I Love Yinz

Notes on being a badass rockstar

2009-07-06T17:10:00.000-07:00

Hello, Friends.

The space between my stories has been filled with summer fun, many headlines, new challenges, overdue victories and just enough defeat for the sake of balance.

Sanford & Sons

Really, Mark Sanford? You get on live TV, confess to adultery, claim that your Argentinian mistress is your soulmate, quote Bible passages to try and justify it all, then say you're going to try to reconnect with your wife?

If I was your wife, and you publicly (or even privately) humiliated me like that, the only thing that I'd be interested in connecting would be my foot with your ass. Lucky for you, I never would've married a republican from South Carolina.

Ed Mctheman, Queen of Posters and the King of Pop

That was a whole lot of death.

I was really sad when Ed McMahon died. It seemed like he was always on TV when I was a kid because of Star Search and Publisher's Clearing House commercials. I have so many great memories of watching what was the best talent show ever (before American Idol came along). My grandparents always watched with me too. It was a big family event.

Most people thought the entertainment news the day that Michael Jackson died was going to be that Farrah Fawcett died. Even Wolf Blitzer was prepared to give her 10 minutes of roundtable talk, remembering her famous feathered haircut, big smile and best-selling poster that made the Charlie's Angel star so popular.

Sadly, I could only seem to recall that I once saw her in a bad TV movie about a homicidal Texas mom. During the trial in that particular primetime gem, a cassette was entered as evidence and played for the jury. The song was Duran Duran's "Hungry Like a Wolf." That seemed to redeem the viewing experience for me.

So I was going to relay that story on Blitzer's message board (not really), but that all changed when reports broke that Michael Jackson had a heart attack.

The next couple of hours were a media mess. Some news organizations said it was just a heart attack, others said he was dead. His music played in a loop on several radio stations, and Blitzer showed many of his videos.

I was only half-shocked. It would be hard to imagine an 80-year-old King of Pop, and I know that has been pointed out many times since he died.

My first three thoughts were these:

1. What will the Duker do? The Duker, a.k.a. Hossain, was a kid I went to college with who danced, impressively, to MJ at every school function where music was played--whether it was an end-of-semester formal or a Rec Center event featuring free cheese cubes.

2. I wonder if those "I (heart) Michael Jackson" pencils are still at my mom's house. What person my age doesn't remember the Thriller album and the subsequent videos? Every year after its debut, I've always looked forward to that Thriller video being on during Halloween. I was in labor with Cienna (born at 1:41 a.m. on Nov. 1) and watching that video. Because I'm badass. Or crazy. Or the MILF of Pop. Let's go with badass.

3. How much MJ stuff did I have? I had the replica gloves. I thought I was cool when I moonwalked. Or tried to. "P.Y.T" and "Billie Jean" were among my favorites, according to an old sticker book.

I generally ignored all of his bizarre, as I do most celebrity sleaze. I've always been more interested in the music.

I'll be relieved after the memorial tomorrow. I'm hoping that signals a return to form for my cherished news programs. (Dear Anderson Cooper: THIS MEANS YOU! Love you!) I'd really like to know more about the captured American soldier in Afghanistan and our efforts there. The hot mess that is North Korea. And when the layoffs will stop. If ever.

No Shame for Steve

This was an actual conversation I had this weekend:

Me: Hey, I just got an alert that Steve McNair was shot. Turn on ESPN. Was he shot in the ass? It's always so much more interesting to me when athletes are shot in the ass.
Larry: Nope. He's dead.
Me: Ooooh.

Eat n' Rock

I've been playing a lot of air instruments lately. More than usual. This can all be blamed on Cienna's new, pink and black, guitar--yet another in a series of wonderful gifts from Nana. Thanks, Mom. I'm now doing the experimental band thing I never did in high school.

And Cienna loves this guitar in a serious way:

"Mom, I think I want to play my guitar every morning after breakfast because I like to rock out after I eat."

The ones that look like butterflies

From the summer of 2001 when I learned what it meant to press up for my forefathers with my best friends--while befriending yinzers on boats and buses, and realizing I'd always find a way to love everyone without giving up my independence-- to days ago while I watched fireworks with my arms wrapped about my daughter, I noticed that I've grown to love the Fourth of July as though it's summer's Christmas. (And we all know how I do Christmas: Properly!)

I tend to feel inspired every July by our country's history, by my own history, and this year I was both inspired and renewed. There's a good reason for that, but for now let's just chalk it up to the pleasure that comes from communicating with truly good people.

Fireworks help too. I think we're all a little inspired by bursts of magic in the darkness, a light show like no other that forces us all to look up for a while, shifting our lazier gazes from downward or what's in front of us to the sky and all that can be. And as I watched green and purple, and red, white and blue, fall over me like willow trees and reflect in my daughter's eyes, I declared silently to myself that I am still so hopeful. And I do have faith.

And, Cienna, she would've watched all night.

"Mom, you wanna know what my favorite one was? The one that sparkled real big and then fell down like butterflies."

Fifteen minutes of tame

2009-05-06T17:44:00.000-07:00

Before I had children, I could spend a lot of time doing absolutely nothing to better our world. It wasn't unusual to find me on a futon, watching numerous episodes of "Sex and the City." Or going to IKEA and Target to buy colorful things I didn't really need. Or in a bar with a martini that matched my outfit. Or at a game with beer and nachos. Or on an uninterrupted phone call that lasted longer than 10 minutes. Or in a bubble bath by candlelight. Or on a long walk in one of Pittsburgh's neighborhoods. Or on a date in a quaint, BYOB Italian restaurant.

Now? I'd just like to go to the bathroom in peace.

Something about me urinating inspires the people I love most to begin an inquisition. And it's never a series of simple questions. It's always something like, "If we race for the cure, does it mean we'll never get cancer?" Welcome to life with a precocious 5 year old.

It's so hard for us to find time for ourselves, ladies. Some days, we long for those quiet days and secretly wonder what it would be like to have them back for just a few hours. But I promise you we traded up. Once you go baby, you never go back.

We could all use a vacation. We could all use a spa. We could all use a maid. We could all use a FREE maid. We could all use a few more dollars. We all want a few less pounds. We all wish for a few more hours at the end of the day.

It might be a while before we get any of that, but until then I suggest you try my "15 minutes of tame." When things get really hectic, I enforce the Woodall family's 15 minutes of tame. Everyone brings it down a notch. We get quiet. We get books. We get naps. We get food. We get a DVRd show. We get whatever we need. And the best part is--sometimes it lasts longer than 15 minutes.

There are also Selfish Sundays. Other than the built-in family things like church and visiting grandmas, the Woodalls like to keep Sundays open for themselves. Larry usually plays hockey. The kids usually choose the park. And Mom usually opts for a good book, TV dramas and a glass of red. And it's wonderful. Regardless of how busy the rest of the week is, we know that we will have our Sunday--which occasionally involves a sundae.

We all have different schedules and lives, but we've all gotta find that "me" time so we always have something to give to those we love. It's a challenge, but we deserve those minutes and hours to ourselves. It leads to a happy mom, which leads to a happy family. And what's better than a happy family?

It's the laughter that keeps us moving.

2009-05-05T19:02:00.000-07:00

You folks didn't really think I'd have enough time this week to blog every day, did you? But in keeping up with this week's theme, I thought I'd include some things I heard or read today that made me laugh.

In motherhood, I've always thought it's the laughter that keeps me moving and the love that keeps me happy.

"Every crowd has a silver lining." --P.T. Barnum

"When skating on thin ice, our safety is in our speed." --Ralph Waldo Emerson

"This is my High School Musical," Cienna said, as she put on tens of pastel-colored bracelets. "And this is my Zelda Fitzgerald," she said, putting on a headband with a huge flower, pulled to the front.

Larry: "Did you know that Cienna can whip through first grade math?"
Me: "What? I work with her every day. She knows some stuff, but I wouldn't say she's whipping through it."
Larry: "Here. Look what she did in this workbook."
The workbook showed that she answered several pages of math equations correctly.
Me: "Cienna! Wow! How did you know all of those?"
Cienna: "I don't! I found the answers in the back! See!"
Me: "Ah! Yes! Well, Larry, we don't have a child prodigy on our hands, just a great cheat!"
Larry: "Thata girl, Cienna!"

Tyler: "Where Dada go?"
Me: "Dada's at work, Ty."
Tyler: "Dada fart."

Co-worker B-Ev: "...Oh just talking about some girl who..."
Me: "Is she a hoebag?"
B-Ev: "Oh yeah! ...yeah"
Me: "Is she stupid?"
B-Ev: "Oh yeah! She's got checks in both of those columns."

A line in a message from Lindsay: "All dogs might go to heaven, but all sinners do not."

Feel free to share some of the things from your day that made you laugh.

Myths of Motherhood

2009-05-04T09:29:00.000-07:00

Tools of the Trade

If you find yourself in Babies R Us as often as I seem to, then you've probably had the urge to overstep some boundaries.

There's always that couple there registering for the first time, for their first baby. And you try to ignore it all like a sane person would, maybe offering that mom-to-mom smile, which is a lot like the wave that bus drivers and Jeep enthusiasts reserve for each other. But you see them clicking the scanner on so many things you know they will never use. The inner logic begins: "Aw, you're both so cute. But you will never need that many diaper disposal systems." And of course you never say that to them because you're normal.

Plus, there's always something better to grab your attention--like the pregnant mom scanning BPA items in the store and lighting up a cigarette outside of the store. "BPA-free is the least of your worries, sweetheart."

By the way, I'm the mom with the 5-year-old shopper who tries to find anything and everything that her younger brothers don't need.

But, really, I wish someone would've told me what I wouldn't really need when I was a young(er) mom. I was so thankful when Dawn told me not to buy a certain bathtub when I was pregnant with Ty. Cienna's old tub was passed on, and I needed a new one. If Larry and I had bought the one we originally wanted, we would've been disappointed, based on what I've heard from some other friends who bought that model. We were very happy with our second choice.

Other times I walk around and see something new, and think, "I totally could've invented that."

So I'm curious, what products have you found most useful, which have been useless, and what is something you would like to see on the market?

---

MILFs

While I have learned to restrain my inner bitch, sometimes I just need to educate the ignorant. I consider it a public service.

For example, there's a myth that exists, and sometimes it's silent, that marriage and children ruin intimacy, keep you from being sexy, make your life miserable and keep you old.

None of that is true. Poor perceptions and bad excuses are responsible for those things.

Let's just acknowledge the technological reasons of why that isn't true very quickly and then put it aside. There are various doctors you can go to who will ask you, if you're there for a certain kind of appointment, "Would you like to be 18 again or 14 again? And I should add that you can get to 19 all on your own, without intervention."

First of all, I will never desire to be 14 again for any reason. 19? Pretty damn good year.

Look, we do not birth buses. And some of us have had c-sections. And what a baby looks like at 3 months is not at all like what we bring into the world.

Really. I'll say it. The Vag rebounds victoriously.

And I have it on good medical authority that multiple partners over a period of time actually does the same for elasticity than if you've ever given birth or not.

We do not become powerless, helpless, sexless creatures when we become mothers. We simply become the foundation of our families.

And our generation has changed the definition of motherhood. It's not housecoats and separate beds and going to the supermarket when our husbands get home from work.

We work if we want to. We take care of ourselves and stay youthful. We have sex--all kids sleep eventually. Get a sitter, go out on dates, keep the intimacy alive. If you can't find a sitter, call me. I will watch your kids for you because I believe moms need to look out for each other and not get caught up in petty judgements or competition.

Remember who you were before your kids because you can still be those things AND be a good mother. In fact, you'll probably be a better one. And, yes, family has to come first. But that doesn't mean you get rid of your friends.

Some friendships will change, and some may drift apart if you no longer have anything in common. But some friendships will strengthen when you become a parent. And when you and someone you grew up with are both parents, it's truly magical. It's a beautiful relationship to share all that history and be able to take the parenting journey together. And remind each other that in additon to being beautiful, sexy, funny, smart, youthful, talented women, you also get to be moms. Which is really the greatest gift in the world.

It's our week!

2009-05-02T19:16:00.000-07:00

Several of my friends have birthweeks instead of birthdays, meaning that they celebrate the entire week of their birthday.

While I do adore these people, my self-importance has never reached a level that inspired me to make an entire week about my birthday. Weekend, maybe. But not the whole week.

In their defense, it's not so much a matter of ego as it is a will to party. They just like to have a good time, and when is a better time than your own personal anniversary? After all, it's a celebration of an important relationship--the one they share with themselves.

An important relationship to me is my one as a mom. Is there a greater bond than that of mother and child? And is there a more precious gift than the gift of life?

Mother's Day is a week away, Friends, and I've decided to celebrate my place in our family throughout the next seven days. I'm hoping you will join me when I ask for stories, opinions and advice. And even if you're not a mother, by choice or chance, that doesn't mean you can't celebrate. Aunts, Godmothers, Sisters, Teachers, Friends--all have gifts of mothering that deserve to be recognized and appreciated.

Even though two of my best friends don't have children of their own, I've been luckily to have their love and support throughout my own parenting journey--and what a journey it's been! MB and BG are aunts and Godmothers and sisters, and they know what it means to truly love a child.

MB's love for me and my children has always been unconditional. How could it not be. She's there to hear the funny stories. She's there when I feel overwhelmed. She's there to cheer on every success--even if that success is that we all made it out of the house, showered and clothed, in less than 3 hours. She's there to hear every failure--even when that failure is potty training gone horribly wrong. She has been building the most amazing library for my children, buying them collector's editions and classics since the day they were born. And even when I'm busy with my three children, and she's busy with her advanced education, job as an editor and wonderful husband, we still find time to talk. Even if it is at odd hours and about odd subjects. I love her so much, and she is one of the friends who makes me a better mom.

Somewhere Dr. David M. Jones is laughing as I write that BG has made me a better mom. But it's so true. This incredibly unique woman, who attracts a cast of characters worthy of their own Discovery Health reality series, is one of my personal heroes. Whether you need alcohol or advice, she comes through every time it matters. On days when I've been whined to and shat upon, I turn to BG. I know that regardless of what I'm about to tell her, she will respond with something so much worse. And it will be so rich, so foul and so inappropriate that all I can do is laugh. I'm so lucky to have her in my corner, and she's definitely in my corner. At the slightest sound of sadness in my words, she's ready to throw down with somebody. The Irish gypsy in her is immediately inspired, and I immediately begin to think that I should design an exit strategy for the impending wrath that she's about to release. You do not mess with a BG. And you do not mess with a BG's kinfolk. As a mom, you NEED a crazy, Irish gypsy in your corner. But with BG, it's always BOGO. And with her you also get one of the most hilarious and intuitive souls to ever walk the earth. Her intuition has served her well as an amazing writer and has helped her develop the best comedic timing. And let's face it, mom's need to laugh daily. I love her, and I'm so lucky to have her in my life the last 13 years. Hey and hey and hey!

Even though MB and BG aren't moms themselves, they've sure made a positive difference in the life of a child.

*And to those of you reading this on Facebook, I'd love to hear your similar story if you've got one!

Close to May

2009-04-20T06:51:00.000-07:00

Hello, Friends.

C-Woo got served

There are some things I've never done. I've never watched one second of The Hills, I've never been to the Carson City Saloon, I've never been parasailing, I've never cheated on my husband, I've never regularly played tennis, I've never purchased a designer handbag, and I can hear some of you saying I've "never used birth control."

Well...other than The Hills and the husband part, some things are about to change, and I owe it all to a local, high school tennis coach. The past few times he's called to report something at work, I've been the one to answer. I now know this is fate. He's encouraged me to play tennis. He's explained it's the fastest-growing sport in America. He's given hints that he may wear a red shoe. He's offered to teach me to play a sport that he's apparently mastered.

I've explained that I've taken lessons before, that I played with my mom when I was a child and that even last year I played in the Mt. Lebanon bubbles. Oh, and in those bubbles I got yelled at profusely by an elderly gentleman who took the game WAY TOO SERIOUSLY. I think shuffleboard was more his thing. I told my coach friend that despite my repeated exposure to "America's growing game," I just never developed a solid desire for it.

"Well if tennis ain't your thing, I can teach you volleyball," he said.

Oh.boy.

So I discussed this with another co-worker who is apparently an avid tennis player. I explained that if tennis were presented to me in event form, such as "Tennis & Tequilia" or "Tennis & Tea" (but let's be real, here), I could get behind it.

In the words of the great Ed Meena, "We'll see what happens."

Better weather

Tina and Missy would disagree with me, but I can stand the rain. Especially when it falls on my least-favorite days of the week. Much like last week, it's supposed to be nice Thursday through Sunday--and my Friends know how much I still love a Thursday.

In Pittsburgh, you just never know what you're going to see on a sunny day--anything from too many mandals to too few drag queens. While in college, it wasn't uncommon to see girls in bikinis at the Point--even when it was only 63 degrees. It was sunny, and that was apparently all that mattered. Last week while suffering a horrendous detour, I realized it was my fate to see a seemingly-homeless gentleman walking around in a cutoff-belly shirt with a huge screen print of Bob Marley on the front. He also had disheveled, gray hair, minimally tamed by a rainbow-striped headband. And he was carrying a Macy's bag and pulling a suitcase behind him. The thing is, I actually enjoyed seeing that. It was much less offensive to me than seeing a couple on the Norf Side, wearing matching visors. That moment definitely made me think more of "Highway to Hell" by ACDC and less of "Two of Us" by The Beatles.

TarantiNO

Is it just me, or did it seem like none of the Idols took Tarantino's advice last week? In nearly each clip, Mr. Tarantino gave specific advice, and then the Idol would perform live, clearly not doing whatever Tarantino asked. And, much like the last time Tarantino was on, Randy Jackson also seemed to disagree with whatever he said. Did I miss some battle over spandex a few decades ago or something? I hope not.

But I did get to see a lot of clips from Tarantino's movies--including Michael Madsen dancing around in "Reservoir Dogs." So that was successful alone.

inspIREd

Sometimes I wake up and find a toy dinosaur walking on me 10 minutes later. Ty calls it his "saur." It's just a small, little, plastic T-Rex, but he loves it. He doesn't want a bigger saur or a brighter saur or a more expensive saur. He's simply happy with what he has. It's just another reason Ty, and all children, inspire me.

Children don't have petty insecurities. They don't care to judge--though they WILL speak the truth (sometimes at unfortunate moments for their parents). They don't lie--at least not without being taught to. They don't care if another child is funnier than them--they just want to have fun.

They also have the best advice for when the Pens lose.

Yesterday when we got back from watching the Pens game with Friends, Cienna pointed out that I looked a little dejected.

"Oh, Mommy is just a mix of exhausted and bummed that the Penguins lost, but you smiling makes me feel better already," I said.

And I wasn't lying. The minute I saw her running down the stairs to give us a hug, smiling the whole time, I thanked God, again, that I was her mother.

"I think we should watch Madagascar. Those penguins don't lose," she said.

That they don't, Miss Faye. That they don't.

unFriendly Neighbors

When we lived on Beadling, we barely knew our immediate neighbors. Larry called the guy on the left "Old Man Withers." He was old, surely and only seemed to come outside to feed the birds once a day. The guy on the other side was younger and selling his house to live with his girlfriend. He was never around. Thankfully, there was a younger couple a few houses down who befriended us. They had dogs who they said were their children, and they liked to drink margaritas on summer nights in their backyard. Sometimes they invited us to join them. They were friendly people and Friend-ly neighbords.

Luckily, when we moved, we got even better neighbors. For the most part.

Connie and her husband live two houses down. She is a retired OB nurse, and he still teaches in a catholic school. They have a grown daughter who went to high school with Larry. One time Connie said, "My daughter thinks she and Larry may have had home ec together. She remembers him being sort of a clown in class a few times. Does that sound like him?" I said, "Definitely!"

Miss Connie, as the kids call her, likes to walk through the yards to see the kids when it's nice out. Because, when it's nice out, believe me--we're outside! She brings them bubbles and holds the baby, telling me how much she misses working around babies. She gardens and is probably exactly how you might imagine her. When I was pregnant, she offered a lot of help and support.

But yesterday, she told me something I hadn't known. According to Connie, "Two owners ago, there was a tall, thin woman who lived in your house. Tall, thin women can really push out babies for some reason. She had midwives. She barely made it to the hospital with her first baby, and the second baby was actually born at home in your bedroom."

Larry responded first. "Oh, I didn't need to know that. We really don't need any extra baby energy in the room."

I explained to Connie how superstitious Larry is and reminded her that I barely made it to the hospital with Dimitri. But I did kind of wonder if I should start sleeping on the couch or something.

When Connie comes by, she actually does most of the talking. And if you know me, you're probably surprised by that. She keeps me informed of our neighbors' whereabouts, even though I never ask. For example, I now know that Carol and Bill are in Florida and that if Bill (whom Larry loves and calls "Old Man Flanders") talks a lot it's because he has trouble hearing and doesn't always know when the conversation ends.

Carol and Bill have grandchildren, including a granddaughter Cienna's age. So it's nice when their grandkids visit. And Carol is famous for bringing over treats and goodies for the kids on holidays and etc.

Then there are the neighbors on the other side. Connie wonders what makes them tick. They're a young couple--maybe a few years older than Larry and me. They have a little girl, slightly younger than Ty and a black lab. They always say hello. The guy smiles a lot. But the mom looks down a lot and just occasionally apologizes when the dog barks too much. Even though we are not the type of family to care when a dog barks. Connie is like the mayor of our street, so of course she's tried to communicate with them. We've just never really tried. I guess we follow their lead. Some people are just socially awkward or not good at making friends, so it can take a long time. Maybe I'm holding out for a sunny day when we're all in our backyards, and I can initiate a conversation.

Connie just calls them the "unfriendly neighbors," but I can't give up so easily. Sometimes it's not a matter of being friendly or not. It's just that some folks are socially awkward.

Until then, though, I have absolutely no problem meeting at the fences with Carol and Connie and Larry and Old Man Flanders x 2 to discuss plants and people and kids and neighborly things. Even if Old Man Flanders is having an entirely different conversation.

Lil' Wayne's World

Friends, I think we're all in agreement that it should be Lady GoLa and not Lady GaGa, right? After all, among other things, I'm a popular music star. And my stage routine is about a bizarre as hers.

But there are some other songs out that we should discuss first.

1. Kiss Me Thru the Phone. First of all, I've been doing this for years, thanks. Second of all, the part that's "like da da dadadada da..." Ty thinks it's some form of barking, so he barks when he hears that part. And Cienna likes to sing the numbers "678 triple 9 8212." Why do I let my children hear this song in the car? Hey, we all have our failures in parenting.

Some lyrics from this artistic masterpiece:

She call my phone like / Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da /We on the phone like/ Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da/ We taking pics like/ Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da /She dial my number like/ Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da/ Six, seven, eight, triple, nine, eight, two, one, two

2. How Do You Sleep. How do you stop listening to Jesse McCartney? It's everything you've ever loved about a boy band in one person. And this song sounds just like LFO's "Summer Girls" but with a faster tempo. Plus, it includes Luda. How can you go wrong.

3. Turnin' Me On. Thank you Keri Hilson. I'm nervous though. The last time I liked chic rap this much, the girl got shot for giving someone AIDS. But, you know, I'm sure that won't happen again. But, really, I love it --especially Lil' Wayne's contribution. I love Lil' Wayne and am extremely intrigued by "Lil' Wayne's World."

May be

I just looked at my planner. Again. And I've accepted that my life is busy and there's a lot to look forward to on any given day. The errands and daily chores are dotted with wonderful family-and-friend events and new challenges.

I'm really looking forward to a girls' party this Saturday afternoon. I think Cienna is joining me. My friend is taking her daughter, and her friend is taking her daughter too. It's so cute to watch them play together and sort of drift back and forth between, "Oh, look at how young and innocent they are" and "Oh, how did they get so grown up."

