness, Friends.

Enjoy March.

Love yinz,
Candy