I have high hopes for May, Friends. I'm working a few golf events, where I will also get to swing on a few holes. That should be interesting. And there is the Cinco de BG event, which should probably be called BG de Mayo instead. A bunch of birthdays, including Larry's! Barbecues! Another work-related DC trip. Mayhem! And a lot of ballet rehearsals.

While I'm a fan of all seasons, mostly fall, is there any time more magical than spring? Nature just takes over, and it feels like absolutely anything can happen!

Love yinz!

A wink and a smile

2009-04-14T17:33:00.000-07:00

If you're a mom, then you're probably somewhat familiar with the kind of day I'm about to describe. And if you're not familiar, then tell me you're secret NOW please.

It all started this morning when I was trying to exercise in peace. That was my first mistake, right? Because it doesn't matter if I'm working out at 5 a.m. (the usual) or 5 p.m., that's when everyone is going to need something. And if I send the kids to the gym daycare when I go there, well that's when everyone poops. The gym daycare workers don't change diapers or escort the older kids to the bathroom, so that means mom gets paged on the loudspeaker. I'm always reminded of Mr. Mom at those moments: "Herb, we weren't even in aisle four!"

After the morning drinks were poured, and I finished an angry workout--completely missing all the benefits of stress relief--it was time to cook breakfast for the kids. I made oatmeal pancakes for Cienna and Ty, but they only ate them after what felt like 10 minutes of choosing their favorite plates. And while my rational self was encouraging them with words of joy about Spiderman and Hannah Montana, my inner bitch was fantasizing about throwing every plate in the cupboard across the room and making the secret celebrity and secret superhero simply secrets. Forever.

Of course Ty was a syrup mess. It was as though he climbed into a bad George Michael video, and no amount of baby wipes could stand up to the challenge of cleaning my toddler. So it was time for a bath. Except that Dimitri wouldn't hear of tummy time or swing time or stare-at-something-colorful time. He simply wanted mommy time. So I wore Dimitri while I bathed Ty, and of course I ended up soaking wet in the process.

While I was trying to clean up myself and the bathroom, I knocked down one of the nets of bath toys and couldn't help but feel the universe was against me. At that point, my son was running between the bathroom and his bedroom, getting the hardwood in the hallway nice and slippery. Sure enough, Cienna came running out of her room and faceplanted right in front of me. Even though she was fine, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to try and snipe a Princess band-aid.

She was healed and Ty was clothed, but then Dimitri needed a diaper change. And in true Woodall fashion, nobody poops alone. Ty wasn't about to be outdone this morning. So he made his way to the potty after several minutes of me reminding him why the potty is better than pull-ups. He sat on the talking, singing potty, clapping and pooping. You can guess who taught him to celebrate a bowel movement with such gusto. And by the time I did the wiping and washing, I was already tired of poop by 9 a.m.

Dimitri was ready for his morning nap by that point, and Cienna was getting dressed. We were going to a meeting later that morning, and I informed her that she shouldn't wear her short-sleeved high school musical shirt. It was kind of dirty and not warm enough. I made other similar suggestions, and the result was a 5 year old stomping up the stairs informing me that I had ruined her life.

After I asked her to come back down and apologize for stomping and speaking to me that way, I called my mom and cried. "Cienna said I ruined her life because of a t-shirt," I said. "Just wait," Miss Linda said. "You have a lot more of that to come." "I didn't know my precious daughter could be full of so much attitude. What did I do wrong? It's like I'm raising Cher. Or at least her gay fanbase," I said.

I was en route to the shower when Larry called for the morning dish. Still couldn't tell you what he said. I was too busy being distracted by Ty who was driving his cars all over me and everything around me--but mostly me. "OK, honey, sounds awesome. I'm off to the shower. I'll call you later." "What's awesome?" "Um, I have no idea. I'll call you later."

While I may have had high hopes for 15 minutes of Aveeno stress relief in the shower, they were quickly dashed by "Tyler Joseph and Cienna Faye! Please STOP jumping on the bed! I swear you are never allowed to have Easter candy again!"

Then the guilt set in. Did I let them eat too much Easter candy? Am I a terrible mom? Did I let them have so much sugar that they will have Type 2 diabetes by lunch? Am I a terrible mom? And what about Dimitri? I haven't even really read to him today. I haven't even really talked to him today. And Cienna and Ty...did we do anything together besides eat and then get baths? Ugh. I'm the worst mom ever today. And I've yelled at them like eight times. And I have no idea what my husband said to me. I should've had a better conversation with him. It will have to wait until we see each other later. Maybe if I just squirt this Aveeno right into my nose I'll feel relieved? Bad idea. I would need a year's supply. At least. Did the bag of toys fall down again? It's staying down this time.

And as I steeped out of the shower, hoping for enough calm to dry my hair, Ty and Cienna began arguing over the same crayon. "Really? You're not going to share today? All manners and values are just ignorned today? Really?" So of course their arguing woke up Dimitri.

At that point, I just gave up and gave in. The most I could hope for was to get out of my robe before we had to leave the house.

I laid down on our bed--that was actually, surprisingly made--and picked up Dimitri from his Boppy. "What am I going to do today, Dimmers?" And he just started to coo and gave me the biggest smile ever. Just like that, I found my stress relief. I smiled back at him and played with him a little bit, and he kept cooing and smiling--with the dimples his momma gave him--and I realized I'd go through the whole morning all over again for the rest of my life as long as I could have perfect moments like that.

Naturally that was abbreviated by my Ty man who walked in and announced, "Poot. Poot. Potty? Potty? Poooooot!"

"Again, Ty? Really? You DEFINITELY have your father's digestive tract! OK. Let's go, buddy!"

And the toilet sang again. La Boheme it is not.

Somehow, SOMEHOW, we made it out of the house, clothed and appropriate. We were on our way to the meeting, Rupert Holmes' "The Escape Song (If you like Pina Colada)" came on the radio. I thought of my friend Joe, who is Cienna's Godfather. So we then talked about Uncle Joe and Aunt Helen from L.A., which was like Aveeno too. In case you're not aware, Joe is nature's prozac.

By the time we got to our meeting, Ty had taken both shoes and socks off, as per usual, Cienna's hair was a mess, and I again declared the double stroller cannot be opened with one hand as advertised.

The baby slept through the meeting, and Cienna and Ty were perfect angels. All quiet before the storm?

We got back to the car, and I realized Dimitri had pooped. So I took him out of his seat to change him on another seat, which of course did not make him happy. But I got him back in his car seat and calmed him down and thought all was well. However, I caught my jacket in the van door and lost my balance. I wanted to just lay down on the ground and take a nap--even if it was for 10 minutes.

As I drove us home--in perfect silence as the trifecta napped--I compared mothering to a full-time job. In a full-time job there are built in breaks and lunches most of the time. In mothering, there are no breaks. And sometimes my lunch is whatever the kids don't finish. And did I forget to put the clothes in the dryer? Yes I did.

Life 1, Mom 0.

When we got home it was time to cook lunch. The kids requested their favorite soup, and I was out of celery. "It's OK, Mom. We all make mistakes sometimes," Cienna said. "Thanks, Ci." But, thankfully, they ate it without complaint. Was the day rounding the good bend?

Yes.

And then it was almost time for Larry to be home. I was a combination of a loyal dog waiting by the door and a child waiting for Santa. That's how excited I was to see him. The calvary. The break.

"I'm home! What do you want to do?" he said.

"Sleep. I just want to sleep. I don't want to eat dinner. I just want to sleep before I have to work," I said.

And I got a beautiful hour of sleep before I had to go to work. On my way out of the door, I promised the kids that we would do something fun tomorrow! And on Thursday we will do something even more fun because it's going to be nice outside!

And I assured my husband that I would be looking forward to the hours we'd have alone once I got home. He gave me a wink (or maybe it was a twitch) and told me to call him later.

I'm going with wink.

Closing out a long week

2009-04-13T18:19:00.000-07:00

When our family woke up on April 4th, Nana's birthday, we looked forward to a sunny, spring day full of Easter eggs, the Pens, Final Four fun and family parties. And, in our family, the day went as planned.

But not all Pittsburgh families shared such peace that same Saturday morning. Some found their lives changed forever by senseless violence.

Of course I'm referring to the three Pittsburgh Police Officers who lost their lives in Stanton Heights.

While my kids searched a Mt. Lebanon lawn for plastic eggs, news updates and texts from colleagues filled my phone, telling of a much different, horrific, scene on the other side of the city. It was still early morning, and not all of the facts had been reported yet, but enough had been said and done to ensure the week ahead would be difficult.

I'm not going to get all morose and verbose on you about this, though. If you know me, then you already know what I think about it. And chances are you saw the same moving images I saw and read the same moving words.

But I don't know if I really felt it until I was in Breezewood extremely early Friday morning on my way to D.C. I was refueling at a gas station when I crossed paths with some New Jersey police who said they were on their way home from the memorial service the day before. One of the men had a full shift waiting for him when he got back.

It was the first thing I was asked about during my interview later that morning. How was Pittsburgh?

I think we discussed it for the first 10 minutes, and in my answer I realized how professionally programmed I've become to dealing with loss. I keep it at arms' length until the job is done before I can feel it. This has transferred to my personal life as well.

Which is pretty much how Wednesday happened.

Friends, I'd love to tell you about my life last Wednesday in full detail, but that's not going to happen. 1. I'm tired. 2. There's a chance that some of you may think I'm slightly awesome, and I don't want to change that. (OK. So you all know me too well to think I'm awesome, but still...)

However, I would like to share some quotes that came out of an evening my some of my best college friends when we just needed to laugh. And we did.

A Friend: "As long as I have a clitoris, I can do anything."

....

A Friend: "I don't prefer anal, but I'm certainly not opposed to it."

....

A Friend: "Maybe next time you should stop being nice to girls on dates and just tell them you have a big penis."

....

A Friend: "Erotic Toy Disposal. You know how people need a place to take freon and old computers? It would work the same way, providing a service."

....

A Friend: "Some weird guy just told me not to worry because he took his meds."
A Friend: "I think that same weird guy told me he made 400K working in the grocery business."
A Friend: "I think he may have confused 400K with 401K."

....

A Friend: "I overheard a conversation earlier where a guy told his friend that he was dating a girl who was completely insane but great in bed."

A Friend: "You just described the majority of men's relationships with women."

....

And by the time the Woodalls came home from Washington, in time for sleep and Easter morning, we welcomed more inspired laughter from family and friends.

Me: "Just so you all know, I'm keeping my eggs hidden this year."
....

A trio of family members via text DURING CHURCH! (so wrong): "first row. completely inappropriate. but I'd bang it."

Response: "she dresses like that every time. those pants are so tight you can see her thong."

Response: "no. those pants are so tight you can see she's not wearing a thong. or anything."

Response: "look at that guy across the aisle. the skinny jack black. you can see his nipps through his sweater. ew."

Response: "seriously not trying to be mean here, but is that other guy mentally handicapped or just a midget. i can't tell."

Response: "too far. you're an idiot. i'm embarrassed to be related to you."
....

while discussing my stepdad's bean dish I was successfully avoiding:
D-Baby: "Did he marinate his beans in Stroh's first?"

.....

during Easter dinner from BG: "Imagine it. Steve, my mom, Ashy, Nick and Nicholas. Send me to North Korea. I got negotiating skillz."
....

with Aubrianni

Me: "4 dark chocolate Hershey minis down. 3 Sarris balls down. I'm counting on you today. Don't let me down, Chief."

Aubrianni: "I had a Kit Kat for breakfast and getting ready to have a sarris cashew egg for lunch. I won't let you down. I'll have hot tea with lunch."

....

Cienna: "Mommy, I know how the Easter bunny gets to all those houses! He has GPS! But he doesn't drive. He hops."

Blame it on the Foxx

2009-04-13T17:10:00.000-07:00

Hello, Friends.

It's been somewhat of a talent of mine to make something out of nothing. This has come in the form of an overreaction or a moment of creative genius. In journalism, a Friend of mine would call this "turning chicken shit into chicken salad." In more desperate times, a different Friend has called it "Magolver."

And, Friends, I was forced to channel my Magolver at a recent bridal shower. The lovely evening was coming to a close. Gifts were being carried to the trunk, leftovers were being Ziplocked and people were in pursuit of "more alcohol." The remaining bottles of wine were not an option. They stood, corked, like brave soldiers, destined for pre-game activities at the next evening's bachelorette party. But a second batch of delicious punch--think mimosa--remained. And when there's a man down, we don't leave him behind.

It was an exit that would require some creativity.

While the venue was gorgeous and glowing with rows of candlelight, it lacked an empty container and an important device for siphoning leftover booze--a funnel. A brave, classy Friend found a bottle of wine that was about a quarter full and took it to the face. All we needed was the funnel. I decided to make a funnel out of a Ziploc bag, using scissors from my infant first aid kid (CLASSY!), much the same way you'd make a pastry bag. One Friend held the empty bottle, another held the makeshift funnel, and I poured the punch.

We filled it too full to re-cork it, so again my services were called upon. With, yet another, Ziploc bag and some tulle, I created white-trash magic.

My brother-in-law's girlfriend, Alyson, held the aforementioned magic in her lap while we drove home, eager to share the tulle-tied, adult beverage with Lar and Justin. I confessed to her that even when I don't drink and drive, I'm a hazard on the highway. Because of Jamie Foxx. Shut up. Everyone likes that Jamie Foxx song, and you know it.

But not everyone likes other songs on WAMO.

Me: "Um, so I have no idea what this song is, but I have a feeling that you do."

Ahri Son: "Why's that?"

Me: "Because I'm pretty sure you have Lil' Wayne on your speed dial. And someone who has Lil' Wayne on their speed dial would know this song."

Ahri Son promised that for every one of my future birthdays she would present me with two bottles of wine that had their contents switched and secured with tulle. And, Friends, I intend to collect.

We enjoyed the Magolver Mimosas with Lar and Justin, though Lar refused to drink his from a wine glass. He partook in the festivities from his "man cup." (This would be a plastic Pens cup from a home game we attended.)

Because Ahri Son and I have children, we were falling asleep between laughs and sips, as were Lar and Justin. We knew morning, and an Easter Egg hunt, would come early, so we settled into warm cuddles and comfy sheets.

And as the week ahead unfolded, it turned out that I needed every second of that sleep.

Keeping it classy in the class of 2022

2009-03-30T10:04:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-23T16:29:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-03-09T08:28:00.000-07:00

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

Why I'm loving November

2008-11-17T15:31:00.000-08:00

I remember being much younger, sitting in a full theater, watching moms cry while their teen daughters danced on stage. I chalked it up to them simply being proud parents.

But, now, as my own daughter dances in her first Nutcracker, I realize it's a little more than that. These days, I struggle to believe that she's 5, let alone that she stands in five ballet positions. She's wearing stage makeup for the first time. She's performing in her first costumes. She's a little girl now.

And I probably don't have to tell you that I cried the first time I dusted pink blush on her cheeks and when I sewed her first costume. We've just come so far together, and we've withstood so many struggles in her 5 years. There were days during her infancy when I felt like I couldn't get anything right. But rocking her and singing Beatles' songs seemed to work, so I'd do it for hours. Then she was 2, and it seemed like we couldn't go to the store without some personal crisis involving Dora the Explorer. Then she was 4 and became the sweetest, little preschooler. Now she's 5, and I feel days away from the mom crying in the theater.

Because I know it's not just about that moment on stage. It's about these ones too. It's about remembering how amazed I was watching her first ballet classes, driving her to rehearsals as we had true mother-daughter time, somehow learning to sew everything I've needed to sew, putting makeup on her for the first time, and hearing that precious, "Look at me mom! I'm a ballerina!"

For all of my screwups, there are just some promises I won't break. One is that I would get this right (which is always a work in progress). Another (to Carrie's Mom) is that I would never these moments for granted. And I don't. I'm always so aware of their value.

So please afford me some hormonal leverage here when I just have to take pause in the lobby of a dance studio, watching my 5-year-old daughter kick off her Mary Janes for ballet shoes and my 21-month-old son explore the room in curiosity. I'm constantly amazed that I'm blessed with them and constantly thankful for every second we share together.

And I'm loving November for this kind of clarity.
---------

I had a full heart on election night. It's the third time I was of age to vote in a presidential election, and this time, my guy won. I felt like I did my part--I voted, was active in my community and spent a fair amount of time among Anderson Cooper and David Gergen (thank you, DVR).

Once the result was called and President-elect Obama spoke from Grant Park, I couldn't help but think of Mike Royko. Mr. Royko was the best columnist I've ever read. He lived through and covered so much of Chicago's history, from the struggles of the Cubs to the violence that once filled Grant Park. How amazing it would've been to read his words about Chicago's son leading the free world.

And I felt hopeful and proud and optimistic and like I could finally relax. Not just because someone who can pronounce "nuclear" will be in the Oval Office, but because there's just a new vision for this country.

Things are getting better, and that's why I'm loving November.
------------------------------

November means a lot of birthdays for our family, and, so far, they've been happy ones.

As some of you know, Cienna celebrated a milestone birthday by leading a fundraiser for Children's Hospital. Last week, we donated 250 books to Child Life, and it felt really good. She learned so much from doing it, and I can only hope this kind of good will stays in her heart.

Family and friends attended her "royal ball," and the majority of us dressed up. Even though we asked for books in lieu of gifts, she still got a lot. I'm still not sure that she's put down the camera from Malik and Michelle, and her roster of dolls now rivals that of the Steelers (including their practice squad!)

She and two of her friends from ballet class dressed like Disney Princesses, and leave it to my graceful angel to somehow rip her dress so severely that her butt was showing by the time we got home that evening! But she had fun, and that was all that mattered.

My 28th birthday was much less of a milestone, but it was still pretty great. I think I ended up with three small parties somehow--one with family the Sunday before my birthday, one with Larry and the kids on my birthday, and some friends surprised us with cake and a present at a housewarming dinner party on Saturday.

Oh, and part of that Saturday included the Pens game and watching "Christmas Vacation" afterward! Who could ask for more?!

I love my family and have the best friends, and that's why I'm loving November.
-----------------------------------------------

I will not confirm or deny whether or not the inside of our house is decorated for Christmas. And I will not confirm or deny whether or not I've been listening to Christmas music.

But I will categorically admit to the fact that my Christmas movie basket is in the proper place and a lineup has been decided upon. Sometimes I get so excited about my Christmas movies that I hug the DVD boxes.

I encourage everyone to a sort of Christmas playlist for both music and movies. And it's OK (in fact, it's recommended) to include movies and songs on the list that simply remind you of the season or just have that Christmastime feel. For example, "Miracle" and "When Harry Met Sally" are not Christmas movies, but they've been on my list for a long time. Both include Christmas scenes and include healthy doses of winter. Plus, they have feel-good endings.

This month kicks off the holiday season, and that's why I'm loving November.
-------------------------------

Holidays inspire a lot of camaraderie, and it can make for much-loved memories.

This past weekend, during a Nutcracker rehearsal, I was in the sewing circle with some ballet moms. One of them is an OB/GYN, and despite her professional history, she's new to sewing costumes. She said, "This is challenging, really. I mean, I could take your uterus out, but I struggle with this lace."

Loved it. And that's why I'm loving November!

Stay the course

2008-09-16T18:19:00.000-07:00

--Friends, please don't read this if you're not registered to vote. Use this time now to go through the simple process of registering to vote online instead of reading my blog. I'm only going to tell you how important it is to vote this year anyway.

SERIOUSLY! Every day, there's a new dismal report about our economy and how thousands of Americans are losing their jobs and pensions, while millions lose their homes. It saddens me to see how unstable this country has become.

I don't believe that either presidential candidate will be able to get into office and change things right away. So don't expect to find a savior in a public servant. The economy will get worse before it gets better. Our housing market will hit rock bottom, and maybe during, say, Obama's second term we will start to see some true improvement.

A girl, who is a few years my junior, was asking me if I thought there would be another Great Depression. I said, "For some Americans, it already is. For others, it soon will be. For the precious few, it never will be. And for the rest of us, it will just be shitty for a while." We shared what we knew of the Great Depression, stories passed down, generation to generation. Then she said, "You think I'd have to sell my purse?" Referring to her choice of designer handbags, cell phone skins, sunglasses and footwear, I said, "You do realize you're a complete douchebag? If it got to the point where you had to sell that thing, it would have no value."

But I do love that girl because she's very kind, just simply and genuinely kind. She's all labeled out because she feels like she has to be. It's a matter of competition and attraction. And I can appreciate our differences.

Our differences, by the way, are vast. I've been known to leave authentic Gucci bags on a garage floor, while Target and TJ Maxx couture were nestled safely in my closet. And those Gucci bags? All gifts. Gifts from someone who gave that kind of stuff away at Christmastime like they were candy canes. I'd never buy something like that for myself. I'm not sure I would want it.

And that was before I had kids.

--The eternal optimist in me has high hopes for my children--and yours. Take a look at history, and you'll see why. Each generation has its tragedy, its turning point, its pivotal moment. One day, I believe we'll look back to see that 9/11 really did change everything for us--most of us were just upperclassmen in college. Innocence and naivity were lost.

But a lot of beauty was gained:

I remember sitting in my PR class, next to Incorvati, watching the second plane crash, after hearing the first one on my walkman during my short trip to Academic Hall. We were casual friends, class friends. That day we held hands.

Later, in my dorm room, among my best friends, I watched CNN and network news stations repeat horrible truths and replay horrifying images. That evening we walked the Boulevard of the Allies, as allies, and made it to The Point, looking back at our city, reflecting on the day, praying for our countrymen, silently thankful that it wasn't our skyline.

We all grew up a little that day--and so much more since then. We've suffered irreplacable losses in our families, we've become husbands and wives, moms and dads, full-time employees and homeowners. We've done it all during "trying times."

And I really do believe that if we stay the course, refuse to lose hope, work hard and treat each other well, we will live to see our children and loved ones live out their dreams without the challenge of doing it during "trying times."

--I've enjoyed that my life has been such a way that I can have an incredible phone conversation with my best friend while picking up a pizza, and 10 minutes later I can be meeting two incredible people for the first time.

--Color matching is so much fun. I've found some very interesting shades that are unbelievably beautiful with teal. Teal! It's also true that if you mismatch a color with teal, it's a huge disaster.

--Cienna is doing so well with school. I'm so incredibly proud of her and constantly wonder where her life's journey will lead.

--You already know how beyond thrilled I am for fall, so I won't go into that.

--Planning Cienna's 5th birthday is a lot of fun.

--Talking about Cienna in The Nutcracker is also fun.

--I'm looking forward to a certain new beginning. More to come...

In the Park

2008-09-08T19:25:00.000-07:00

Quick to judge

2008-09-05T18:06:00.000-07:00

If I could offer any advice to the experts, pundits and folks with nothing better to do than gossip, it would be this: Be careful whom you judge and how you judge them.

I'm not entirely sure why John McCain picked Sarah Palin as his running mate, but I am intrigued that he chose her among a more-qualified pool of Republican candidates. That's not to say that Palin isn't qualified at all, but I wouldn't be comfortable having her as president of the United States. She just doesn't share my political values.

I don't care that she has five children and a demanding career. To me, that doesn't make her a less qualified politician. Many successful politicians have balanced personal lives with political lives. And the only time anyone raises a question of priorities is when it's a mother making the tough choices. Let me tell you something, folks--mothers have been making tough choices for a long time.

Palin's daughter has started making those tough choices. And my heart truly goes out to her. I know how challenging it was to be pregnant at 22 and a single mom at 23. From my best understanding--through research and friendships--it's all the more difficult as a teenager.

And because it is so hard, it really breaks my heart to see some of the coverage of a personal family issue. Morning talk shows have been hosting teen forums, discussing sex and unplanned pregnancies. As though it's something new. As though their network news will have a positive impact.

Evening talk shows have been featuring hurtful jokes, such as, "It's a good thing Governor Palin is a member of the NRA because it's going to be a shotgun wedding."

Hilarious.

As someone familiar with shotgun weddings, let me tell you that they happen all the time--even when there's not a baby involved. Is constantly nagging a guy to marry you because all of your friends are getting married any less pressure? Is threatening a breakup if there's not a ring by a certain date really fair? It's certainly not romantic.

It's usually a little more romantic when a baby is involved because sometimes there's more of a choice. In fact, I know of at least one man who had many options presented to him by a pregnant girl who didn't believe marriage yielded good parenting. She gave him choices. The man chose to be married. He wanted to be married.

Palin's daughter, Bristol, says that she's going to be married to the baby's father--a young man who previously listed he did not want kids on his MySpace page. According to a marriage professor at Duquesne University, 95 percent of marriages that begin before the couple is 21 years old do not last. Well, half of all marriages after 21 don't last either. And can we really find it so hard to believe that an opinion someone writes on a MySpace page might change?

I'm not stunned by any of the week's past news--something I attribute to growing up in journalism and also just growing as a person. I'm not surprised that a 17-year-old girl had unprotected sex and got pregnant. I'm not surprised that the daughter of a conservative, pro-life governor is having a baby.

What does surprise me is that so many people can pass judgement on the situation. What does surprise me is that we still debate sex education vs. abstinence, yet fail to set up resources and effective programs to help young mothers.

Pro-life politicians damn those who don't keep their babies, yet vote against bills proposed by pro-choice advocates to help those mothers succeed without regretting their decisions. It would be too much work to actually care. Sitting back, reading tabloids, gossiping about it--that's much more convenient. Coming up with an opinion is easy. Coming up with a solution takes some effort.

I'm an opinionated person, but I'm not nearly as judgemental as I used to be. And I work for what I believe in and for what I believe will help others.

So when someone emailed me, "Does it bother you that Governor Palin's 17-year-old daughter is pregnant?" I didn't hesitate to answer.

"Yes it does. But not because a republican vice presidental candidate's daughter is about to have a baby. I care because another teenager is becoming a young mother. I care because I was a week shy of 23 when Cienna was born. And I care because I have children. And they will undoubtedly face decisions as they grow up--some of which may be challenging."

I've faced a great deal of judgement with each pregnancy, and with each pregnancy, others' opinions have mattered less and less. If the commentary doesn't come from my family, friends or physicians, it doesn't affect me. And I can only hope Bristol Palin feels the same.

But these wishes extend beyond Bristol Palin. They also affect other young women in our communities, facing tough decisions. The decisions are just as important--sometimes moreso--even though they're not psuedo-celebrities.

A young, unmarried mom I talked to this week said, "It just hurts so bad. I hear what they say about her, and I know what they say about me. But they don't even know me. They don't know what's in my heart."

I've heard this kind of thing often during my research and outreach. And I'm quick to remind women that unplanned doesn't mean unwanted. Women shouldn't be damned or shunned for loving their child enough to give them life. They shouldn't feel badly for believing that love will guide them. Nor should they be denied the right to make a different decision.

There has only ever been one decision for me. I believe children are a blessing and gift from God.

But not every woman has chosen what I have, and I respect that.

What I cannot respect are groups of women who have never been parents, passing judgement on those of us who are mothers. Or people who have never done an unselfish thing in their lives looking down on a woman who chooses to do what's best for her baby.

People aren't perfect; they're just people. And people have different experiences. We can choose to be open to those experiences. We can choose to be supportive. We can choose to be friends. Or we can choose the alternatives to those.

In nearly every situation, I've chosen to follow my heart. And, sometimes, it's led me to some interesting places. But mostly it's led to me to beautiful places.

Despite that, I've made poor choices in my lifetime. I've hurt people when I didn't mean to. I've taken when I couldn't give back. I've judged others prematurely. And it inspired some regret.

But I have never wished I never had a child, or waited until a different time. I have never wished I had time back that I spent helping another woman.

My life is blessed, and I haven't taken a day of it for granted. Cienna, Ty and our baby are gifts. There are challenging days, but there are incredibly beautiful years. I'm so thankful for every moment I spend with them. I'm so happy that Larry is taking this journey with me. I wouldn't trade anything. And I'm not intimidated by a full house.

It doesn't seem like the Palins are intimidated by a full house either.

Maybe they know that a full house grows full hearts.

Healing, In no particular order

2008-08-20T17:43:00.000-07:00

BFF, BBF, BFBG, BFOTA

Whether we were rocked to death or scared to death, our circle of Friends was recently tested. First, our hearts paused while we prayed and hoped through a worrisome medical situation involving a Friend, and entire family, really, that we love dearly. Then, we somehow pulled together enough courage to withstand the musical explosion that was REO Speedwagon and Skyblast. And if you doubt the latter, let me tell you, never doubt a man who has false teeth, platinum hair and can still play the gong.

All joking aside, I've been so proud of my friends. Even though we don't live close to each other or have the ability to hang out all the time, we're there when it counts. Our history of pressing up has clearly become legacy, and we all belong on The List of People Who Don't Eff Around. The social networking age has only worked to our advantage, as we are not the kind of friends who are out of sight, out of mind.

I know with every ounce of faith in my heart (though it just might be heartburn these days), that the sickness will heal, and we will all be sharing photos of our healthy families at the annual PPC (as in Christmas) Potluck.

Deals

You know it's going to be a tough meeting when you walk in a room and someone says, "It took a lot of courage for you to be here today."

I had two such meetings so far this week. And in each of those meetings, I had to make decisions--some of which have already been negatively criticized. But the criticisms say more about those doing the criticizing than it says about me. The results of my decisions--and whether or not they were the best ones--won't be revealed for years to come. Even if they're not the best ones, they already feel like the right ones. I only made these decisions after a lot of prayer, a lot of thinking and a lot of planning. So it wasn't on a whim.

Of course it involved money--which is really the main thing that inspires people to care about someone else's decisions. And I pretty much gave up a lot of it in order to help a larger group of people who otherwise wouldn't likely be able to afford a resource that could help raise healthy, happy children and families. At the same time, I'll have enough, when it's said and done, to pay my debts and help those who have helped me.

I was going to describe how another meeting involved me fighting for social justice in education, but really, both meetings involved me fighting for social justice in education.

It kind of feels like walking the walk, a bit. Look, I'm never going to be a politician--I've had too much of a past for that. But there's still a lot I can do for what I believe in.

Women & Men

I received some sad phone calls this week from a girl struggling with a broken heart. And broken hearts are always harder to put back together when the person suffering doesn't have a strong support system--especially family. The parent-child relationship in her life has always been reversed, and her ex-boyfriend was her life.

But when people build their lives around one person, they tend to hold onto that one person too tightly. It can bring out the worst in a relationship. And even when the relationship goes bad, it can be hard to let go of.

I pray for her every day, hoping her pain will be replaced with joy.

My advice in such a situation is always the same: You have to find a way to move on.

I know it's easier said than done. But the longer you hang onto the wrong person is less time you have with the right one.

And never, NEVER, be someone else's doormat or fool. It's like that buying of the cow when you can get the milk for free thing. If a guy still sleeps with you after he dumps you, it does not mean he loves you. It just means you keep giving him sex. If the sex stops, so will the majority of your communication.

My mother is quick to remind women that we don't need to "buy the cow" either: "Why buy the whole pig when all you want is some sausage."

She probably saw it on a bumper sticker or something. But sometimes bumper stickers give the best advice.

Prayer

I've had so much to pray about in the last week that I actually went to the sanctuary to do it. I'm usually quite content to do it at home or in the car, but I think I just wanted the perfect calm of an empty church.

I cried.

I stared at swaying candlelight.

I prayed.

I foolishly negotiated.

I felt peaceful.

And churches are just so beautiful. Some of the architecture is just majestic. Stained-glass windows and pillars. Pews and velvet carpeting. Light that always seems to fall in the right place.

Even though I didn't feel any closer to God there during prayer than I do at home during prayer, or any differently on a Tuesday night than a Sunday morning, it just felt nice to be there.

I think that's what we should always aim for, you know, that we feel nice to be somewhere. That a place, and the people, feel nice. And if it doesn't feel like that, then maybe we're in the wrong place.

Empty Nesting While My Nest is Growing

Is it possible to have empty nest syndrome when your child is only going to preschool? And for the second time?

Seriously. Cienna is only turning 5 this fall, but I know in like two days she will be 15. Time always goes faster once kids go to school, and this preschool year more closely resembles Kindegarten.

I'm not really freaking out. I'm merely a melodramatic sap who has to turn everything into a scrapbook page.

But can you believe she's going to be 5?

When I look back on the last 5 years with her, it all feels like 5 fast years but a lot of long days. Make any sense?

I'm making a special book for her 5th birthday, including photos and stories of her life to that point.

I'll probably cry the whole time.

Of course I will.

A Swift Kick

When I was pregnant with Cienna, I had my miracle moment--the moment when I realized I was really growing an incredible little life inside me that I already loved and would be a mom to--while I was falling asleep on BG's couch. It was the evening after my first prenatal appointment that confirmed I was pregnant, and BG picked me up so I could stay at her house. The nurses had given me a small box of reading material that covered an infant's life from birth through age one. BG had gone to bed, and I read it all, cover to cover. When I finally closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the challenge of becoming a single mother, I placed my hands on my still-unchanged belly and knew that I wasn't going to sleep alone. And in that beautiful, lifechanging moment I knew I was somebody's mom.

With Ty Guy, I had the moment during my first sonogram with him. He was moving his little hands all around, covering his eyes, as if to play peek-a-boo. I looked at the monitor and thought, "That's my little boy." My eyes filled with tears, and Larry's just might have too, and I couldn't wait to hold those little hands.

This time, it was when I felt the first, tiny kick. I was in Giant Eagle, stopped in the middle of the aisle, and started crying next to the polenta. I put my hand on my clearly-changed belly and said, "Hello, little angel." Now, luckily, our Giant Eagle is very suburban, and the customers there were quite sympathetic as opposed to thinking I was crazy. It's a moment I won't forget, and I can't wait to share it with my baby.

What amazes me most, though, is that even though this is my third baby, it doesn't feel any less miraculous. It's so incredible how love grows and multiplies.

On the way...

2008-08-18T17:42:00.000-07:00

There's a blog on the way. I've just been too busy to write it. Maybe Wednesday...

Keep a good thought.

The thing about assholes and confidence

2008-08-11T16:20:00.000-07:00

J. Cummins was right.

He once told me, after several glasses of whiskey and water--which, let's face it, make any man a sage, "I've found it's either too much confidence or too little confidence that give people their problems."

And while he slowly whirled that happy hour in his hand, as though he was welcoming the aroma of a fine wine, I realized that some of the best advice was probably handed down that way, with Tom Petty singing songs about winners and losers in the background.

As Bruce Springsteen cautioned, when it comes to winners and losers, "don't get caught on the wrong side of that line."

But confidence is tricky, isn't it? And we can be too confident in some situations and not enough in others; we're not bound to one or the other as a character trait. Sometimes overconfidence expresses itself as obnoxiousness. Sometimes a lack of confidence expresses itself as insecurity.

I thought about that as I briefly read some comments from Meg Ryan recently in Parade in which she said, and I'm paraphrasing, that her eyes were opened when she went through a divorce and people turned on her. She said she had no idea people could wish for her to fail.

And I thought, "Really, Meg?"

See, you can't give people too much credit because most of them are assholes. This is something I learned a long time ago and have never forgotten. And if you're an asshole, and I'm still nice to you, it simply means I've given up on you.

This may not immediately fit the profile for those of you who have labeled me an optimist. But the very reason I'm an optimist is because I know not everyone is an asshole. There are some normal, kind human beings out there. There are friends who really do want you to succeed. There are people who truly do love you unconditionally. There are incredible blessings from God. I believe these things because I've experienced them. But I also believe in a number of other things simply because I have faith.

But you can only have so much faith in assholes.

And if the Meg Ryan thing proves anything it's that your mom was right: When confronted with a bully--in this case an emotional one--just keep your head held high. Bullies never last, and they get theirs.

I just talked to Larry's great-grandma today about two bullies who used to live on her street. They treated her brother horribly. "And you know they grew up to both have failed marriages and very sick years before they died."

Like me, she's not the type of woman to wish anything horrible on anyone, but it's just one example of "what goes around, comes around."

Trust me, you don't want to be standing next to an asshole when it comes around.

Very brief

2008-07-24T15:05:00.001-07:00

I'm loving this weather! It feels like early fall, and that's always a good thing. I noticed this most yesterday evening when I was leaving work while it was still daylight--which is rare--and the city was just so beautiful. All that was missing was a football game.

Soon enough, I guess. :-)

Hard work...and pressing up, basically

2008-07-21T17:35:00.000-07:00

1. Hello, friends (and cyber-stalkers). You probably know (if we're friends or if you've stalked me thoroughly) that I'm someone who believes everything happens for a reason. And, well, I've come to believe the reason for this recession (even if certain republicans in a failed administration refuse to call it that) is to force people to get back to some hard work. This country was founded on it. That's why I believe this country became a superpower. The fact that we've moved away from this as a culture is why I think we're growing weaker and poorer.

A recent report amidst the whole Fannie Mae/Freddie Mac coverage claimed that some investors admitted to a lower level of productivity and higher tech usage. Is this a surprise? Look around you! Many of your co-workers use company time to shop online, blog, look up their fantasy stats, email with friends, IM, and the list goes on. I've done it. So have you.

But there's a limit to how much of it should be done. And when.

Sometimes people just don't like their jobs--it's merely the source of a paycheck. There's not much pride in their work or even a mild appreciation for being employed during our dismal economic forecast. "If I had the job I wanted, I'd do a good job." That kind of attitude.

Are we really that spoiled? Do you think our grandfathers had a passion for mining? Do you think our grandfathers enjoyed sweating all day in the mills? Do you think they yearned to wash dishes in a restaurant? No. They did it to take care of their families. And too many water breaks would get them fired, let alone the thought of chatting on the job.

Hey, I'm the first to admit that I love to communicate, but I get my shite done first. I don't do the IM thing. It's just not conducive to my lifestyle as a busy mom. I blog--usually at night, after work, once the kids are asleep. If I do shop online, it's usually window shopping and, again, at night. The same pretty much goes for email at this point. I text occasionally, but these days I mostly just call the person. Was I always this way? No.

But I used to have this friend who simply could not visit anyone without her laptop. She claimed it was because she was just SO busy at work, but everyone knew she spent the majority of her day IMing and flirting online with her fantasy boyfriend of the week. It always seemed kind of...sad. Not to mention rude to the person she was visiting. And while I wasn't cyberaddicted, I knew I couldn't judge her, even if silently, until I reigned in some of my own bad habits.

When I read those Fannie Mae/Freddie Mac stories, I just wonder: Would things have been any different if we all just put in an honest day's work? And for more than one day...

I sort of think the same thing when I read all these stories about the rising cost of education. On behalf of parents, I'd like to say, "We get it! It's going to be expensive--way more expensive than when we went."

But does that mean our children are doomed? NO!

Here's an idea: Maybe instead of trying to scare an 8-year-old into figuring out how many loans he/she will need, we instead encourage our children to do it the ol' fashioned way! Work hard, earn scholarships!

Get it together, America.

"Do not confuse motion and progress. A rocking horse keeps moving but does not make any progress." -- Alfred A. Montapert

"Do not wait; the time will never be "just right'. Start where you stand, and work with whatever tools you may have at your command, and better tools will be found as you go along."
--Napoleon Hill

2. Now let me tell you about something really unproductive that I did. On Saturday and Sunday, I was ill. Considerably ill. And I made a mess in the process. We'll leave it at that. But what was nice about feeling like a scene from "Alien" was that I got to re-watch most of season 3 of "The Office." And with Larry and my youngest brother-in-law there, I was in good company. I really really love "The Office." Even if I clearly remember an episode, it still makes me laugh out loud. Also, I'm pretty sure that my stepdad is a combination of Michael Scott and Dwight Schrute.

3. But before I was unproductive and sick, I was really really happy. On Friday, we got to spend time with friends for Dinner and Dark Knight, and not only was I not disappointed, but all of my expectations were exceeded. And our friends brought us a gift for the baby, which was totally unexpected and incredibly sweet. Also, I had the best grilled zucchini ever. Ever!

Notes on a Wednesday

2008-07-16T13:26:00.000-07:00

A. So I thought things weren't going to be this busy in mid-July, but I was totally wrong. Awesome. Thanks. But I've accepted that life won't slow down until my kids are 25. Maybe. We all know that I love it anyway, though, so... Oh my goodness! It's just so incredible! I mean, not only are filled with an amount of love you never thought possible, you are ultimately responsible for the development of lives. Their minds are like sponges that you can fill with incredible truths and beautiful stories and images. And you realize that all of these things you started doing while they were still in utero--like reading to them and singing songs--has only fostered their undeniable enjoyment of reading and dancing. It's just this amazing journey, and I make sure that I force myself to slow things down so we can appreciate the moments we're in when we're in them. I still can't fall asleep at night unless I check on my children first. And it still melts my heart to see them cuddled up with their favorite blankie (and in Ty's case, a Boppy too!) It's a feeling that's hard to describe sometimes, but if I can try... You know what it's like when you're dating someone, and you get those butterflies when you're about to see them, or even when you're thinking about them while in rush hour traffic? You know how awesome it feels to fall asleep with that person and daydream--or even nightdream--about all of things you'll do with them and where you'll go together? It's just a simple joy that comes from being with someone you love. And if you put the right amount of care into it during the course of a lifetime, that feeling doesn't have to fade away. It's just an excitement and a love so beautiful. And children don't have to change that, even as your relationship may change. I think children can make you fall in love in a different way because they show you another dimension to your lover. Unconditional love--which is the kind a parent should have for their child(ren)--is attractive. And unconditionally loving your child(ren) together bonds you in a whole new way. Mainly though, together, you realize that children redefine happiness.

B. I daydream about the baby a lot. Being a mother, being pregnant, is just absolutely magical.

C. I'm not sure if this is just in my head or what, but I swear that Larry's hormones change right along with mine. When I'm sick and stressed and tired during the beginning of a pregnancy, he's a grumpy bear. When I hit the second trimester high--where everything is beautiful and wonderful--he's totally sweet and adoring. And when I hit the third trimester of waddling and back pain, he's like a live-in superhero, always there to give massages (while sometimes unsuccessfully attempting to play video games with one hand).

D. I always cry at weddings, and we have two coming up! We're really excited for them! It's a great opportunity to not only wish the best for your married friends and celebrate their love, but you generally get to have fun with a lot of your other friends too! There's something so perfect about simply being a guest.

E. I've tried to contain my excitement for this weekend's premiers, but I just can't any longer! I can't wait for Batman! I think I've taped every interview with Christian Bale, Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman. By the way, I got a text from a friend this week that said, "Y do i feel like m.freeman is some1 who should b in your fam?" To which I replied, "I LOVE YOU!" The answer, of course, is because he made the BGBG list of "People Who Don't F Around."

And, also, I'm entirely too excited for "Mamma Mia!" I know that Batman will be the first to get my time and money, but I really need to see MM as well. Maybe I can convince my mom to go with me. "Dancing Queen" is sort of our song together anyway. Also, whenever I talk to Larry about it, he sort of reluctantly agrees and says, "Maybe you should see if any girls want to go." Hmm....anyone want to go see "Mamma Mia!" with me? I mean, it's hard to avoid any movie with Colin Firth, Meryl Streep and Pierce Brosnan. And, by the way, I love Colin Firth in interviews.

F. I love farmers' markets for summer produce.

G. Have a great day, loves! I'm off to make dinner for the fam!

"Wildflowers Don't Care Where They Grow"

2008-07-08T16:44:00.000-07:00

Wildflowers

by Dolly Parton

The hills were alive with wildflowers

And I was as wild, even wilder than they

For at least I could run, they just died in the sun

And I refused to just wither in place

Just a wild mountain rose, needing freedom to grow

So I ran fearing not where I'd go

When a flower grows wild, it can always survive

Wildflowers don't care where they grow

And the flowers I knew in the fields where I grew

Were content to be lost in the crowd

They were common and close

I had no room for growth

I wanted so much to branch out

I uprooted myself from home ground and left

Took my dreams and I took to the road

When a flower grows wild, it can always survive

Wildflowers don't care where they grow.

I grew up fast and wild and I never felt right

In a garden so different from me

I just never belonged, I just longed to be gone

So the garden, one day, set me free

Hitched a ride with the wind and since he was my friend

I just let him decide where we'd go

When a flower grows wild, it can always survive

Wildflowers don't care where they grow.

When a flower grows wild, it can always survive

Wildflowers don't care where they grow.

Joy is best when it's simple and genuine.

2008-07-07T17:16:00.000-07:00

It really doesn't even matter that my camera batteries died halfway through 4th of July Festivities. What I'll remember most is an image I could never forget--an image I'll hold close to my heart forever: The look of complete, genuine joy and wonder in the eyes of my children.

By the time our community had set off it's first firework, we were covered in free glowsticks, glow bracelets, glow necklaces and glow swords. (Duquesne Light loves it some chemoluminescence!) And my family had been fully "regaled" with my stories about twirling glow batons. Hey, at the very least, it helped tune out the band in the background which destroyed the musical stylings of Amy Winehouse and Stevie Ray Vaughn.

We were sitting beneath the show, so the first blast was loud enough to inspire a pouty lip from Ty. Once I held him, though, he was fine and even began pointing and clapping at all the pretty lights. Cienna, a child clearly after my heart which she already has, said, "It's like a bunch of your Christmas trees, Mommy." She doesn't know it yet, but that bought her a car when she's 16. Maybe not, but you get the idea of how happy I was.

I pretty much used Larry as back support while I held Ty and Cienna sat on the opposite side of me. At one point, it felt like time had stopped and I was in some movie moment. Everything seemed to get quiet, despite the noises above, and all I could see was everyone else looking up.

My children had the most magical looks on their faces. Their eyes were reflecting the lights of the fireworks and were as big as planets. Only, instead of being covered in continents and waterways, they were covered in wonder and joy. They were so incredibly happy and perfect--the way the simplicity of youth delivers such happiness and perfection.

And just as quickly as it brought tears to my eyes, I couldn't help but feel as excited as they were. Because the beauty of childhood--which is simplicity--can be enjoyed at any age.

I carried that mantra throughout the rest of my weekend, taking pause to enjoy my garden a little more and all the wildflowers that so-appropriately surround our house. I returned correspondence to some friends. I daydreamed about tiny baby hands and tiny baby feet. And first smiles. I listened to the "Garden State" soundtrack on the way to work. I grilled. I went to a picnic. I planned this weekend's Batman Bacchanal. I appreciated having the best brothers-in-law a girl could ever ask for. We visited grandmas. I fingerpainted with Ty, who giggled the whole time, assuming he was making a big mess for Mommy that wasn't going to be easily washed away. I colored three Scooby-Doo pictures with Cienna, which have now been added to the fridge. I read the Sunday paper.

And it was joyful.

Even though my camera batteries died during 4th of July Festivities, I did manage to get this photo of Cienna and her best friend, Tayla. They are 2 months and 2 days apart, with Cienna being the older one.

Also included are some photos of flowers from our gardens. I'll be adding a few to each blog. The one that includes a row of pansies, bottom right, is actually Cienna's garden. She planted it and waters it daily--even if it rains.

You knew I wouldn't get away from lists for too long

2008-06-30T13:45:00.000-07:00

Perfect Opportunities
Every now and then, the perfect job opportunity comes along. And sometimes that happens twice in the same season. It feels as though everything loves you and as though you've hit a career stride. So you silently compliment yourself on not stagnating, on reaching your potential, on constantly moving upward, even if the movement has been slow. You can be proud that you left your old job for something better and not because you were forced to resign. (You'd be amazed at how many people experience the latter--even if they never admit it.) And while even failure can yield some level of success, it's nice when it's just success that yields success.

What's in a name?
Well, a lot is in a name. Especially when you're choosing the name of your child. And when you have a writing background, that choice can be even more difficult because everything reminds you of something else. I've changed my mind at least one hundred times now.

Decision '08
Another big decision parents make is choosing Godparents for their child. If the parents believe in that sort of thing. We do. To me, it's asking two special people to be positive influences in a child's life, further leading them to goodness. You hope they will share a part of themselves that's truly important, shaping that young life toward brilliance. It's the parents' job to raise that child, and so they do all of those same things, but Godparents are usually happy and honored to simply add to it. For example, Cienna's Godmother, Mary Beth, is known for her literature collection and extensive reading list. So for every holiday, birthday, party of any kind, visit, etc., she always brings Cienna a book, with a beautiful, little note inside. And the books are always awesome books, too. Cienna has quite the collection going. Joe, Cienna's Godfather, is an eternal optimist. He always sends her these great toys when he can't make it back from L.A., or he brings them in hand. They're always fun toys, yet educational. For example, the big Fisher Price Zoo set that includes talking animals, music and ABC games. The cash register that lets her play store and also teaches her about money. The awesome puzzles. And of course a collector's edition Barbie toy that teaches her about ...um, preservation. Both Mary Beth and Joe have been amazing Godparents and amazing friends.

Ty has been lucky, also, to have such doting uncles who will undoubtedly teach him unbelievable things as he gets older. And with Justin as his Godfather, I can only imagine what those things will be! :-) As for his Godmother, it was just beautiful to see Jocelyn hold him for the first time and watch as her face changed from unsure to magical. Unsure-t0-magical is pretty much the story of that girl's life.

Ryan will be Godfather to this baby, and I know he will be awesome. So our choice lies in which amazing woman we will ask to be the Godmother. It really is an important choice. And we're making it carefully.

It would suck to have to change church records and wills, you know?!

Dresses
Who went shopping with her mother-in-law Saturday and found two dresses, both normally retailing at $119 each and marked down to $4.99? Me. My MIL bought them for me because they're not only beautiful, but they also expand with a growing belly--even though they are not maternity dresses. What a find! I'm still happy about the shopping adventure--during which she also bought something for the new baby!

4th of July
I really do love this week every year. "Pressing up in honor of our forefathers" and MB's love of it has made me love it even more. But I love seeing old friends and family, grilling food, making a dish and taking it to picnics or "pic-a-nics" if you're from Pittsburgh, and, of course, fireworks--especially when watched with children and from someone's arms.

A weekend that was...

2008-06-23T13:22:00.000-07:00

So I didn't realize it until it was over, but this past weekend was full of all of my favorite things.

I'm not going to list EVERYTHING that happened, but here's a small sampling: a ballgame, the drive-in, a very comfortable bed, window shopping for Baby Woodall, the most beautiful bridal shower ever, time with my family, time with my grandmothers-in-law, dinner at Gram's, watching Cienna play with her friends, watching Tyler act quite unsure about baby donkeys and alpacas at the petting zoo, watching Ty enjoy his pony ride--but only after Larry and I got yelled at by a horse whisperer who made us laugh so hard that I nearly peed my pants, hearing yet another story about Larry at Mercyhurst and nudity, wedding cake and a long walk.

Kennywoodall

2008-06-19T16:41:00.000-07:00

What is it about Kennywood day that is always so perfect? It doesn't matter if it's hot, cold, rainy or cloudy, people are smiling.

Watching the kids' reactions was amazing. Cienna and Tyler wore huge grins all day, along with their hoodies, as they rode together in Kiddieland. And Cienna was tall enough to ride several things with Larry in the main park. But when the kids rode together, Cienna always watched out for Ty and would put her arm around him during the fast or bumpy parts. It's moments like that which melt my heart and make me thank God all over again for being their mother.

The kids were also lucky to have Grandma and Pap Pap Woodall, Great-Grandma Arlene and Aunt Shelley come along as well. It was so nice to enjoy the park as a family and ride together on the few things we could all ride together.

Of course, the real reason I know Cienna had fun is because she actually turned down ice cream in favor of riding more. Somehow, though, she managed to get a cone before the day was over! And she wasn't alone! :-)

P.S. As always, you can see all the pictures on Facebook!

The beauty of rock bottom (not to be confused with Rock Bottom) and other stuff

2008-06-12T16:12:00.000-07:00

Not that you would ever think I'd write about a brewery chain...

One of the things my first college roommate and I had in common was the fear that whenever something good happened, something bad would naturally follow. It's like the cliche you hear about "waiting for the other shoe to drop."

That dear friend of mine eventually found a quote that muted her fear:
"If you believe in fate to your harm, believe it at least for your good." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

My experience was different. I just eventually realized that the bad stuff wasn't such a bad thing. While fear may have been part of my character, the failure to rebound, and rebound quickly, never was. My optimism is often unyielding, and I've always believed in working things out, talking things through and pressing up, basically. Plus, I have an incredible faith in God and strongly belive in prayer. So that's what I've always relied on.

But it's more than that. There's something beautiful about a breakdown. You're given a clean emotional slate. You learn who you can count on. Your strengths and weaknesses are more transparent. And it's always the beginning of the next great chapter in your life.

So don't fear the bottom of something. It's sometimes just the top of something else.

Can we discuss the Three Rivers Arts Festival, please?

It's gets an A+ for the art! But little else...

I'm not impressed with the musical line-up. Truth be told, I haven't been since Aimee Mann played at the Point. (And before that when NIJ played. Remember when NIJ used to play the Festival? Aw...) Even beyond that concert, it was one of the greatest days of my life, making the concert an even fonder memory, I suppose.

Oh, in addition to the Festival having the best displays/booths/vendors/artists this year, the chocolate-covered strawberries, once again, deserve an A+.

Pops and circumstance

Last evening, the class of 2008 graduated from Mt. Lebanon High School. Which meant that on my way to work, the ride was a little slower as parents and families lined Cedar Boulevard with cameras, congratulations and some crying.

The most touching moment that I witnessed as a passerby involved what looked like a father and daughter talking and then embracing. And as they hugged, he just closed his eyes and held on in a way that I think every girl wants her dad to hold onto her.

Beating deadlines

I'm 3/4 the way done with "Push," and it's only mid-June. My deadline was originally October. It's fair to say I'll beat that. The journal that accompanies it can't be done until the bambino arrives, but that's beyond my control. We're negotiating all of that and art at my September meeting, which I'm hoping turns into a little anniversary vacation for Lar and me.

I just can't believe I'm beating this deadline by this margin. It's one thing to meet a deadline. It's another to beat one.

But the work won't end. There will be edits. For sure.

I love being a writer.

Kennywood

So apparently it's mid-June, and the Woodalls (inlaws included) are going to Kennywood next week. I can't believe it's next week already. And I can't believe I get the work perks that I do.

We're so excited to see the kids' reactions to all the rides, though it will be a challenge just keeping Ty from running around all over the place! He's his own version of Speed Racer! You should see him!

Cienna is tall enough to ride a decent amount of the rides outside of Kiddieland as well, so that's exciting.

My favorite part of the whole thing is riding at night when everything is all lit-up. I've always loved that, as I've always loved Kennywood. It brings back so many great memories, and so many great memories are made there as well.

It's nice to go to other parks too--such as Cedar Point and Busch Gardens--but we're lucky to have such a great amusement park in our back yard. (OK, so it's really McKeesport's back yard, but whatever.)

Kool-Aid Nana

I went to my mom's on Tuesday to drop off Ty for his first overnight at Nana's ever. She had four other children on her porch--Cienna and three of her friends. Ty made five. And Nana loved it. She had the Kool-Aid (which is thankfully available sugar-free, and also free of aspartame) and popscicles (which are thankfully available sugar-free, and also free of aspartame) all ready, and a slip 'n slide was turned on in the back yard.

While I may have annoyed her most of my life, she definitely loves being a Nana!

Entourage

So Entourage is become a fall show, and I'm not happy about that. It was so great to have a great show on during the summer when TV usually offers things like..."Celebrity Circus," "So You Think You Can Dance," "I Survived a Japanese Game Show"...things like that.

One of my co-workers claims I should start watching "Weeds." Does anyone else watch that? Do you know if it's something I can just start watching, or do I need background first? Any summer TV suggestions?

Making history

2008-06-05T16:40:00.000-07:00

A lot of people made history this week. But we only know some of their stories. And the stories we do know are sometimes subjected to questions of validity.

When, though, do those questions or details ever really matter? The way we make history and the way we remember it are often quite different.

There was a moment, and a relationship that was central to it, that seemed to change the course of my life. It was tenacious. Passionate. Fierce. Good for my writing, bad for my soul. Full of cocktails. Rich with dialogue. And eventually painful. For too long after it had ended, a part of me felt almost haunted by it. The good memories seemed so much better than they were. The bad ones seemed justifiable. And all the minutes in between seemed longer than normal minutes, like 75 seconds reminding me that I was alone.

Being Candy, being someone who believes the martini glass is always half full, I made the most of it. And being that I was in college, that meant I had sex with someone else as fast as I could to get over him. And being that I was a college girl in my early twenties, that did not take long.

One day, the pain of my actions and the pain of his absence simply went away.

When I look back now, I have no idea what my reason was for walking away. Even with my photographic memory. Granted, there were probably a hundred people who had a hundred reasons why I should've walked away even sooner--myself included--but I don't remember what was the pivotal moment in our history that made me walk away, literally, and also avoid all temptation to turn around and see if he was watching me walk away.

But I remember why I didn't turn around--fear that maybe he was watching me walk away with a look on his face that suggested he felt the romance of longing, and fear that maybe he wasn't. Once I made it to my Isuzu Trooper that day, I loudly played "Purple Rain" by Prince during the drive home, over and over until I didn't need to listen to it anymore.

I didn't choose that song because it had anything to do with our relationship, nor did it describe any of it's failings. I just needed to hear a good song--a song with genius and heart, a song that was bigger than me. One of my high school best friends always said, "All a girl really needs in this world, Candy, is good music, good coffee and great friends." I guess it stuck.

Oddly enough, what I'm proud of more than knowing when to walk away is never letting a bad thing come between my relationship with good music. There's not one band or album or song I've forsaken because of tainted love.

"Purple Rain" is still one of my all-time favorite songs, and it makes me think of many things. Mostly though, it's just musically incomparable. It's epic. And it's from one of the best albums of all time, of the same title. I have the history to prove this. My first copy was on vinyl. Then a cassette. Then a CD. Now a microchip. It still sounds best in a car though.

Penguins and bridesmaids

The Pittsburgh Penguins incredible season has mostly been buried today by comparisons of their team to forgotten bridesmaids. But that's not such a bad thing.

As someone who watched every Penguins game this season (and a few seasons prior), I'm extremely proud of our local hockey players. They played hard, and with respect, and there's still a lot of talent on our team. That's why, despite my disappointment last evening, I didn't wake up feeling sad. I'm beyond confident that we'll make it back to the Cup finals, and we'll win next time. And when the Pens go home with the Cup the next time, we'll forget all about the pain of this loss.

Let's be real about something though: It's a lot less of a big deal to be a forgotten bridesmaid than the loser of a championship. The former usually has to do with the natural progression of life as opposed to an unfulfilled dream. For some of these athletes, it's their life's work. I've been both a bride and a bridesmaid. It's nobody's life's work. (If by some rare chance it is, I'm sorry--to you and for you.)

Bridesmaids and weddings have been coming up in conversation a lot lately. One of my friends recently got engaged, and one of our cousins got engaged this past weekend. Once you've had a wedding of your own, people like to pick your brain a little.

But I should point out that Larry and I are bad to go to advice for on this topic. We weren't the kind of couple, or the type of people, to analyze or agonize over things most people won't remember. I think weddings should reflect the couple. If you spend most of your days looking like you walked out of Vogue magazine, then maybe that's what your wedding should be. If you sit around bonfires with beer most of the time, maybe you're destined for an outdoor wedding and a picnic that follows.

Trust me on this, though, if you try to make your wedding something you are not--it will be hell to plan.

A journalism professor in college taught us that when you have the right lead, the rest of the story flows easily, naturally. I think that's true about a lot of things in life.

My wedding dress was the third one I tried on. I picked my flowers in less than 30 minutes. The cake was from Bethel Bakery--a no-brainer. My matron of honor picked the bridesmaids dresses and talked it over with the rest of the girls--they would be wearing the dress, not me. We got married in the small church I grew up in. It didn't overlook the city. It barely overlooked the Mon River. Michelangelo did not paint the ceilings. There was no waiting list. Our dinner was buffet style for the 400 people who attended our reception in a fire hall. Sure, the invitation may have said "banquet hall," but on Tuesday nights, it's full of bingo players.

We saved tons of money that way. We invited our friends and family. We didn't stress over cutting people off the list we grew up with because we couldn't afford to feed them. We fed and watered them all very well.

You could say a lot about my wedding, but you can't say it wasn't fun. And, in the end, that's what people will remember most.

So don't worry about flowers and bridesmaids. Pick both with the knowledge that it's the choice you are making now--whenever now is for you. And as you grow, and your life grows, you might have chosen a lily over a rose, or a Becky over a Bonnie, but it's about what you feel in your heart now that influences you choice.

The only thing about that whole day that even matters are the vows you take with the person you love.

Clintons

Unfortunately for Hillary Rodham Clinton, the vows she took may be what both propelled her into making history as the first woman to receive 18 million votes for the Democratic nomination and yet kept her from being its nominee. I'm willing to bet the same rednecks who've said in interviews, "I don't think this country is ready for a black president yet or nothing" are the same rednecks who voted for her because they actually believed it would be Bill controlling the White House. And I also believe some of the votes she lost were lost because some people are just over it about Bill's conduct on and off the campaign trail.

What woman should all admire, though, is that she never gave up and also showed us a wonderful model of a beautiful relationship between mother and child. Seriously, I'm truly moved by the way Chelsea championed for her mother throughout this process.

I wish the media could've given her the time she deserved to close the campaign with a little more class. The impatience for her to just quit was absurd. Her supporters--especially those she brought into the process for the first time--deserved a proper farewell.

That said, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert made me laugh so hard during their post-primary coverage on their shows about the whole thing.

Obamas

OK. I've been an Obama supporter all along, so I was happy he won the nomination. And while I was kind of proud he's the first black man on the Democratic ticket, I'll be prouder if he's the first black man in the Oval Office. Press Up, America.

And speaking of the Press Up, were any of my college friends as proud when the Obamas hit the rock before his acceptance speech?

SATC with MB

So, clearly, seeing "Sex and the City" with the bestest was one of the best experiences of my life. First, it was time with the bestest (while Lar got to visit with Spence), and it was my favorite Hollywood foursome.

I'd love to review it for you, but that would totally spoil it. After you see it, though, we should definitely dish about it.

But for those of you who haven't seen it yet, who loved the TV series as much, I will warn you that there's not nearly enough Mario Cantone.

Dr. Gopalani

Yes, I'm still in touch with Dr. Gopalani. Though he's so West Coast now, he still visits Pittsburgh from time to time. Now is one of those times. Which means tennis. And talk of the Vag.

MTV Movie Awards

Larry insisted I watch them. And when Adam Sandler got MTV's equivalent of the Academy's Lifetime Achievement Award, Larry beamed with joy. Beamed.

Overall, the awards were enjoyable. I was extremely happy when Coldplay performed. (And speaking of Coldplay, I wish you could see Cienna imitate their iPod commercial). I was extremely happy when Usher performed. "Love in this Club" has become somewhat of joke between Larry and me. The song amuses us, and I made it a point to learn the dance from the video. Every time I do it or attempt it, he laughs.

Pennsyltucky

One of my friends at work directed me to a Web site today that shows what celebrities would look like if they lived in Pittsburgh. They were either fat, had big hair, were fashion disasters, walked straight out of the 80s or wore t-shirts.

To our critics: Why is Pittsburgh viewed as the redneck capital of PA? Have you never been to Breezewood?

I didn't Get it Get it Get it Get it

2008-05-19T17:33:00.000-07:00

Looking back, it seems as though we had all the time in the world during That Summer. And, really, we didn't. But our schedules allowed us to fit in Friends reruns, Golden Girls reruns, Dave and Andy's, many entries into The Quote Book, and copious amounts of alcohol.

I've never had that kind of time since. Yet I managed to enjoy some of those things this weekend, during the busiest month of my life, while also celebrating Larry's birthday with some a little early, cheering on the Pens, working for a charity, taking care of a sick, little guy and catching the season finales of "Extreme Home Makeover" and "Desperate Housewives."

But that half-hour of Golden Girls made me so, so happy--and in the simplest way! It brought back great memories and also the not-so-awesome reminder that I was once voted Dorothy on the "Which Golden Girl Are You?" quiz. Dorothy is awesome. The testosterone-issue rumors about her...not awesome. What I'm not-so proud of, though, is the fact that I actually took that quiz. When I was 20.

I've been accused of far-worse wastes of time. Like the American Idol game yesterday. Because what do you do after the Pens clinch the Eastern Conference? You play the American Idol game. Larry had an adult league game, so he was spared my rendition of Britney Spears' "I'm a Slave 4 U." Even though it wasn't as legendary as Lou's version of Spears' "Lucky," it was awarded one performance star--the lowest rating possible.

Now, the thing you should know about the American Idol game is that you don't have to sing. Like Trivial Pursuit (am I actually comparing it to Trivial Pursuit?), there are many categories, and in the category that gives you the chance to showcase your talents via the echo mic, you can opt out of singing with the Break it Down (dancing for the judges) or Idol Truth (Idol trivia) options. But each time I had the opportunity (and there were many), I chose to Belt It Out. The game picks the songs for you, so to my defense, had I chose, Britney Spears' catalog wouldn't have been in my genre.

I had better luck with "Fame," to which I also embarrassingly busted out some old twirling choreography. Also earning me many more performance stars were: "Proud Mary," "Papa Was a Rolling Stone," "Physical," "Wild Thing" and "Greatest Love of All."

After that fun, I watched season finales. And after watching season finales, I discussed season finales with friends, as though I was 15 years old and my parents just installed my own phone line.

It was a relaxing way to end the weekend and a simple way to begin another busy week. Isn't that how the best summers begin?

What I'm Loving: A top 20

2008-05-14T18:01:00.000-07:00

1. That summer glow, that baby glow, that in-love glow

2. Watching Pens games with my favorites. (I'm going to miss you, Ry and Rizzo!)

3. Surprises from my mom.

4. Funny things the kids say. For example, we were recently behind one of the three taxicabs in Pittsburgh, and Cienna said, "Mommy, why is that car wearing a hat? That's silly."

5. Not having writer's block.

6. Plans with the best of the best for SATC and dinner at the end of the month.

7. Mr. C and his incredible cooperation. He's the best person to work with ever.

8. Being part of a Christian ministry that truely accomplishes something.

9. Being soulful and peaceful.

10. Generating ideas.

11. Ty not needing surgery.

12. That Ty is saying a couple more words each day.

13. Soup.

14. Bran flakes and light vanilla soymilk.

15. All the hostas in my back yard that remind me of those at my mom's and grandmother's.

16. Being outside with the fam, blowing bubbles and playing in sandboxes.

17. Prayer.

18. Recapturing my love of photography--sometimes it takes the right camera.

19. Mother's Day cards the kids made with Daddy that make me smile every time I look at them.

20. Pilates.

Why I'm Counting Down: Looking Forward to Learning More

2008-05-12T18:36:00.000-07:00

This is part five of a blog series about why I'm counting down to vacation, while I catch you up on all that has left an impression on me so far this spring.

I've said before how, if we pay really close attention, we can learn as much from our children as we teach them. This past weekend was no exception.

As I watched Ty, I realized that learning to walk is a lot like walking away--one day it just clicks. Nobody can make you do it. Nobody can give you the center you need for balance; you simply must find it on your own. Nobody should let you hold their hand for too long, or you'll learn to rely on that for stability instead of your own two feet.

Between the kids and good friends, many things clicked for me this weekend. And I always love weekends like that because it proves how many things I still have to learn, which keeps my life from stagnating. It's sometimes as simple as sitting in a room among loving people, realizing how good you feel, accepting that you can no longer surround yourself with people or influences who inspire you to feel otherwise. It's in the words of a trusted student ministry leader who reminds you that what most people call "luck," you call "blessings." It's in the hands of a great-grandmother that have hugged you so many times, making you certain that there's no bigger blessing than loving a family. It's in the eyes of first-time parents who simply cannot stop staring at their newborn, smiling in total awe that their child's life began with their love.

One of Larry's friends became a father this weekend, and as soon as I saw the little photo on his cell phone, I started crying. I know how precious and irreplacable those first hours are, that incomparable joy that fills your entire being and the world around you, and I know that unbreakable bond and biological pull that changes your life forever. And I thanked God that I've been able to know all those things. And I thanked God that our friends were blessed to now know all those things.

It seemed to me that we should always strive toward such beauty and goodness, and the more you feel that kind of beauty and goodness in the world, the more difficult it becomes to be where it is absent.

And I guess when you feel that complete disconnect is when you finally walk away.

Where I want to walk most right now, though, is with my babies, and my love, through the sand, along the beach, just being thankful that I get to share it with each of them.

Why I'm Counting Down: Because I need more days like this

2008-05-08T18:36:00.000-07:00

This is part four of a blog series about why I'm counting down to vacation, while I catch you up on all that has left an impression on me so far this spring.

Days when I get to see my baby girl graduate from her first preschool class.
Today wasn't her last day of school--that's in two weeks--but Cienna's class held a program for parents to showcase some of what they've learned throughout the school year. They sang songs and performed finger plays, and shared cookies afterward.

All the while, I was thinking of the first time I saw her little hands. And the first time she held her own toy. And the first time she reached out for me. And the first time we walked, holding hands.

She did everything she was supposed to during the songs, and she also kicked her feet often and squeezed her dress--something my mom said I always did during school events as a child.

Cienna is energy personified. I'm so proud of how far she's come and overwhelmingly pleased with all she's learned this year, a testament to the wonderful teachers I adore. She can read a little, spell a little, write several words and names--including Lee and Twist, whom she believes are her cousins*, sing several songs, hold down a conversation better than some adults I know, understands traffic rules, respects community helpers and knows the jobs they perform, and, most importantly, she's developed a love for school!

It was also nice to have my parents there with us (of course they came!), and they rewarded her afterward with a trip to Chuck E. Cheese.

To no surprise, I've had tears in my eyes all day about it. But I won't really cry until the very last day, when she says good bye to her amazing teachers and new friends.

Fortunately, we get to see some of them in church on Sundays throughout the summer, until next summer when she has a new class, new teachers and new friends.

It's so true, though, what they say about how fast the years with your children go. You really do have to savor them.

[*Larry's friends, Lee and Twist, watched a hockey game at our house recently, and Cienna was quickly convinced they were her cousins. She demanded to know the spelling of their names and created many pictures of fish with "TWIST" and "LEE" written below her aquatic masterpieces. Even though it's been a couple weeks, she continues to draw pictures for them, as is the case with most of our guests, so they have art waiting when they return.]

Days when Tina Turner and Cher sing "Proud Mary" on Oprah.
OK, so, yeah, I'm including Cher and Tina, and Proud Mary, among the perfect day of Cienna's preschool graduation. I love Tina Turner in a severe way, and sometimes I love her story more than her music. Still, when you want a woman who can rock you, you pretty much want Tina Turner.

My favorite three are Tina, Patsy Cline and Madonna. (Joe: It's not because of the movies "What's Love Got to do With It?" "Sweet Dreams" or "Desperately Seeking Susan" though I have watched them all more than I care to admit.) Tina is a fighter, though she found her greatest success through inner peace. No other woman can reinvent herself as well as Madonna. And Patsy Cline's voice is simply unmatched. (This is not to suggest that these three of the best female voice of all time. That title clearly belongs to Aretha Franklin.)

Thursdays that find you dancing along, prouder than Mary, singing in your living room, don't happen nearly enough. You have to savor them.

Days when the work cafe has the best wedding soup ever.
It couldn't have come at a better time either. Despite the fact that it's a brisk 55 degrees outside, the air conditioning is still on in the office. I was happy the soup could warm me up!

Days when I come up with the best Mother's Day craft idea and realize it will only cost a small amount.
But it's a surprise, so that's all I can say.

Days when a guy calls to request more Chipper Jones coverage and then tells me this joke:

Q: What's the difference between an American blow-up doll and a Muslim blow-up doll?

A: The Muslim doll blows itself up.

It literally happened just like that. One second he's yelling about Chipper Jones, the next he's telling me a joke. It was the most perfectly-bipolar conversation ever.

Days when I land an incredible interview and learn something amazing.
But I can't share it yet, so that's all I can say.

Days when I realize it's only two weeks until Indiana Jones.
And I'm OK with being that kind of dork.

Days when it is the eve of Pens-Flyers and I read this story:
http://www.philly.com/philly/news/20080507_Plot_by_Pittsburgh_fans_against_Rocky_statue_.html

Why I'm Counting Down: Over.It.

2008-05-05T17:41:00.001-07:00

This is part three of a blog series about why I'm counting down to vacation, while I catch you up on all that has left an impression on me so far this spring.

OK, so, arguably there are many things that fall into the Over.It. category right now--like people who think they're being confident when they're just being obnoxious--but an old friend helped me realize that what I'm most Over. is our country's current administration.

It's been no secret the deep unrest I've felt about the Bush administration's policies for some time now. At this point, though, I'm just restless and know I'm not alone. Many people in this country have senioritis when it comes to gun-slinging leaders from the South running our country (into the ground).

As my grandmother would say, "this is what it boils down to:" 1. Men and women have lost lives fighting in a war that has accomplished nothing for America. Maybe it has accomplished a little for Iraq, but it has certainly given our strongest enemy--Al Queda--more time and room to grow and work against us. 2. We still haven't found Bin Laden. Are we even really looking for him at this point? Do we have enough military resources to be looking for him at this point? 3. Gas is so high--and is only going to get higher as long as the demand is there, regardless of what any politician says--that people struggle to afford getting to work! 4. We are running out of food, and people are rioting overseas because they have nothing to eat. 5. There are still a lot of people who just don't care about any of this, who seem totally unfazed by it, and I feel very disconnected from them even though I may still love them.

I was reminded recently, a few times actually, how different 21 is from 27. More importantly, I've learned how different my own 21 was from my 27. I'll be 28 in November, and I'm probably one of the very few women among my peers who simply cannot wait for 30. I've always had high hopes for my 30s. And I feel like I've done what I was supposed to do in my 20s, which is to say I've done a lot in my 20s that I never expected to do at all.

"Your twenties are all about finding out who you're not." --Jim Cromie

Even though photos of family and recent photos of friends dominate my house, I still have a photo from my 20th birthday secured on a memo board in my kitchen. I see it every day. And I like having it there because someone once told me, "Don't keep the photos where you look your best. Keep the ones where you look happiest." It was hard not to have a genuine smile that day. I was surrounded by best friends, during a Saturday afternoon in college, holding a gag gift someone had bought at the dollar store for me. The aforementioned gift was a set of ceramic pigs, in honor of a well-known college dean.

I was once sent to interview that dean, whom my best friend and then-editor called a piglover. Coming from her, I assumed it was a term of endearment. But when I got to his office, with a notepad and tape recorder in tow, I immediately learned that he was, in fact, a lover of the swine. There was no place to look in his office without seeing a pig. There were pig statues, photos of pigs, pig art, pigs riding Harleys. I couldn't handle it. I was trying not to laugh. So I looked at the floor--which, thankfully, did not boast a carpet with pig prints. BUT there was a ceramic pig "crawling" from underneath the dean's desk. I started laughing in the middle of the interview. And you could hear that on the recorded interview.

Those days were incredibly easily. And I lived them fully and incredibly well.

But before I celebrated my 21st birthday, terrorism took down the World Trade Center, part of the pentagon, thousands of families and all of my idealism.

I was in Pittsburgh when it happened, watching from a 6th-floor classroom as Downtown workers evacuated our tallest buildings--a result of rumors about the flight that ultimately crashed in Shanksville was designated for the U.S. Steel Tower. I've never seen the streets so full and had no idea that so many people were even in the Golden Triangle on any given weekday.

My journalist's instinct immediately kicked in, and I was fortunate to work with the best fellow student journalists and friends all week. I did a story about how students were affected, interviewing young people from the east and west coasts alike.

A year later, I wrote a column about how it changed America and my entire life. Maybe I'll post those tomorrow, so you can read for yourselves (even though it's embarrassing to share what you wrote 7 years ago sometimes). They were both finalists for awards, with one actually winning. But that's not what I hold onto or feel proud about. I feel fortunate that I got to work with my best friends during a moment that forever changed our history. I feel fortunate that I was part of it in such a way that my children will have my voice to pass onto their posterity.

But one of the parts of the story I never told in writing was one of the most memorable: The guy in my class whom I sat next to. We'll call him J.I. He was a transfer from St. Louis, and we were sort of friends. He read all of my stories, and I went to his Pittsburgh lacrosse games. We called each other sometimes. We emailed each other sometimes. We fell out of touch. But the reason I'll never forget him is because we sat next to each other, watching as the second plane crashed into the World Trade Center.

This afternoon, we crashed into each other. Literally. I spilled my decaf coffee on him, but our attention was on catching up.

The first thing we talked about was politics. We've both been supporting the same candidate and working for him in different cities. I told him of my unrest. He told me of his.

"Honestly, I think maybe the subconcious reason people are so enthusiastic about this election cycle is that we're finally putting Bush behind us. And for many people in this country, that also means finally being able to put 9/11 behind us," he said.

We both recalled that Tuesday morning. We remembered the perfect weather. We remembered turning in our class assignments. We remembered that incredible September sunlight. We remembered sitting next to each other.

"Remember all the rumors that started within minutes about the planes being hijacked at the Pittsburgh Airport? The Pittsburgh Airport isn't even a major hub now, is it?" he said.

No. It's really not.

I told him about all of the things that have changed in Pittsburgh since 2001. I told him about all that's changed in my own life since 2001.

"It really doesn't surprise me that you have two kids and a husband already. You were always way ahead with everything and always kind of lived fast and passionately," he said.

"Yeah, that might be the nicest way anyone has ever described it," I said.

True to form, he asked many questions, some of which I didn't really want to answer, but did.

"OK, so tell the truth here, when everyone talks about how babies change everything, what really changes?" he said.

"What needs to change, changes. And what doesn't need to change, only changes if you let it," I said.

Some of the changes are incredible. You rediscover the world through the eyes of your child. You get the honor of watching a tiny person, a person you love most, take their first steps. You bring a child, your child, a life, into this world and get to fill it will love and knowledge. You get to watch your husband become a father--which will only deepen your love. Your whole life takes new meaning, and you truly think of someone else before your own person.

Some of the changes require sacrifice. The biggest complaint I hear from new parents is the lack of sleep. It truly is something you have to grow into, but those first days are rough. I was ready for it by the time Ty came into our lives, but it was the first time Larry was around a newborn. But the amazing thing about Larry is--even though I was breastfeeding Ty, and there was nothing he could really do to help--he got up with me at 2 a.m. and stayed awake until Ty went back to sleep. It was his way of reminding me I wasn't alone. For me, it was just one of the many moments where I knew we married the right people.

Sometimes, friendships change. Not the kind like Mary Beth and I share, which is the AWESOME kind. But the friendships that exist out of status or circumstances, those seem to naturally fade away. Occasionally, the coming and going of such a friend is surprising. Other times, it's not. And that doesn't make anyone a bad person. I've come to believe it's more a matter of relatability. After all, friendships truly develop based on like interests. And parenting is such a huge life change that friends who are not only NOT going through that, but also feel far away from even wanting that, can feel like they just don't have much in common anymore. Also, some people just aren't good communicators and thus fall out of touch. All you can really do in situations like that is leave the door open for when you have like interests again.

For the sake of clarity, Mary Beth and I have very different backgrounds, we approach many things differently, but I think we're frighteningly similar on two things: unconditional love and the value of communication. When we really need each other, there's no question. We're there. Plus, maybe I'm biased, but I have so much admiration for her. She's the best person I know, and I was once quoted as saying to her, "When the whole world goes up in flames, you will be sitting on a cloud with Jesus."

Another change is the concern for our economy and political climate. These things come to the forefront when you're a parent. You care about the educational opportunities for your children, the cost of that education and how much of that education is controlled by the government. You care about how much gas costs, and what it will cost you to drive them to school, practice, the doctor's office, the store. You care about how much gas will cost when they start buying it. You care about what kind of energy we will rely on when they are your age. You care about the future of this planet.

And even if you're not a parent now, but want to be someday, or have younger family members you deeply love, you're probably starting to care about these things too.

I had both of my children during the Bush administration--perhaps the two best things to come out of the last seven years.

One day I will talk to them about all that I remember of it--the history-making election between Gore and Bush in 2000, the terrorism of 2001, the unforgettable SNL episode hosted by Derek Jeter, the beginning of a war, the narrow election between Kerry and Bush in 2004, rising gas prices, the worst economy of my lifetime--one that has been compared to what preceded The Great Depression, and how I worked on a campaign for the first time during the 2008 election--in which the democratic party nominated a black man or white woman for the first time.

Most of all, though, what I want to be able to say is, "They were tough times, but our country pulled through, we pulled through. Just look how strong we are today."

And I hope Cienna and Ty know, and all of our children know, the kind of perfect beauty and innocence and hope of a sunny, September morning that is without pain, tragedy, stress or war.

Why I'm Counting Down: Busy and the Beautiful

2008-04-29T16:36:00.000-07:00

This is part two of a blog series about why I'm counting down to vacation, while I catch you up on all that has left an impression on me so far this spring.

"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined." -Henry David Thoreau

But sometimes living that life makes you very, very busy, Friends.

At this point, I'm supplementing my planner with lists on sheets from a legal pad. I have at least three different electronic devices reminding me of important appointments and tasks. I'm averaging 4 hours of sleep a night. And it won't slow down until June. But even then it will merely be slower, not slow.

Despite the full schedule, I'm very happy because some of the days are reserved for my most-cherished family and my best friends. Tacos & Tequila, Mother's Day dinner, PPC & SATC, Preschool Graduation, Preschool Picnic, Youth Soccer, Youth Swim Lessons, Tennis!, Birthday Barbecue on Beadling, A Very Woody Vacation, Mary Mayhem, Saturdays with Joanne, Grilling with the Alion's, MemDaying with the Fil's, Two Charity Events, and Wine from Our Favorite Chairs.

Every now and then, if you drove past the Beadling Bungalow, you might think Larry and I have confused ourselves with Alan Shore and Denny Crane. We look like two best friends, sharing a drink on the porch--sometimes it's wine, sometimes it's iced tea--talking about anything and everything.

So I guess I'm balancing it all pretty well for now--the busy and the beautiful.

Trust me, though, three books on the bedside table are calling my name, and I can't wait to bury my face in them from a beach chair after the kids have exhausted themselves to sleep after building sandcastles and swimming all day.

This year, Friends, I've earned my vacation.

A Friendly Reminder

2008-04-28T18:49:00.000-07:00

I was both listening and daydreaming, all the while realizing that oil companies are getting richer as churches are acquiring deficits. It's no surprise when, after the benediction, we go into a world that's getting harder to afford. Yet we're also reminded how we can't afford to lose that world. To pollution, terrorism or poor economics.

There are some days, though, when my mind journeys through past years when I was college-poor, fatter and naive. Yet I know I felt wealthy, beautiful and smart despite my circumstances. I was aware of the reality, but I was also aware that I could change it.

And I did.

I've learned all it really takes to do anything is determination. And prayer. For me, prayer has always mattered.

I'm continually amazed by the number of people who complain about not having things they never ask for. In my life, asking is the first step. There are many things I could seemingly do on my own, but I pray for guidance before each emotional mission.

I prayed a lot this week, as tears filled my eyes many times. Luckily, they were mostly tears of joy.

Except when I was made aware that a family member, whom I love dearly, has been sitting around the kitchen table at all hours of the early morning because she hates her appearance so much that she can't sleep. And she's absolutely gorgeous. If you tell her that, she doesn't believe you. She just lists her flaws like a grocery order--pointing out things nobody else has noticed. Various dietary supplements and pills promising metabolism magic line her countertops, and she might try the manure diet if it claimed to shrink belly fat.

It's a whole different kind of disorder than any I'm familiar with. She eats well, works out and is in great health. But she sees what we can't. She can't look at herself logically.

I have no answers, only hugs. I tell her she's beautiful. And I mean it. And it's true. And it doesn't matter.

But what also will not matter are these magic medicines and inconsistent diets.

Friends, take it from someone who has gained and lost weight over the course of her life: The only way to safely lose weight and keep it off is to eat well and exercise. It's just a little math. You need to eat less than you burn. You need to exercise to increase your metabolism and keep your body healthy. Ignore the walk around the block B.S. You've got to move your ass!

"Whether it's from living or loving, I try to break a sweat every day."
--Matthew McConaughey

I say that, while also having some horrible photos of myself tucked away at the bottom of a Rubbermaid container in my basement. But what kept me from throwing them in the garbage or crying at my kitchen table at 4 a.m. was the amazing best friends in my life who always made me feel beautiful--or at least not gross.

I'm talking about the kind of friends who send you a card after not being able to talk regularly for two weeks (because they were doing something worthwhile like studying for grad school finals or teaching college classes!) Every time I passed that card this weekend, I smiled and told Larry, "I love Mary Beth." And every time there's a candle flickering during the morning service at church, I think of her wedding for some reason. I've wondered why--because there are a lot of candles at a lot of weddings--and the only thing I can come up with is that it's different when it's your best friend. It's so much more special when you watch the most loving girl you know on the happiest day of her life.

And Joe and Jocelyn. They're like West Coast rocks every time the Pacific tidal wave that is giddy Candy or stressed-out-about-the-book Candy decides to crash before receding. I treasure those phone calls and messages with Joe--even when they're rushed--because they're all so positive. And every time Jocelyn is home, everything feels more like home.

And BG. She's always there when you need her most--whether it's to remind you of the charter and opening words of the BG Constitution (Press Up) or to demand shots and brrrs. She's the rain after a drought of laughter.

And Jes and Lou. They kind of feel like the little sister and little brother I never had, but have. They pander to my darkest loves like Tacos & Tequila, and CCR and Cocktails. And I always just enjoy them.

And Mizz Looman. She's the kind of friend who is an ally. She is often without shame, but she's the best remedy for the worst day (and for imitating Tila Tequila).

And my brothers-in-law. I knew they were good apples from the times Larry and I would be watching TV in his parents' basement, and they'd come through saying, "Hey, Sis!" They both remain incredibly loyal and loving to Larry and me, and they're such proud and awesome uncles. Justin is like our second Netflix and is awesome to talk about music and movies with. Ryan is an everyman, who loves people, talking on porches, sharing beers and making people laugh.

And Linds and Joel. Regardless of how many weeks pass before we're in touch again, it's like no time has passed at all.

And Claudia, Emily and Alicia. So fun. So diverse. So much in common. So happy we became friends. (And so loving the dinners and drinks!)

And Joanne. It's impossible to feel anything but comfortable in her house. Couches magically suck you in as cups of tea appear in your hand.

And Mom and Mum. It's been an interesting road with both of them, but I wouldn't be happy without either of them. I'm so lucky to have both of them in my life, and I can't wait until Mother's Day week to celebrate their love.

And Cienna and Ty. What makes writing the book so incredible is because I get to write about my favorite subject--the miracle of life, new beginnings and the best blessings. I'm not sure it's possible to share all I've learned from raising my children in a matter of pages. And the only words I can ever think of when I look at them--even as one is getting in the shower and the other is crying for a drink while the phone is ringing and Larry is looking for his socks--is "You are, undoubtedly, the best thing that has ever happened to me."

And Lar. You could make a person insane. But you could make them laugh more than you could make them insane. And you could warm their heart more than you could make them laugh. And you could pleasantly surprise them more than you could warm their heart. And you could make them feel loved more than you could pleasantly surprise them. And more than all of that, any of that, you can make them love you because you're. just. so. incredibly. lovable. You're such an awesome husband--the kind people don't think are out there anymore. You're an awesome dad. And you're just destined to be an awesome pap. And I want to go through all of that with you, when it's great, when it's good and when it sucks. Because even when it sucks, it's fun.

So it's love, Friends. Love.

Semper Fi

2008-04-24T17:51:00.000-07:00

We're going out of order on my list of reasons why I'm counting down to vacation, why I deserve vacation this year, to honor the memory of one of my favorite teachers and favorite people, Mr. J. Budd Grebb.

Everyone has something they remember most. Maybe it was that yearbook faculty photo of him sitting behind his desk, ready to pounce on any injustice or slacker that passed through his classroom. Maybe it was hearing him on the sidelines of a basketball game yelling "strike strike strike" while calling a play. Maybe it was his definition of D.O.A. Maybe it was his grades on all those maps you drew in his World Cultures class. Maybe it was winning or losing a Jeopardy match. Maybe it was one of his infamous quotes that he gathered during his "25 years worth of teaching and coaching." Maybe it was the nickname he gave you.

"Discipline. Organization. Attitude."

My nickname was Luella after Luella Parsons--a legendary Hollywood gossip columnist. Anytime he called on me to answer a question, which was often, he'd say, "Oh, Luella! What's the big news today?"

"Stand by the garbage, smell like trash."

Some days, we talked very little about the culture beyond that of our small town. But we got an education.

"Get out of the box."

The best days were when we'd start class by sitting in silence for maybe 10 or 15 minutes. Our seats faced the windows. His desk was angled toward us from the back-left corner of the room. There was a bulletin board and chalk board on either side of us. He'd say nothing. He'd just stare. And we'd wonder: Will he start class with quotes or culture?

"Not huhhhh. Excuse me. Pardon me. Please repeat."

At the time, we thought maybe they were exclusive of one another. But as we got older, I talked to many former classmates who found his words to be true.

"Pay now, play later. Play now, pay later."

For those who never had the pleasure of knowing him, I always likened him to English professor John Keating from the 1980s movie "Dead Poets' Society." Like Keating, if you listened to him, if you opened your mind to him, he inspired you to your best possible version--which was more than you thought possible.

"A woman's place is in the kitchen--or wherever the hell she wants to be!"

And like Keating, he did some politically incorrect things, which yielded some pressure from the school board for his early retirement. It was a school board meeting that attracted Pittsburgh's broadcast news stations, during which I was quoted on WTAE for comparing him to Keating, and what my friends and I believed at 17 to be a social injustice.

"Big shots are often low caliber."

Mr. Grebb may have left my classroom, but he didn't forget about me. He wrote to me often, thanking me for standing up for him, reminding me to never give up on what I want. And more importantly, he encouraged me to work for what I want.

"Liscipline."

Because of the latter, I never forgot him either. We exchanged holiday cards throughout college, and I, like many of my peers, visited him during holiday breaks and trips back to the Mon Valley. He was always so genuinely happy to hear we were doing well and truly respected us as the adults we had become, charting our own course.

"I may hear the piper, but I don't have to follow."

Now, on this evening, one day after his death, I'm so proud that our lives met for the time they did. As former classmates and alumni rush to find out funeral details to pay their respects, even before an obituary has been posted, it's so clear how many people feel the same way. He was the very definition of a legend. And his legacy lives on in each one of us who will remember him.

"Semper Fi."

Why I'm Counting Down: Primarily Exhausted

2008-04-24T07:33:00.000-07:00

This is part one of a blog series about why I'm counting down to vacation, while I catch you up on all that has left an impression on me this month.

I remember feeling guilty at the end of the semester sometimes. It was bittersweet to begin with because we were usually saying goodbyes, even if they were temporary, but we were also opening up our lives to a much-needed break. Many times, though, I felt like I didn't deserve that break. Had I skipped too many classes? Had I put too much focus on the wrong stories? Had I been too disorganized?

Despite all those failings, I managed to snag internships every year that were related to my major. The writing came easily, and I was also a pretty good bullshitter.

The latter was an inherited trait from home. That's not to say I got that from my mother or father, and that's not to say that bullshitting is lying. To me, it's a cultural art and a rite of passage from my hometown.

There, in perhaps the liver--not the heart--of Washington County, you'll find all kinds of women sitting on porches, or porch swings, or around the "kitchen table" as the political candidates so frequently say. They're talking, bullshitting, about the neighbors, about their lives, husbands, kids, friends, each other.

Nothing much gets accomplished because it's just bullshitting. Maybe you leave feeling a little fuller because there's always food on that table or porch. Sometimes, if you're lucky, there's a card game.

I thought of those women this week and wondered who they voted for, if at all. My hope was that they did more than sit on those porches or around those tables, talking about the issues, and actually went out to vote.

Washington County chose Hillary Rodham Clinton by 60 percent more than Barack Obama, a number that I don't find surprising at all. There are a lot of women there who champion for her, even if silently. They identify with her. And they want to see a woman in the White House. Not only would that be a victory for her, but also for them. For some, it's the best stand they can make against their not-so-great husbands or any man that has ever derailed their lives.

Of all the places I've visited across the state or country, the southwest corridor of Pennsylvania remains one of the most astounding to me. What amazing women can tolerate and put up with there is incredible. Most of the women there raised many children before it was fashionable for dads to be involved. They learned to be kitchen-table cardsharks while their better halves, or broken halves, had their shots and beers at very-local bars. Unlike my peers today, they didn't complain about working full-time, making it to all the school events, taking the kids to the playground, getting dinner on the table and cleaning the house--all before dad got home from doing GodKnowsWhat in GodKnowsWhere.

I'm not implying that those dads were cheating or with another woman. And I don't mean to portray every couple or person in that area as I've described. But every person from where I'm proud to say I grew up knows AT LEAST one woman the exact way I've written about her.

And they know the men who belonged to a gun club, Slovak club, summer softball club, boat club or sportsmen's club. We can all agree the majority of those men didn't vote for Sen. Obama. We can all agree the majority of those men didn't vote for Sen. Clinton. And even though they are probably registered democrats, we can all agree that the majority of those men will probably vote for McCain. Even if they oppose the war, which some of them probably don't. And they probably don't know how many soldiers have died there either. Even if they complain about the gas prices, while some of them buy diesel for their Ford and Chevy trucks. Even if they do kind-of care about the environment, though nearly all of them probably still throw their McDonald's bags along the shaded areas of Route 88. They will vote for McCain because he is a white man.

Many times since I moved from there, it's been difficult for me to go back. I have trouble keeping my mouth shut when I see or hear blatant injustice or ignorance. I used to raise my voice all along the Monongahela River. I've gotten into arguments with neighbors about homosexuality, racism, women's rights, parenting and addiction. Then I realized it was hopeless. You can't argue with a drunk. Nor can you reason with someone who prioritizes wing night above civil rights.

Perhaps what I found most surprising growing up there was that most of the people who I believed became quiet racists and not-so-quiet male chauvinists were actually the same people who championed for equality in the 60s and 70s. They once believed in going anywhere and doing anything.

But they ended up or chose to go home, maybe get a job in the mill, maybe start a small business, maybe raise their kids near their parents. And by choice or chance, they built a life there and earned their living there. I respect that, even if I don't always agree with it.

And I'm thankful for growing up around them, among them, and I'm thankful that my beliefs were always my own.

While my hometown voted like the majority of the state to elect Sen. Clinton by more than half, the town where I now call home elected Sen. Obama over Sen. Clinton.

A lot like playtime

2008-04-18T19:26:00.000-07:00

The better weather has found me outside quite often lately. That's not to say my brighter disposition hasn't also been responsible for soaking up more of the sun and less of the Internet. But a warm, seemingly-stable environment can inspire the very best of me.

Cienna, Ty and I have been enjoying walking trails and appreciating nature. If parenting were judged like presidency, my legacy would definitely involve signing treaties with my kids to promise respect for diversity and nature. And, you know, with the latter, that's not because I remember to recycle every week or never leave a light on when I'm away. I'm just so serious about my kids getting outside and away from the media that inevitably consumes our lives.

Like any mom, I hope to leave my kids with a solid education, a health plan, happy memories and the ability to manage money. But there are so many intangibles that I believe really contribute to our emotional wealth. Like watching planes take off and dreaming of anywhere. Sitting around a bonfire with your best friends on nights you feel like you solve the world, or at least yourself. Driving home from work and having that a-ha moment when you realize you're in love with someone, and even if there were no rush hour you still wouldn't feel like you could get to them fast enough. Lazy Saturday afternoons with nobody but you and movies you know by heart, which you gladly quote like a dork from your favorite pajamas--that aren't hot at all. Building a network of people in your life who may only have you in common because they're just that different from each other, and you can't imagine your life without even one of them. Long walks around a short block, but it's the best walk because it's yours.

None of those things can truly happen in front of a computer, TV or video game. And I'm not anti-any of that. In fact, I enjoy all of those things. I just think they require balance. So I wouldn't have a ban on those in our house, but I'd encourage my kids to go out as much as they stay in.

Every time we go out, we ultimately end up at a park. There are many in our neighborhood, and I feel like half of them are near our house. We always stop to play, and Cienna always makes at least one friend. Tyler always stares cautiously before he takes off, giggling, to where he's decided most fun--a clear combination of Larry and me.

The sounds you hear at a playground for 30 minutes are really a lot like what you hear during a lifetime. There are people cultivating new relationships--sometimes it's two moms comparing Babies 'R Us to Target, sometimes it's two toddlers bonding over a see-saw. There are laughs--sometimes it's two dads discussing late-night talk shows they had to DVR because they're too tired to make it to 11 p.m., sometimes it's two preschoolers playing hide-and-go-seek. There are tears--sometimes it's because a parent saw their baby run through a field of dandelions for the first time, sometimes it's because said baby wasn't ready to leave. There are bruises and bee-stings. There are small snacks and full picnics. There's sunshine and shade.

And just like the see-saw, none of the ups or downs last too long.

Ol' Dirty Cantard

2008-04-15T15:58:00.000-07:00

"Me and Mariah go back like babies and pacifiahs!" --Ol' Dirty Bastard on the "Fantasy" intro

Friends, raise your hand if you, too, go back with Mariah Carey like babies and pacifiahs! My hand is up. Is yours?

In one hour, I'll be watching the contestants of "American Idol" perform the popular culture that is the Mariah Carey songbook. I simply cannot wait to twitter (www.twitter.com) my way through what I expect to be a truly magical evening.

How can it not be? Let's look at some of the lyrics--with Ol' Dirty's intro being among the best, clearly:

"I feel good
I feel nice
I've never felt so
Satisfied"

--Emotions

What if we had only thought she felt good? It's great that she set us straight and sang to us that she also felt "nice."

"I need someone to hold on to
The kind of love that won't fly away
I just want someone to belong to
Everyday
Of my life
Always
So come and take me away"

--Dreamlover

Again, what if we had assumed she only wanted love every day and not "always" ...of her life?

"And it's just like honey
When you're love comes over me
Oh baby I've got a dependency
Always strung out for another taste of your honey
It's like honey when it washes over me
You know sugar never ever was so sweet
And I'm dying for ya, crying for ya, I adore ya
One hit of your love addicted me
Now I'm strung out on you darling
Don't you see
Every night and dayI can hardly wait
For another taste of honey
Honey I can't describe
How good it feels inside
Honey I can't describe
How good it feels inside"

--Honey

It's as though Shakespeare wrote it.

"Mmmmmm
Whoaaaaaa"

--Can't Take That Away (Mariah's Theme)

I couldn't match it.

"i gotta shake you off
just like the calgon commercial
i really gotta get up out of here
and go somewhere"

--Shake It Off

How proud was Calgon?

But, really, all sarcasm aside, I love Mariah. I grew up with Mariah. The proof is that I've dedicated today's blog to her when I have so much more I can be sharing--the weekend, the wedding, new friends, old friends, new engagements, new books. But I've chosen Mariah. (And I own many of her albums on cassettes, and all the greatest hits on CD. Not to mention that I love her newest hit "Touch My Body").

I can't wait to see what the Idols do in 30 minutes. You can read my minute-by-minute review on Twitter.

Some early predictions about who will sing what:

Brooke White: Hero --and she gets voted off on Wednesday because we're tired of the nice act.

Carly Smithson: Can't Let Go --and she'll do more runs than Mariah.

David Archuleta: One Sweet Day --and he'll make it a four-part harmony.

David Cook: Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now) -- and it won't matter if he's good or not because his brother with brain cancer will be in the audience. Who would let him get voted off?

Jason Castro: Without You -- and has his best night ever.

Kristy Lee Cook: Vision of Love --and twangs it out.

Syesha Mercado: When You Believe --and Randy will remind her she's not Whitney.

Ending this week on a severly-positive note

2008-04-10T07:59:00.000-07:00

And she was...

I made a new friend today, and it was the kind of experience that just feels like perfect timing. We were playing with our kids in the park, and we just started talking. About neighborhoods, elementary schools, walking, farmer's markets, spirituality vs. religion, living simply, camping, emotional bank accounts, learning not to worry, learning to let go. Every word she said was a thought I recently had, and it became the proper definition of friendship because it was about common interests. And it was nice. I look forward to seeing her again.

Thanks, Sue.

And there's reason to believe...

Cienna, Ty and I were taking one of our spring walks around the neighborhood recently when I heard the beautiful piano intro to the Counting Crows "A Long December." If you know me well, you know my attachment to that song and how many times it accompanied me on a trip to New York. Cienna seemed to follow the music, and we eventually came upon an opened bay window to see and hear a man inside playing that song beautifully on a baby grand piano. I couldn't hold Cienna back as she ran over to the window and started twirling around in the yard, which got Ty really excited and dancing in his stroller. The man stopped playing, as I tried to rush Cienna off his lawn. But he invited us in. My instincts said it would be fine. We went inside, and of course he had a dog, and of course it was adopted, and of course the kids loved the said dog. We exchanged small talk, which revealed that I can sing. So he played, and I sang that song in a way I didn't know I could. And I hung onto different lyrics. He played some showtunes, and Cienna and I sang together. He invited Larry and I over for wine. Of course he did. Larry suggested I take Pe-En instead. Of course he did. And of course Pe-En will. I'm sure it will be love at first glass.

"I can't remember/ all the times I've tried to tell myself to hold on/ to these moments/ as they pass"

And really, is there anything more perfect than live music on a nice day?

And I'm proud to be an American...

It doesn't matter what I think about the war. It doesn't matter which political candidate I support. What matters is how I felt during the home opener ceremonies when military uniforms and our flag decorated the bases and the military fly-over was perfect above. Those three planes zoomed overhead, and I held back tears. It was just so moving and meaningful. Regardless of what side you're on, we're all on the same side when it comes to feeling pride and honor for the brave men and women who stand guard to protect us each day.

And cherish til death do you part...

I talked to Mia today while she was getting her nails done with her very-soon-to-be sister-in-law, and I was just so excited for her. I was on yet another spring walk with the kids along Washington Road, holding my cell phone to my ear and just smiling all over the place. I was filled with so much joy for her and the new life she is beginning. The groom is Larry's best friend, and it's so wonderful to be able to share the weekend with them. They are great people and have been there for us at all of our pinnacle moments--wedding, in the hospital with Ty guy, birthdays, holidays, lazy days. :-) I can't wait to hear them say "I do." I'm sure I'll cry. Not because I cry at most weddings, but also because I know what Larry's friend means to him and all the memories they've shared. MB's wedding was awesome for the same reason (and also because Larry and I stayed in a room with three of my best friends and talked ourselves to sleep). And before we hung up, I couldn't help thinking about getting my nails "did" with my bridesmaids (except MK who was working) and laughing about the good ol' Asian place where BGBG got their nails DID on Forbes Avenue, Downtown. Wedding Days are amazing days because of love--that which is shared between both lovers and friends.

And here's to you...

While going through one of the Rubbermaid containers in my basement, I found one of the cards I used to exchange back and forth with my best friend from high school. It said "You are loved" on it, and we frequently sent it back and forth during our first semester of college. She was at Virginia Tech. I was at Point Park. We'd send the best care packages to each other and always exchanged the most hilarious email. But so sweet was the "You are loved" card, and I think everyone should be reminded of that from time to time. So here's some "you are loved" for your emotional bank accounts, Friends.

What a day, what a week, I'm in love!

2008-04-07T07:28:00.000-07:00

Hello, Friends! (and Yinzers!)

I'm getting ready to go to the home opener with Lar and Friends. You know where I will be afterward. You know that I will sing backup on "Roadhouse Blues." You know that there will be a 45-minute version of Wild Cherry's "Play that Funky Music." You know there will be Hebrew Nationals.

We have a gorgeous, sunny day here, full of promise and spring's beginnings. And I'm proud of how we've made the home opener less about baseball and more about spring.

Lar would tell you he's just in it for the beer and camaraderie, and that his day is more about the NHL playoff draft later with his friends.

I'd like to add that while he's doing that, I will be acting a fool with aforementioned comrades and the drummer of Wild Cherry. Because it's Opening Day. And my mom is with the children.

Also of major importance this week--NHL playoffs! The Pens open Wednesday at home against the Senators. I'll see you there. But I'll be working...counting advertisements...counting Yinzers.

But, really, we all know what this week is about. Idol Cares, ladies and gentlemen. We have four days of caring. Tonight, Paula, Randy, Ryan and Simon (and Theodore) will be on Larry King Live. I'm sure the earth will move when they discuss Simon's new $1 million dollar car and how much he cares about kids in Africa. Paula will say they look great in mosquito nets. Randy will say they are his dawgs. Ryan will be the only one with anything intelligent to say and who actually cares. Tuesday, the 8 finalists compete with "inspirational" songs. Who thinks David Archuleta will sing Josh Groban? Raise your hand. Or maybe Martin Page's "In the House of Stone and Light." Wednesday is when we actually care--from 7:30 to 10 p.m., eastern time. Thursday is the elimination, and then we stop caring until next year. As promised and expected, I'll be tweeting throughout all of it.

It's going to be an interesting week in the Woodall house. Larry is all about the playoffs. I'm all about everything. Let's hope I can convince Larry to join me in caring because right now this is his view:

"Idol may care, but I don't."

"And yes I will be present on the first day of school/ and grad-u-ation" --Outkast, "Ms Jackson"

2008-04-03T16:38:00.000-07:00

Preschool snacks, not world peace

It was like playing an April Fools' joke on myself. I had the apple-cinnamon rice snacks all ready to go, Cienna was excited to be the helper taking snack to preschool that day, and Ty did not poop right before we left the house. I thought things were going swimmingly.

But then...the dreaded words in the preschool community: "This product made in facility where nuts are packaged."

Unlike our previous time as snacksters, the Woodalls were thwarted by those with allergies.

After apologizing to the preschool teachers at least 14 times, we realized that Teddy Grahms would be a fine substitute. I was amazed. Apples, cinnamon, rice...they seem so untouched by the nut.

I felt so terrible. I should've caught that. I should've done a better job with snack. Suddenly, Cienna's entire life flashed before my eyes--all of which was totally derailed by me not reading the packaging properly.

Before my wandered too far into her doing heroin on a subway because I wasn't attentive enough, the teacher snapped me out of it by saying, "Oh my goodness, Candy, stop! It's not a big deal! It's a preschool snack, not world peace!"

I love that lady.

Seasons of Love

"How do you measure, measure a year?"

I remember Cienna's first day of school so clearly. I didn't have to wake her up because she was up since 6 a.m., waiting to meet "all the new friends." It was sunny and sticky, a very balmy September Tuesday. We walked to school together, as I strapped on Ty in the baby carrier. She looked so grown up with her backpack on. I always thought it was a cliche, but they really do grow up so fast. One day you're wearing them in what looks like a backpack, and the next they are walking into school with one on their back. I think she might have had only one pencil, three stickers and a Barbie doll in that backpack, but she was so proud to tell me what a big girl she was. And watching your child walk into school for the first time is an incredible moment because it is essentially the first time they are walking away from you. And it is also a parent trusting their child's education to someone else for a while. We were really lucky to find a Christian preschool with such loving, intelligent, experienced teachers. But it's still the moment that you know things will really speed up because you start measuring time by school years, and they pass so quickly. It will be the first day of kindegarten, junior high, high school and college before we know it.

She has learned SO much this year. She can read and write her first and last name, and she also recognizes and writes several other words. She loves to write all the names she knows in the family. She's very observant and intuitive. Her vocabulary is ridiculous for a 4 year old. The girl loves three-syllable words. I wonder if it's her gene pool or what she picks up from listening to me. She DID address the other students as "Friend" when she met them, the same way my friends and I address each other.

By the way, I'm noticing that has caught on since 1999. I hear other groups of friends use it, and Ryan Seacrest has been addressing people as such too. See what you started, MBS? I mean, MBW. Well, to be fair, A.A. Milne started it with "Winnie the Pooh."

Also a product of this school year, she has given us so much art to decorate our home with. And some of it is now displayed that way. They make projects every week, and I love that. I've kept all of them, mainly to see the progression of coloring with one color all over the place, to multiple colors inside the lines, to writing "to mommy" "love cienna" on the page. I don't take even one of those pictures for granted.

Next year, she will go to preschool four days a week at the same place. But she will have different teachers and some different classmates. What a lesson she learns as they say goodbye at the end of the next month--goodbye for the summer for some, and for much longer for others.

And how proud and moved am I to see her successfully finish her first year of school. My little girl is growing up. But like Jim Walsh said to Brenda Walsh on 90210, after he found a pregnancy test in the garbage, "You'll always be my little girl."

"Remember a year in the life of friends."

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Baz Luhrmann's "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)" was my high school graduation song. Everyone in my class got a copy on cassette. I still have mine. I always thought we should've received a bottle of sunscreen to go along with it.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of 99...

Wear Sunscreen

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it.The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experienceI will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years youll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you cant grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked.Youre not as fat as you imagine.

Dont worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing everyday that scares you.

Sing.

Dont be reckless with other peoples hearts, dont put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss

Dont waste your time on jealousy; sometimes youre ahead, sometimes youre behind the race is long, and in the end, its only with yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doingthis, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch

Dont feel guilty if you dont know what you want to do with your lifethe most interesting people I know didnt know at 22 what they wanted to do withtheir lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds know still dont.

Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees, you'll miss them when theyre gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you wont, maybe you'll have children, maybe you wont, maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. What ever you do, dont congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself eitheryour choices are half chance, so are everybody elses. Enjoy your body,use it every way you can dont be afraid of it, or what other people think of it,its the greatest instrument you'll ever own..

Dance even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you dont follow them.

Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents, you never know when theyll be gone for good.

Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past andthe people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you should hold on.Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography in lifestyle because the older you get,the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard;live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do youll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Dont expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund,maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.

Dont mess too much with your hair, or by the time its 40, it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than its worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen...

It's official: I'm a soccer mom

One of the things I love so much about being a mom is watching my children experience the joys in life for the first time. I'll never forget the first time either of my children saw their first snow or felt their first rain, and it's true that a little part of the parent feels that all over again for the first time. It's so incredibly beautiful to see them appreciate, in wonder, such a simple moment in life that so many of us either take for granted or complain about.

I'm sure many of us will agree that childhood summers are perhaps the second-best period of time in life behind parenthood and marriage. How great was it to go home early on the last day of school, looking forward to playing outside til dark, amusement parks, swimming, vacations, outdoor games, camp, Bible school, picnics and drive-ins.

I love making some of these summer dreams come true for my kids. And we're blessed to live in a community with an awesome recreation center that is always planning fun things. Cienna is signed up for both the spring youth soccer program, which runs May through June, and the t-ball program, which runs June through July.

The rec center also hosts concerts and movies in the park, which I find charming.

Summer dance camp will also be part of Cienna's time off from school, but that is one of my mom's gifts to her.

And I can't wait to see how Ty's first experience in a sandbox goes. I can only imagine his face when he puts his feet in the sand for the first time. And his feet are so ticklish! Here's hoping it stays in the box and not in his mouth or anyone's eyes! I'm sure a lot of his summer will involve me chasing him and him learning to swim!

Larry and I just want to give both of them the best summer that we can. We want them to have awesome, happy childhoods, punctuated with fun-filled summers that know nothing of grownup responsibilities or the problems facing the world. And those smiles that follow are proof positive that children are precious, perfect and innocent angels with nothing but love to give.

I do believe that same loving preciousness still exists somewhere within all of us, and I think we all have a little kid left in us whenever summer rolls around and we slip on the flip-flops.

Here's to sunshine, love and the kid in all of us!

Notes on being born

2008-03-31T19:27:00.000-07:00

It takes a lot to weaken my joy. And I think that's because, despite all the negatives we can find in life, I feel like I have the best thing a person can experience in this world--children. There's no greater gift than motherhood.

Larry once told me, "You have babies like Skittles." While fertility has come easily to me, how to have my child has never come lightly.

I think it's so important that a woman be informed of her birthing options. So I read. And read. And read. And read. And read. I asked questions. And I read. And read. And read. And read.

Whether a woman decides to have an OB or midwife deliver her baby in the hospital or in the home, it matters most that she decides what she wants. Hopefully that decision is based on what is best for mother and child, and not for bragging rights.

And for all the birthing plans you can make, there's always a chance of the unexpected, and you need to be pliable enough to work sensibly with your medical team.

A documentary I saw yesterday, "The Business of Being Born," addressed some of these issues, though I did find it to be a bit slanted and in favor of home births.

While I did choose midwives, I felt very strongly about delivering my children in a hospital, and with Ty, I learned why that's important. But every experience is individual. And most everything turns out OK in the end.

Which is why it's annoying when people instill fear into moms-to-be. The documentary addressed this a little bit, but I want to add to it. The documentary basically said that maternity care in this country is run as a business, moving laboring women through delivery wards as quickly as possible, drugging them up with pitocin and painkillers until it's time to push. But the documentary only interviewed people from maybe three or four hospitals--all from L.A. and New York.

There's a lot of country in between there with excellent care being offered.

I think it's unfair to blame the hospitals for this kind of bedside manner. As a society, we've kind of asked for it. So many women have come to expect painless, sagless births. The documentary even pointed to "designer births" in New York where women schedule their C-sections and tummy tucks in the same day, during the same procedure.

But I was lucky to have excellent medical care.

My experience with Cienna was incredible. There's nothing more amazing than the feeling of holding your child for the first time, after bringing them into the world, staring at them and not knowing what you feel more--love or happiness. In that moment, your whole life is better than you ever could have dreamed.

Tyler came a less natural way. I didn't get to hold him as quickly because of the surgery--a thought that still breaks my heart. But when I did hold him in my arms, the love was there. It was the same.

I didn't want to have a C-section, but I knew it was necessary because there was serious risk of harm to my baby.

What saddens me is that there are some mothers who aren't informed to know the difference, whether by their own lack of research or lack of information from their doctor.

It also concerns me, as I've said years before I ever watched the documentary, that the growing number of drugs given to laboring women coincides with the growing number of autism and ADHD diagnoses in children. I attribute all of that to women being made afraid of the pain of childbirth. But even with pitocin, it's really not that bad. It doesn't last long. There's a beautiful end to all of it. And, seriously, if it was that terrible, there wouldn't be so many of us on this planet. It's honestly the most incredible blessing a family can receive.

But the other side of all of it is that there really are some difficult patients out there--women who think they deserve all of the attention of the entire labor and delivery unit, while many other moms are growing through the same thing next door. Hospitals are constantly understaffed, and even with planned C-sections, birth continues to be a fairly-random medical situation.

I feel so blessed to have had the natural experience that I did with Cienna. And if I were to have another child, I would hope for it to be as organic as possible, avoiding all surgery.

However, what kind of birth I have matters little to me. It's about what's best for the child, and, yes, you start making those choices while you're pregnant--and even before. So women shouldn't be made to feel guilty or less powerful for whatever delivery plan they choose. Because sometimes baby has his or her own little plan!

There's nothing going on in that delivery room that's going to win you a medal. It's what you do after you leave the hospital that counts--that's what will determine the kind of mother you are.

Pi Kappa Mine

2008-03-31T18:27:00.000-07:00

Dear D,

The first aid that night was a little shoddy. Then again, someone could ask why I was using a steak knife to cut through a 24-pack of water. For all that I've managed to face head-on, I could not look at the laceration on my thumb. It made me feel dizzy and nauseous. And after my parents and their friends got crazy with the kitchen faucet, it was clear that my wet clothes would need to be changed.

It was the first time the Pi Kappa Phi sweatshirt and I would become friends. Your suitcase was in our dining room, so I took advantage of the access. Somehow that souvenir of a fraternity party gave me comfort. And, OK, those shorts that said "Ski with the big dogs" would make anyone laugh until all wounds were forgotten.

You left after spring break, but that shirt did not. I've updated you from time to time about where it traveled in your absence, proving that it was of much more value to me in Pennsylvania than for you in Texas. That list continues to grow, as you will see:

-Slumber parties with the girls, while singing our rendition of Steppenwolf and Tina Turner. Thinking it was acceptable to drink Jolly Rancher Zimas during Spring 2000 B.V. (Before Vodka). Riding in Shathole. Pairing it with missed deadlines and light green pajama pants (which I still have).

-To Texas while visiting you, and I actually needed it because, with all that air conditioning, I've never been so cold in my life.

-Thursday nights B.V. which involved the Zilla show and hanging out in his room afterward. We weren't solving the energy crisis, but we were becoming best friends.

-THAT Summer. It wasn't really cold enough, but comfort doesn't yield to the seasons. I threw that on many nights after visiting Carrie, laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing I could breathe for her.

-I kept it in the car during the East Coast road trip I took with Beth, just in case. And I think I actually did put it on while we were in Maine.

-That fall which followed. 9/11 changed our world. And I wore that shirt while walking to the Point with friends, watching Saturday Night Live hosted by Derek Jeter and seeing "Playing by Heart" one more time with my best friend before she graduated and moved out.

-Even London donned it a few times through that winter--just because it made him more cuddly.

-It was the best maternity and postpartum sweatshirt a single mom could ask for. It went to the hospital with me, and it was actually on while we talked and you told me so bluntly, "You being a single mom may not attract as many men, but it will sure weed out the shitty ones." So true.

-It was the best maternity and postpartum sweatshirt a married mom could ask for. And while it did not go to the hospital with me, because I had become equally attached to some of Lar's hoodies, it got a lot of use during those first spring walks with the baby.

-Even Larry recognizes that it's more mine than yours. Some of our best conversations have happened while I've been wearing that sweatshirt, pajama pants and a ponytail. It inspires coziness. It's the fabric equivalent of sitting by a fireplace with a cup of tea. Such was the case while I was pregnant with Ty, and we'd stay up forever, talking about our dreams and wondering what our newborn would be like. Such was the case this weekend while I was sick--but not too much to lose our American Idol game! After the company had gone home, we found ourselves in another one of those conversations. And it was beautiful.

Hopefully, the next time I wear it, I'll be calling you from New York.

C

That is one batty bia

2008-03-28T19:33:00.000-07:00

I'm sick, friends. It was bound to happen. I've been totally stressed, busy and beat down, and illness usually follows that.

My refuge has been found on an elliptical trainer, in my husband's arms and when my children smile. To a lesser degree, Joe, as in "nature's prozac," as in "The Godfather," has been amusing me with optimistic email, witty one-liners and great voicemail messages during the longest game of phone tag ever.

This weekend is all about healing and spending time with loved ones, as promised. Larry has a strict schedule laid out for me, but he needs a break too! I'm thinking he'll go get some guy time while Cienna and I curl up with "Enchanted." Otherwise the weekend includes MORE car repairs, a lot of movies, a lot of hockey, tea, my mom's soup, church and recovery.

Have I mentioned lately how much I love church? It centers me for the week, and I really need it this time around. Last week it was Easter, things were really busy there, it was a little more crowded, and my mind wandered a bit. But I can't wait for this Sunday.

No, no, no! I mean I CAN wait for this Sunday because I intend to make Saturday last as long as possible. It's also kind of like that last, winter weekend. It's supposed to be a sunny 48 tomorrow, which is both good gym weather and walking-outdoors weather. Sunday is supposed to be 50 and rainy. I may actually finish some reading that day. ("I Am America and So Can You" again)

I'm also doing a home show for my mother-in-law that day. It's that interior design decor thing I do on the side for extra money, and people are loving the spring line. I have high hopes that my MIL will earn some much-desired product and that I will earn some much-needed commission. And it's the only company of this genre that has equally-amazing benefits for its hostesses and representatives.

Totally off the subject...do any of you know anything about analyzing dreams? I think MB had a book about that in college. But she had every book... Seriously though, I've been dreaming about bats. Crazy, right? It's not the first time in my life that I've dreamt of bats. They are a fear of mine. Last night I dreamt that I was laying on a blanket under a tree and trying to cover my face with another blanket because there were a bunch of bats hanging upside down in the tree above me. I understood the bats were black. I also dreamt of Lil' Kim this week. I can't remember what really happened in that dream, but I know she was mad at me. Perhaps I gave the wrong guess as to how many licks it takes to get to the ...

A simple Google search for dreaming of bats produced this:

"To see bats in your dream, symbolizes uncleanness, demons, and annoyances. Alternatively, bats also represent your need to let go of old habits for your current way of life no longer suits your new growth and outlook. It is symbolic of a rebirth. It may also mean that you are entering blindly into a situation. You need to evaluate the facts more carefully The dream may also been a pun on feeling "batty" or feeling crazy.

To dream of a white bat, signifies death of a family member. To dream of a black bat, signifies personal disaster.

To see a vampire bat in your dream, represents that a person in your life may be draining your of self-confidence and/or your resources."

Awesome. :-(

Excerpts

2008-03-26T15:51:00.000-07:00

Sometimes a signature is the hardest thing to give.

I was holding the pen and staring at the paper before me. And my grip became tighter the more I tried not to cry.

Simultaneously wondering how long it would before someone asked what I was doing, I began to think of all the times I had signed my name when it meant nothing.

Born the only child of an only child, I was spoiled by my grandparents. I had an incredible bedroom suit when I was a kid--complete with the princess-canopy bed. Included was a tall desk with many compartments. I loved to hide diaries and doodles in all the nooks, among sheets of MASH games played to determine my future.

I should tell you now that I did not end up in a Boca Raton apartment with Jordan Knight and three children.

But there's still a lot of game left.

I signed all those diary entries, full of fears and dreams that could only be experienced during the innocence and idealism of having single-digit birthdays, like my name meant something. I never added any hearts or stars around it, or pretty swirls from an elongated "Y." It was always very serious, as though Anne Frank had penned it.

When I grew older, I was happy to have my name become a byline. I was proud to sign it on my first paycheck, college applications and apartment leases. Just as I grew, my signature grew with me, and it's weight became greater too.

It's easy to forget during this electronic age, but there are still many places where a pen and paper can change lives. Birth certificates, wills, mortgage titles, marriage licenses.

I was actually sad the first time I saw my married name. I never felt like sharing his name was the same as sharing his heart. And I felt like it was a silent disassociation from everything I had ever written--words that spoke for me when I did not.

But there are actually as many people who still call me Candy Gola as they do Mrs. Woodall. And they are all people I've met through writing.

Names are a big deal to writers. For some of us, it's the beginning of a character or story. It's the slug on an article. It's what people remember long after they've forgotten us.

That's why I had such difficulty signing my name that morning. I knew that, just as I was writing my name, I was writing someone off. I was changing lives, histories, futures with a signature.

So I signed it like Candy Woodall and then walked to The Point like Candy Gola.

Once upon a ridiculous day

2008-03-25T14:13:00.000-07:00

Mom: I know, honey, but we can't listen to "please don't stop the music" right now because there's an important song on
Girl: What's the song?
Mom: I'm bringing sexy back
-----------------------------------
Boy: You may sautee the best ingredients, but who shapes this shit into the best meatloaf you've ever seen?!
-----------------------------------
Boy: So do you think Madonna and J. Timberlake could save the world in 4 minutes?
Girl: I think they already have.
--------------------------------------
Boy 1: You need to get your junk checked
Boy 2: Seriously?
Boy 1: Yeah
Boy 2 to Girl: He says I need to get my junk checked
Girl: You should. Take some friends. That's what your brother and his friends used to do. And after you know you're OK, buy condoms. That's what self checkouts are for.
-----------------------------------------
Girl: Am I supposed to care that Britney Spears was on TV last night?
Boy: No. I taped it for you though.
Girl: OK. Good!
-----------------------------------------
Boy: Do we know what the theme is on Idol later?
Girl: Hmm...Beatles Week 3? When Danny returns to sing "Norwegian Wood"
Boy: And the Horse Whisperer and Hannah Montana destroy "Hey Jude" to the arrangement of "Achy Breaky Heart" while doing the Achy Breaky Heart
Girl: And David Archuleta saves the world in 3 minutes, beating Madonna and J Timberlake by one
----------------------------------------------

Rules and fools

2008-03-24T18:16:00.001-07:00

There's been a lot of talk lately about rules and regulations.

On "The View," they've been talking about the rules of racial equality. In church, we've been talking about the rules of loss. At home, we've been talking about the rules of crossing the street. In email, with a friend, I've been talking about the rules of writing. With friends, I've talked about the rules of friendship. With women, I've talked about the rules of submission. And Progressive and I have been talking about state regulations regarding windshields.

Only one thing has proven mutual among all those issues: the rules will always be broken.

You can expect to have rules in life, but you can't expect people to follow them. People are human, and they make human mistakes. The most we can do, the best we can do, is be friends to each other when we break those rules.

Since the beginning of the year, I've felt like I've been moving toward something. A lot of things have happened that made me say, "There's gotta be a reason for this, so I guess I'll wait and see." Now I feel like I'm happening upon this peaceful sort of place that's all about live and let live.

I don't want to be anyone's moral compass. And I don't want anyone to be mine, unless you're my pastor.

Even my pastor gets questioned.

This Sunday his sermon, "Why are you weeping?", was all about why we shouldn't cry about loss. It was, of course, tied to Christ being risen and the celebration of Easter. I understood what he meant. I felt what he meant. It's a story I've heard several times, and it's a story I believe.

But even beyond Easter Sunday there's an unspoken push during loss, especially death, to "remember the good times," "go on with your life" and "be happy that they're in a better place."

And, let's be honest, when you lose someone, you don't want to hear that shit. Even if it's true. Even if it's the best thing. Because sometimes you don't want to remember someone or be happy that they're somewhere else, happy and well. You just want them with you. You just want to hug them, and there's no replacement for that.

There are many other rules we ignore in life too: Don't borrow money from friends, don't talk to strangers, don't date unavailable men, don't have unprotected sex, don't eat after 6 p.m., don't meddle in other people's business. Don't discriminate. Treat others as you would want to be treated. Love unconditionally.

We're all guilty of at least one. Or all. Because, sure, we know better. But sometimes we can't help ourselves. Sometimes we're sick or scared or stressed, or just lonely. And those things drive us to foolishness.

We know it's foolish. We don't need someone else to remind us it's foolish. We need someone to remind us they are our friend, they are there for us and they love us unconditionally.

Even though I'm all live and let live these days, it doesn't mean I don't have any fight left in me. I've been called outspoken, "hell with the lid off," "testy," "combative" and "confrontational." All charming compliments, I'm sure.

Hey, I come from a line of battered, broken women. Except for one--my grandmother Erla, who really was hell with the lid off.

When I was very small, I remember hiding in a closet as my great-grandmother got smacked by a man she married after her husband died. I was only 4, Cienna's age, but I refused to call him "Pap." I told him paps were nice people and that he was not a nice person. My great-grandmother knew it was true, but she was able to look past it somehow. She begged me never to tell my grandmother or mom what I saw. Of all secrets to keep, I kept that one. They were still together when she had a stroke in 1993. I remember sitting by her hospital bed, holding her hands, staring at them, tracing the lines with my eyes. Her hands always smelled like dish soap--back when dish soaps all smelled the same. Her hands looked so young, too young for one of them to not feel anything anymore. Too young for one of them to never be able to hold mine back. I kept tracing words on them, hoping she would feel it and wake up and play Scrabble with me. But she didn't. Just like she never hit him back.

She eventually woke up, and we used magnet letters and tiny notepads to communicate. She couldn't talk. She could just shake her head yes and no.

I begged my mom to let her live with us after her stroke. I couldn't live with the idea of her getting hit by him when she didn't have a voice--even if she never used it when she could have. But my mom said she needed better care than we could give her, and so she went to a nursing home.

She lived for four years after that, until I was a junior in high school, and I've often wondered if those were the four best years of her life. She was away from abuse. Nothing was expected of her. She wrote little, meaningful notes. "You are a strong girl." She wrote it when I was 16, and it's still in the jewelry box that she passed down to me.

When I got older, I took self-defense and used it to defend other women I loved, other women who couldn't seem to defend themselves. It came in handy for me once too. I may want the war in Iraq to be over, but I'm not a complete pacifist. I believe in hitting back, physically and emotionally. I'm sure for one of Cienna's young, teenage birthdays that she will get a gift of professional self-defense classes. Women are strong, and we have strong voices, and we should be able to use both.

But despite that strength, I'm a huge screwup at times. I've made a series of poor choices, even when I've tried my best. I've made many mistakes--some of which can never be taken back or fixed. And I've hurt people I loved the most.

In fact, some might say my children are all I've done right, and that the Easter Shot Hunt is my one redeeming quality.

It's not that I set out to fail at the rest. It's just that I asked what Jesus would do and decided to answer in the morning.

And there were many times I was in mouring that I found comfort in questioning Him.

So it's never been about having faith or abandoning it. Not knowing right from wrong. Or leaning toward the former in for better or worse. It's just that there's a little piece of all of us reaching for that apple, you know. And the most we can hope for is that someone is behind us when we lose our balance.

Friends don't have chains of command. They have each other. And they don't need a judge or jury. They just need a pardon.

So that's what you'll get from me in this newfound, peaceful place. Thank you for your inspiration, whether through your presence or your absence.

I hope spring's eternal

2008-03-20T18:04:00.000-07:00

When I think of spring--what it feels like, smells like, tastes like--I think of the following memories. Here's to wishing you all a wonderful spring!
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Look At Me.
One of the worst days of my life was followed by the best days of my life. I was coming down from a breakup of my longest relationship to that point, and I learned quite young that the best way to mend a broken heart was with drinking games. So there I was, with my best friends, happily losing a round of Kings. I'm not sure I could tell you how to play that game today, but I'm confident I could still chug the cup of booze in the middle. I lost a lot.

But that night I also lost my V-Card. It was April 20, 2000, and it was Good Friday. Like Ice Cube once said, "Today was a good day." Like Ice Cube also once said, "It's Friday, I ain't got shit to do."

It would help to know that I had been in a long-distance relationship for a year and a half prior with a wonderful boy who went to Texas A&M. We lived for breaks and holidays, exchanged many emails and had phone bills as long as 10-gallon hats. In fact, if I'm being truthful with you, I probably still owe Point Park money for our correspondence. And it would also help you to know that I was the ultimate good girl, sleeping with teddy bears, waiting for marriage.

Well, maybe that's not true either. I basically did everything you could do without doing everything.

But on that wonderfully-good Friday, folks, I did everything.

It was nothing like I had imagined. There was no romance. There was no planning. There was no pressure. It was just a very drunk me, a very brave me, who decided--after unsuccessfully stealing a Jolly Rancher from Joe who had already left for Easter break--that it was time to stop flirting with Joe's sexy neighbor and start getting real.

But how seriously could you take a girl in pigtails at midnight?

Me: Hi. I think you need to come to my room.
F.R.: Why?
Me: So we can talk?
F.R.: Why?
Me: Because we've flirted all semester, and I'm done flirting. And I'm also very drunk, and I'm certain that's to your advantage.
F.R.: Well, we can talk in here. My roomate is gone all weekend.

And we actually did talk for two hours before we stopped talking.

He studied filmmaking, and he had that whole creative writer thing going on. He had original ideas, a realistic view of the world, and he liked to tell me bedtime stories. He was witty, sarcastic, had a great taste in music, was raised in the same state as Bruce Springsteen and Bon Jovi, and he looked at 19 how Jordan Staal looks at 19.

I'm not sure if it was performance-based or not, and I've never asked, but he told me some things that I've never forgotten. He said:

"You're going to grow up to be one of those wives who goes to her husband's work and has sex with him in his office during lunch."

"You throw yourself into everything. You're passion personified."

"Never sleep with a guy who can't look you in the face, in your eyes, while you're having sex."

It was one of the best conversations of my life. Until...

Me: You're my first one-night stand.
F.R.: You're my sixth virgin.

It ended up not being a one-night stand. And I was not his last virgin.

To this day, we are friends, and he emails me every Good Friday. And whenever I see his name in my inbox, I know it's spring.

Centerfield. During the most pivotal summer of my life, the summer of 2001, I worked as an intern for the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review. It was merely a spanse of three months between my sophomore and junior years of college, but never have I grown or changed so much in such a short amount of time since.

My best friends and I still refer to it as That Summer. There seemed to be no better way to describe the last season before 9/11, the last summer we all lived in the same city together, the last summer I shared with my friend Carrie, the last summer we could take a coastal road trip on a moment's notice.

Most of my days were the same. I'd wake up in my Oakland apartment, catch a bus Downtown, walk across the Clemente bridge to the North Side, walk to the Point for lunch with Mary Beth, walk across the Clemente bridge in the evening to catch the bus home.

The latter was my favorite part. The ballpark was new. There was excitement in the city, as families lined up to get in. Grown fathers and sons. Young fathers and sons. Dads with little girls on their shoulders. Happy, sun-tanned moms. John Fogerty's "Centerfield" played in the background. The view from any seat was incredible--especially along the third baseline where you could see the best view of the game, rowers and boaters along the Allegheny River, and the most majestic picture of the city's skyline.

It just made you want to fall in love. And it was that feeling that told me it was spring.

I'm ready to play. An honors English teacher once told me that we should all fall in love with the wrong person at least one. After I did that, I decided to not fall in love with the wrong person a bunch of times. And so began my summer of shame.

I had a fun job, a fun wardrobe, a fun list of contacts in my cell phone and a fun attitude. The only drawback was that I knew way too many boys whose first names began with the letter "J." So I was really happy when I met a Larry. :-)

A lot of things happened that summer that weren't in line with my moral or political values, but I don't know what they are. I'm sure I'm supposed to feel really guilty about having sex in parking garages or after 18 holes of golf or in the boss' office without the boss or under the table in the boardroom and all the other places that weren't a conservative bedroom. But I don't feel remorse or regret.

Nor does my husband.

I did what I needed to do. And because of that recklessness and selfishness, I think I'm able to have a more fulfilling and lasting marriage.

It was a time riddled with impulsive choices, all of which were based on good sex. And that's how I knew it was spring.

A moment in the sun. Whenever some politician or athlete is in the middle of some scandal, and psychologists across the country point fingers at all men, I simply think of Texas and remember some of the greatest guys I've ever known.

I was fortunate to spend May there in 2000, traveling with my ex-boyfriend to all the major cities and then staying at his frat house for the rest of the time. Even though we were already broken up, and I had already had my Good Friday, we had a wonderful time and learned we could be wonderful friends. I also made some wonderful friends while I was there, who I still keep in touch with. We went to bars, and I drank local beer--Pearl Light! We went dancing, but not line dancing. We rode roller coasters. We stood on the grassy knoll. We went to a shot bar, and I drank shots of Jager from waitresses chests. We had a midnight picnic of fruit and wine. I slow danced in a fountain. I made out at a presidential library. I kissed under a century tree, which means my love is supposed to last a hundred years.

But most of all, I was just a kid, and I really believed in love. And that's how I knew it was spring.

Put me in Coach. There's something about the fashion district of New York that makes every woman feel a little more glamorous. And there I was with my best friend, an interior designer who took ridiculously good care of me. I perused fabric stores with him, like I understood the significant difference between imported silk and organic silk. I wore fabulous hats and scarves, and we talked with accents just for fun. We laughed our way through stoplights and walk lights, and we shared New York cocktails the way New York cocktails should be shared.

Thankfully, I've lived my life in such a way that I always know someone else somewhere. Maybe it's a business contact, a writing contact, family or a friend, but I can get in touch with them. It's one of my strengths--to relentlessly pursue communication.

On that particular trip, I chose to communicate with a cute boy from Brooklyn, whose only flaw was his love for the Yankees. He was, and still is, a fantastic writer who is at his best in games of Scrabble, chess, conversational tennis and actual tennis. He loved The Beatles and his Irish roots. He named his plants after his favorite book characters. He could host 18 people in an apartment designed for two. He made drinks so that you forgot where you were. And why. He had the best t-shirts to wake up in. He kissed you, and it felt like you were having sex. He read poetry like a lullaby.

All we did was make out vigorously, but it felt like more.

Before he got out of the taxi, the last time I would ever see him again, I slipped him a note that said, "Thanks for the Whitman."

Later that day, he left me a voicemail that said, "That was the greatest note I've ever received."

And we've never talked since.

That actually wasn't spring. It was January. But it felt like June. And that's how I knew it was spring.

Let It Be

2008-03-19T07:02:00.000-07:00

You might ask why I'm so happy today, despite recently watching one of my favorite bands' music get destroyed. My joy is born from hours and days of hilarous conversation, not to mention the remarkable insight of my friend MacBeck yesterday.

But, sure, I have an opinion about American Idol as well. I think it's worth it to keep in mind that there are so many nerves on that stage. Undoubtedly that's part of the industry--being able to get in front of people. But that's a lot easier when you have confirmation that you're good enough, and for many of them that confirmation won't come unless they win it all. Unless you're David Cook, who has basically just proven that he can sort of play a guitar, mimic Eddie Vedder's vocal tone, sport a modern combover and has enough ego for all the high schools in America. However, I'm thankful that he did not destroy any of the greatest songs ever recorded.

Could the horse whisperer go now?

Poor Michael Johns. The minute I knew he was singing "A Day in the Life" I knew it was going to be unfortunate. I said to Larry, "You just can't do that in a minute and a half. It's more about the music than the lyrics anyway." Simon basically said the same thing.

Paula, again, said nothing constructive.

Actually, I'm not sure any of them say anything constructive anymore. If they do a ballad, they say it's not interesting. If they rock out, they say it doesn't show enough range.

It's amazing what people get paid for.

I'm trying to think of one performance that I liked, not that anyone cares, but I just can't. And I don't blame the performers, I blame the show's executives. They never should've done two weeks of The Beatles. Everyone would naturally gravitate toward doing their best song during week one, immediately setting up week two for failure.

They should've let it be.

Holy Week

2008-03-18T13:55:00.000-07:00

Friends, there is nothing holy about my week:

I'm a little stressed, but a charming someone is helping out with that. There are just some people who can make you smile and get excited no matter what, and, well, I'm lucky to know so many of these darlings.

I have plans and things to look forward to, coming out of the wazoo (admit it, you think "wazoo" is a fun word too), but the spacing between these things is a little awkward.

Sleep has forsaken me. Seriously, I'm so tired right now that I could cry. Yet I will stay up college-late or get up geriatrically-early to watch my DVRd Larry King Live and AC360.

I'm sort of getting annoyed at all of these "experts" analyzing sex and adultery. It's annoying because they either make it sound like to have wild, or even fulfilling, sex, people need to go beyond their marriages to satisfy urges. It's annoying because they make it sound like every woman or man who has a sexual appetite must've come from a dark past. Now, I'm not denying that people can be addicted to sex. And I'm not denying that some women end up prostitutes because they've been abused and haven't learned to respect their bodies. BUT there are many people with very normal, very healthy sex lives, people who feel free to live out fantasies with each other and don't need someone on the side. Also, I maintain that most men cheat just because they can. It's not always about a lack of something at home. In fact, it's usually just about getting more. And I think women cheat to get attention, (a false sense of) validation and simply to get laid! Why do these talk show hosts always make it seem like men are the only cheaters?

Larry and I got into an actual argument on the way to work today. I suggested that he might enjoy watching "Enchanted" with Cienna if the Easter Bunny delivers it. He said he would watch it but would never enjoy it. So I reminded him that on a rainy summer day two years ago that he suggested we watch "The Princess Diaries." He says he didn't suggest it, that I did. So I reminded him that he owned the movie to begin with. He claims it was his mom's that he left on the shelf, and I said it was funny that he just didn't leave it at home when he packed his things to move in with me. In the end, he maintained he would not like "Enchanted," calling it "one of those musicals."

I'm excited for girl time on Saturday. Jes is coming over. Wine may be involved. Girl talk may be involved. Viewings of the chic flicks may be involved. Blackberry sorbet in lemon cups will definitely be involved. Stop by or call if you're free. We're a welcoming duo.

Am I pathetic if I'm a little giddy on Tuesdays because of American Idol and Jericho, and on Thursdays because of Lipstick Jungle? It's the season finale of LJ this week. What will I DVR now? Or am I just pathetic because I genuinely like Mariah Carey's new song?

Wow! I actually feel a little less stressed now that I've babbled. Hopefully I'll write something real on here this week, but I'm sort of putting all of my energy into another writing effort these days. But Easter weekend is coming up, which is always one of my favorites and is always a platform of inspiration for new beginnings.

I love yinz,
Candy

One Bracket, One Shot, One Deer

2008-03-17T17:48:00.000-07:00

My friend Pitt won the Big East Championship on Saturday night, starting a media frenzy and inspiring a bold prediction by Bob Knight--that our Panthers will win it all. I regret to say I'm not revealing who I've picked yet in all of my brackets (keep those invites coming, Friends!), but here's hoping! In Pittsburgh, we like to celebrate every big victory like a holiday.

My friend St. Patrick's Day was a good time. I sang Irish music, had the best salad and nachos of my life from Atria's, got sad that my camera died, got happy that Pitt won, and I still made it up in time for the early church service on Palm Sunday, which was shared by Easter Shot Hunt.

My friend Easter Shot Hunt was interesting. As Larry put it when it began, "There are people at our door, and I don't know who they are." They were strangers who became friends, and I was lucky that they helped me hide shots. Not that it mattered. It eventually just turned into people standing around the kitchen, refilling shot glasses--except for Larry, Ryan and Ryan who drank from the living room while they watched the Pens game. And Jes, who won the prized chocolate bunny, also drank shots from the Stanley Cup replica, which was straight Stoli and earned her bonus points. Because she did it four times. We definitely had fun, even though we didn't really advertise it. It was a successful first run, with bigger plans for next year, when Easter and St. Patrick's Day aren't so close together. (Next year, Easter Sunday is April 12, 2009)

My friend Husband Larry is incredible. Seriously. He's been more amazing lately than I can even describe. He wakes up so early for work, usually after staying up late with me so that we get in a lot of QT during the week, and when he comes home, I'm sure he wants to sleep. But he doesn't. He drives us all to the gym, makes dinner when we get home (unless it's my turn) while I get ready for work, and while I'm at work, he really holds it down. The kids are bathed and tucked in with storytime, and then when he's probably ready to sleep he makes sure I go home to a clean, stress-free home. We usually chat each other's ear off half the night, and he just says these unbelievable things sometimes...And when I know how tired he is, to think that he's making an Easter basket for me is just so touching. Because he's always so thoughtful and loyal and loving. And every time I say that, I think of this card that his friend Spence sent us for our wedding, in which he wrote a message telling me that he knew Larry would be a great husband because he was such a great friend. It's just so true. And, well, amidst all this Spitzer scandal and articles about corrupt men, I just thought it would be nice to remind you folks that there are great men out there. And I'm a lucky girl to be living with one.

My friend deer...Larry says amazing things, it's true. And he also says things like this: "Oh, look, a deer crossing the street during rush hour. Normal. Move, dumbass!"

House of Cards

2008-03-17T15:59:00.000-07:00

"Nothing lasts forever. Even the longest, the most glittering reign must come to an end someday."--Michael Dobbs

If you google "house of cards," you'll find an all-encompassing Web site about everything you need to know, or don't, about card games. You'll also find a reference to a TV movie based on a book of the same name by Michael Dobbs, who wrote a timeless story of power and corruption.

A few links to Radiohead's "House of Cards" will also be listed, but those results were much less influential to this blog.

Of greater influence was the origin of the whole idea of "House of Cards" which was best portrayed through Shakespeare's "Macbeth" and "Richard III." The characters are so well developed to tell stories of corruption, self-interest, selfishness and deception. These are longtime themes that spawned the cliche, "When the house of cards falls...," poignantly pointing to the fragility of being on top.

The first time I had ever really heard it used about my own life was while I was pregnant with Cienna.

I was engaged in intellectual warfare with a man who selfishly changed the course of my life--but I let him--and he constantly reminded me that he had the upper hand in every aspect. He had more money, a great job, his own home, a new car and a depth of resources that I could not match. He often told me that once I had my daughter I would end up working at 7eleven, never getting married and would end up as white trash.

People who knew me, apparently better than him, were well aware such ill wishes would only strengthen me.

A mentor, who knew both of us quite well, assured me that his words were empty. "Candy, his house of cards will fall."

And they have.

While I take no pleasure in it, it does serve as a strong reminder to me that what goes around, comes around.

He put me in a position to fight for everything I have. It made me stronger, it taught me to adapt, and it reminded me of an old lesson from a teacher in high school.

"Big shots are often low caliber." --Budd Grebb, my former World Cultures instructor

Though it bears the same meaning, I prefer Mr. Grebb's words to the cliche "big fish in a small pond."

I couldn't help thinking of so many lessons I've learned when I had this conversation this morning.

BigFish: Wow. How enterprising of you. What happened to your perfect world, the cinnamon and flowers, and romanticism of everything.
Me: You happened to that.
BigFish: You can't seriously expect me to say yes to this.
Lawyer: We're not here to ask your permission, Mr. _. We're here as a courtesy.
Me: Not that I owe you that.
BigFish: So you're making another unilateral decision.
Me: I'm making the right decision. I'm following through with dreams you derailed. I'm building a future for my children.
Lawyer: Here's a copy of information you may find useful when questioning my client's right to disclose facts.
BigFish: You love this, don't you. You showed me, right?
Me: To no surprise, you think it's about you. But it's not about you. You're really not on my radar anymore. There's just a strong market for my product.
BigFish: Product? Give me a break. This is about you proving how great you are and what a piece of sh!t I am.
Me: I have nothing to prove. I think I proved enough when I raised a child on my own. And it's not just about this. The end talks a lot about how people from broken homes often go two ways--they either have a strong respect for family and an intense desire for their own, or they have no respect for family, fidelity or loyalty at all, and they try to avoid such commitments intently. To the point that they don't even like to be in the company of people who value those things.
BigFish: Well this doesn't paint a very sympathetic view of me.
Me: I told the truth. If you want to be a sympathetic character then go write yourself. I was honest about my actions too.
BigFish: Have to admit I'm a little surprised you included some things that people won't find very becoming.
Me: I've done some unlikeable things.
BigFish: Why did this have to be the most honest thing you've ever done?
Me: Because it's about the best thing I've ever done.
Lawyer: My client was able to finish the project without using your name.
BigFish: Oh please. Like it matters. Everyone will know.
Me: Only the people who know both of us, and that's certainly not everyone.

And I couldn't help but laugh about that later. Some people have such a small universe, and they really do live as though their popularity and power among eight people mean something. It's always fragile. It always comes back around. It always fails. And it always falls.

Cashing in

2008-03-13T17:33:00.000-07:00

"One person's downfall is another person's rise."

There's a sort of theme to my life right now. Something that I used to believe was just a matter of time has proven that timing is everything. Yet that very success is linked to avoiding all cliches, despite that last sentence being one big cliche.

The field narrowed for me today during a short conversation, which not only confirmed my instincts on the thing (and I promise I'll stop being vague in a month) but also that writers like to communicate en mass. Technology has only encouraged this.

Imagine what the texts messages between Sir Walter Scott and Jane Austen would have been like? How would they have signed their email?

"Ivanhoe rocks OBVI,
Jane"

"Emma is even better, GURL!
Scott OUT!"

Maybe it's better that e-stuff and iStuff transpired after their time.

But if this week is proof of anything it's proof that even time is time-sensitive.

Eliot Spitzer probably thought it was his time.

Then he made some poor life choices.

Now it's Ashley DiPietro/Dupre/Youmans' time. The professional escort known as "Kristen" to Spitzer's "Client 9" is just a few interviews away from a book deal and a Sunday night, TV movie.

Fame is so fickle. It takes so little to lose it and even less to gain it.

The New York Times quoted her as saying, "I just don't want to be thought of as a monster."

Excuse me, now, while I write this letter to Ashley:

Let "I just don't want to be thought of as a monster" be the anthem of all mistresses across the world. Have shirts printed. Start a band called Wives Hate Me, and go on tour. But you won't change minds with any of that.

There's media at your door, unreturned messages on your phone and memories bringing you some level of guilt right now. But you can't change the past.

Of all the things being written about you, I think The Mercury News did the best job so far. Here's the link to check it out http://www.mercurynews.com/celebrities/ci_8562973 As fair warning, it basically says that you won't likely have a record contract out of this. The shameless publisher of O.J. Simpson's book "If I Did It: Confessions of the Killer" even said that he wouldn't publish you because you don't have enough of a story.

That seemed a bit premature, considering that you haven't even told your story yet.

The article did say, however, that you have the cover of Penthouse waiting for you. That would be a nice payday for you, but it certainly wouldn't help you avoid being thought of as monster.

Scorned women across the world will see it as arrogance, and it would be a slap in the face to Silda Spitzer. I'm sure it's enough of a nightmare to begin with, knowing that she was cheated on multiple times with a prostitute, but now she has a face to put to all of that. So do her children. I'm sure the last thing his teenage daughters need is for their male peers and teachers gawking at the front cover on newsstands to see just how hot the girl is that destroyed their lives. The worst thought is that Eliot Spitzer might buy a copy for himself, sneaking into some public restroom with it--a thought that makes even my stomach turn.

And, you know, in all of those videos of Mr. and Mrs. Spitzer walking into the state dinner at the White House on Saturday, just days before this all came out, with him knowing that it would, and his wife not knowing, she was glowing and beautiful. She was happy.

The most recent photos show her in a very different light and understandably so.

She's been through enough. And I'm sure you have too. When you signed on with the Emperor, I'm sure you didn't imagine this.

I'm not passing judgement or providing a moral compass. Even I'm not capable of that much hypocrisy. All I'm saying is, if you really don't want to be thought of as a monster, then be careful of how you cash in.

Candy

Behind Closed Doors

2008-03-12T15:52:00.000-07:00

This is about personality differences. It's about feeling like everything you've ever known has abandoned you and having society expect that you make life-changing decsions. It's about Eliot Spitzer. It's about character. It's about friendship. It's about something we can all relate to.
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"Your life is only as good as your character." --Anonymous

At some point while you're reading this, or after you've finished, I hope you ask yourself if you believe that. Does someone's character determine how good their life is.

By now you've heard all about the alleged sex scandal that has removed a New York governor from office and has aged another scorned woman in just a few days. There have been high price tags and witty headlines associated with this and many unanswered questions. These aren't questions any of us really have a right to. We're not owed the fulfillment of those answers. It's not our business. The minute Eliot Spitzer resigned, it became a private matter.

This isn't a new story anyway. We've heard similar talk in the past about Bill Clinton, Jim McGreevey and Larry Craig, to name a few. But there have been more. This one involves different characters. And the most sympathetic character in this story is Silda Spitzer.

To me, what sets her apart from other public women who were cheated on is that she truly looked stunned. Sure, Hillary Clinton and Dina Matos McGreevey looked embarrassed when the truth about their husbands came out. But I think it was just the humiliation that comes from the world learning a secret that you already knew. Like Silda, Hillary and Dina stood by their husbands during apologetic speeches. Something was so much different about Silda's face, though, than those of the other ladies.

She looked devastated--the devastation that ages you in hours, giving you new lines and scars that don't come from laughing or raising children. These wounds come from hours of crying and realizing how many lies were told when you assumed the best in someone. They come from facing the truth that the person you love the most has hurt you the worst. And what simply sucks (because there's no honesty in eloquence) is that even when you're hurt by someone so deeply, you still love them.

And so all of these questions are surfacing, as they did and continue to do with Hillary, about why a woman would stand by her husband after he cheated.

I used to think the answer was simple because I've always been so firm in that I would leave a man who first left me. That's just how I view it: If you want to go outside of this marriage for something, then be outside of it.

"No reason to stay is a good reason to go." Cap 'N Jazz

But I've learned that many other women don't think it's that simple. And maybe others just don't know. I'm not being clear here. I'm not sure you can know what that confusion feels like unless you've ever felt the bottom drop out of your life. It's your personal ground zero, and you're left to rebuild yourself. So maybe these women just don't know why they stay. Maybe they believed in their vows, in being one with someone, despite their husbands broken promises, and maybe they think to leave their men would be to leave themselves. Maybe they don't have a logical reason. Maybe staying is all they're capable of.

Maybe it's about forgiveness.

From what I know about affairs, Silda has one thing going for her. Based on the public reports, his straying seems to be of an emotionless nature. You don't spend a total of $15,000 on sex in hotel rooms, across state lines, with someone who doesn't know your name if you care about them. You can almost imagine him reasoning to his broken-hearted wife that it was just sex, and despite the biggest mistake of his life, his heart is still with her.

And if it was just about sex, then people always wonder if that meant their sex life was bad. It probably wasn't. The majority of men who cheat simply do it to have more or something different, not because what they're getting is bad or not frequent enough.

"What goes on behind closed doors is never as good or bad as people think." --Munch

You know who I feel for the most in this? His daughters. They're all teenagers. They're all at such a developmental age, emotionally. Think about yourself in junior high and high school. Think of your views on relationships and love. How might something like this have shaped or changed your beliefs? And if you're a girl, and you can't trust your dad, it's hard to trust any man.

I'm praying for them that they will heal. That they won't be jaded for too long. That they will believe in love. They they will know there's such a thing as a man who doesn't leave. That they will go on to be strong and trusting and not afraid of everything that feels good. And I hope they have good friends.

"Having respect and having friends is two different things sometimes."

People respected him. As he put Wall Street behind bars as attorney general and battled state republicans, he made enemies of the criminals he prosecuted. Throughout his war on ethics, he did manage to gain the respect of his peers. But now that he is portrayed as a hypocrite, he's likely lost that respect.

It would've been nice to have some friends.

The only people he can really count on now--his family--are the people he's hurt the worst.

Undoubtedly, because people will be people, there are folks out there taking pleasure in this. Maybe he prosecuted or persecuted them. Maybe he won an election they lost. Maybe he just has more personal and professional success. Now, things have changed. And they probably enjoy that.

But taking joy in someone else's pain is usually a bad move. It'll only come around to you.

Your life is as good as your character.

The week ahead

2008-03-10T16:16:00.000-07:00

Maybe I shouldn't feel guilty about the sacrilege that will be the Easter Shot Hunt on Palm Sunday. After all, Palm Sunday is a moveable feast, and we will be moving as we hunt for shots. Likewise, our new tradition can move with the seven days before Easter, just as Palm Sunday does.

Plus, I'm sure I've committed worse sacrilege--like losing the V-Card on a Good Friday. (I've heard all the jokes. But you can give it another shot. I like to be amused. Just not, "How good was your Friday?" That's lame.) It's one of my favorite stories to tell, but I don't know if I should do it in a blog or not. And I was a college freshman, which was nearly 10 years ago. And I really don't need another reminder that I'm not 19 anymore. So...

The week ahead will be interesting. I'm going to be juggling the religious with the sacrilegious--by the way, does anyone else want $3 margaritas on Wednesday?

And while I'm so excited about new recipes, decorating EVEN MORE eggs with the kids, making baskets, filling baskets, hiding baskets, creating maps for hidden easter shots and buying the coveted chocolate Easter bunny for the winner of Easter Shot Hunt, I can't continue without giving my 2 cents on American Idol.

First of all, could Paula be any drunker this season? Seriously. Is Harry making her drinks--8 parts liquor, 1 part splash of soda? And could all of the judges talk over each other a little bit more? You're on air, folks! We can't hear even ONE of you if you're ALL talking at the same time!

I don't know why they continue to call this the best or most talented group ever because I fail to see how any of them are more talented than last year's group. Danny Noriega, who at least kept things interesting, is gone, which has disappointed many of us, I know.

On the girls' side, I really like Brooke White. She's a sweetie, and I think she's really consistent. She earned her spot, and I'm interested to see how far she goes. Carly Smithson can sing. I don't think we've really seen how she's different or unique, but she can sing. She'll be around for a while. I'm pretty much over it with the horse whisperer and rocker chic, who just growls all of her songs and pretends it's the blues.

The boys are loaded a little better than the girls so far. If you didn't already assume this, David Archuleta is one of my faves. He's such a sweet kid. I really believe that he wants to save the world, and I love that he's been putting a message out there since he auditioned. How adorable of a concept... I'm expecting good things from Michael Johns. I don't think he's been too impressive yet, but I have faith in him. Rocker David Cook blew him away last week with Lionel Richie's "Hello," but I think we'll see Cook struggle when they go into different genres that he can't rock out. That's when we'll see that Michael Johns is more versatile.

We love to have Idol parties in the Woodall house. It's fun to laugh and critique with friends and each other.

Ahem! I also love the idea of "Lipstick Jungle" parties. Please tell me more of you are starting to love this show! I promise if you're still just liking it, after you watch it with me, you will love it. Come over! We will do it up!

OK! It's now time to bake some yummy things to put in baskets...wish me luck!

Have a great week everybody! Love yinz!

10 Years Tomorrow

2008-03-08T12:45:00.001-08:00

In March 2004, I wrote a story for my previous email group, Cinnamon and Flowers, that was a sort of dedication to my grandparents' love on the 6th anniversary of my grandfather's death. As we reach 10 years without Pap, I thought it would be fitting to re-post the article I wrote on the same day four years ago. I'll love you always, Gram and Pap! --C
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Six Years Tomorrow
March 8, 2004

She stares at his picture every night at 9:30, when the trees are still arching their backs like young girls in a pinnacle moment. She's saying goodnight to the first and only man who gave her a pinnacle moment.

Tracing the familiar outline of his face, even through a photograph, he still makes her heart hold itself briefly when she looks at him.

"I could search the whole world over and never find another Jess," she said.

Steadily and simply, she returns the portrait of her late husband to its home on her nightstand, letting her fingers fall back to grasp emptiness--the same emptiness that has occupied the "other half of the bed" for the past six years.

It's easy to imagine her laying there at night, her own arm draped over the arch of her hip instead of the known touch of the man she was married to for more than five decades.

Sleep is only one thing that is different without him. Laundry loads are lighter, holidays are quieter, and the TV is only on for background noise.

"Even dinner tastes different sometimes after you shared it with the same person for so long," she said.

So long is "52 years and 18 months. We dated for 18 months before he asked my daddy's persmission to marry me.

"He said we were going in the jewelry store because he wanted to buy me a string of pearls, but I knew what he was really up to, " she said, smiling the same girlish grin she must have worn the day he added a ring to her outfit.

Jess was the one in uniform though, as an army sergeant stationed in Europe during WWII. It was during his six-year stay there that he met Matilda Dargie--a Scottish-born girl without a middle name, a girl who loved to dance.

"When I was with him I forgot altogether about the war or why I was working in a factory [to help build airplanes]. We just went to dances and visited the English countryside when he was off. He was my sweetie."

There is no doubt their story is her favorite to tell, and that her memories provide comfort and laughter through yet another time of global disharmony.

"Oh my goodness, and I was wearing these pink rain boots and one of those, you know, Betty Crocker dresses when I met him while he was proper in his soldier's uniform," she said. "And oh my how he hated to dance. I tell you I don't know how he put up with me. A waltzing Matilda...I really was!"

But he would only know her as his "Tilly", and he came to love her as a beautiful lady, his dutiful wife and mother of their five children.

In the quiet moments she has now without him, she is reminded of the placidity they shared for four years before they had their first child. She remembers the nights when it was just the two of them, planning which house they would make a home or, more commonly, what she would make for supper the next day.

"My Jess was good to me," she said, making it clear that when she was one with him she somehow felt closer to herself.

Then babies made seven, dinners got bigger, housecleaning took longer and money grew thinner.

"And can you believe out of all those years we only had two fights," she said. "Couples today seem to fight all the time...and over problems that would've been luxuries to us then. I know there were two, but I only remember one of them."

She was 9 months pregnant, due any day, with their fifth child, and he wanted to travel four hours north for a fishing trip. Ironically, she was also frying fish when he announced plans of his forthcoming sojourn.

As family legend has it, it didn't take long for her to swing around with her delicate, 5'9", 130 lb. frame (and that was pregnant) to hurl a cast-iron skillet toward him and promise, "This is the only fish you're going to have."

And it certainly was.

"I made sure it didn't hit him though," she laughed, making sure the whole world knew hurting him was always the last thing she would ever do.

"We had such a great time together, even when we had our two fights. Being married to Jess, our life together, the family we created, was just the best part of my 80 years. I tell you I can't believe it'll be six years tomorrow. It doesn't feel that long. But I guess it's true that a part of a person stays with you even after they pass on.

"Who could forget him though? He was such a character," she said, as rainwater and melting snow burst from a stormdrain outside.

Good thing she still has those pink rainboots.

My friend Easter Shot Hunt

2008-03-07T19:07:00.000-08:00

My friend Joel once wrote a something about a girl, and one of the lines was, "I'm raising my hand in class because I know all the answers, and they all begin with your name." It was beautiful. And, well, after dinner tonight, Jes, Lou and I--especially Lou--couldn't stop answering things without saying "Easter Shot Hunt." It's not beautiful. But it's original, and it's the best idea we've ever had. Make of that what you will. It will probably just be me, Lou, Jes, Larry and presidential candidates Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, but we've grown to accept the things we cannot change.

Here's the description, per our Facebook event invite:

Hello, America:

There's an important, national race going on, but the most difficult challenge is this--finding shots under plastic, pastel Easter eggs throughout Candy's house and then following it up with a brunch, Irish coffee and Monty Python. There will be three-to-five types of shots offered, all hidden throughout the house. Whoever finds and consumes the most shots wins a chocolate bunny. Afterward we will sober up, and press up, with a brunch of eggs (duh!), ham, bread products, tater tots and Irish coffee (OK, maybe we were wrong about the sobering up part). Following that, we will watch Monty Python--a good, Christian Easter movie. You won't want to miss this! It's an original idea and the best idea that Jes, Lou and Candy have ever had. Bring your top friends, bring your non-top friends and, most importantly, bring your game.

My friend Jim Cromie once told me that his mother took her Catholicism so seriously that she wouldn't eat meat on ANY Friday--even beyond Lenten. Today I realized I'm becoming his mom, even though I'm not Catholic. I, too, equate the fish sandwich with absolution. The more fish I eat, the more balanced my sin. I'm not alone, Friends. Many good folks line up at church social halls to get their oversized fish on an undersized bun. Some places take it a step further. In fact, there's a bingo hall--not naming names--that has a BYOB Fish Fry. People drink beer from coolers and eat fish sandwiches wrapped in foil. Others partake in the 2 filet-o-fish meal at McDonald's. Hey, it may be gluttony, but AT LEAST THEY'RE NOT EATING THE BODY OF CHRIST!

If people put half as much concern into anything else as their fish fry, the world would change immensely. Think about it: What would happen if people exercised every Friday, or made a new friend every Friday, or wrote a love letter every Friday. This is my next Facebook event. This is my first book: One Fish Sandwich away from Heaven.

My friends Friends reminded me of the special events coming up--St. Patrick's Day, Easter Shot Hunt, Easter weekend, Pirates opener, an April wedding, the most important interview of my life, Cinco de Mayo party, Larry's birthday, the beach vaca, Lou's birthday/going away party/not really, Red Wyko & Blue, NYC trip with the girl(s), California weekend, an August wedding, our anniversary, a September wedding, and then the fall holiday/birthday scene starts over again. I'm looking forward to all of them, and to all of the special days in between! :-)

My friend (and mom) Miss Linda reminded me that it's daylight savings this weekend! And now I'm reminding all of you! Who says I'm not useful?

My friend (and daughter) Cienna shared her genius again today during the following family conversation.

Larry: Do you know how many times I read Sleeping Beauty last night?
Me: Wow. What's that like? I can only imagine what you sound like while you read fairytales. It's probably like Eeyore reading a fairytale.
Larry: Can't you get her a book about the Penguins?
Cienna: I have that, Dad. They sit on the eggs, you member?
Larry: Uggghhh. Yeah.
Cienna: Are you mad like my friend, Daddy? My friend was mad at school last night.
Me: Not last night, honey. Yesterday.
Cienna: My friend was mad at school yesterday because she was sad because she said we weren't playing with her.
Me: Even grown-ups have those days.
Cienna: I always play with her. I always play with my friends.
Me: I believe you. I know you do.
Cienna: Do you ever make your friends cry, Mommy?
Me: I'm sure I have.
Cienna: Why?
Me: I don't know. Because we make poor life choices sometimes.
Cienna: You made a mistake, Mommy?
Me: Yeah, I really did.
Cienna: Did your friend forgive you, Mommy?
Me: She claims to. But no. I mean, we'd be talking, hanging out, calling, writing, being friends if we were friends, right?
Cienna: My teacher says to forgive, Mommy.
Me: Your teacher is right, Cici.
Cienna: Mommy, will your friend every forgive you?
Me: Not until she realizes it wasn't a question of loyalty. It was a matter of actual health. Or maybe I'm just an idiot.
Cienna: Mommy, did you say you were sorry? My teacher says we're 'poughsta' say sorry.
Me: She doesn't want me to say sorry. It wouldn't change anything. What she wants is what she had a long time ago, and nobody could give that to her. Plus, she's enjoying the alternative too much--not being friends, me not being friends with her friends who also were becoming my friends, all of which is destroyed now. She probably thinks I'm suffering, and that is justice in her mind.
Cienna: Are you suffering, Mommy? What's suffering?
Me: Suffering is like sad. I'm OK. It doesn't hurt like it used to. I used to be sad for your dad because he learned a tough lesson--one that surprised all of us. But the thing about lessons is they make you stronger if you choose to learn from them. And it inspired us to reach out more to our other friends. And the mistakes we made with our old friends are mistakes we can avoid with our new friends.
Cienna: My teacher says we all make mistakes.
Me: Yes. You'll grow to find out that we're all remarkably the same. I learned that the hard way. We all want the same things. We all need the same things. Some of us hide it better. It's a lot like Sleeping Beauty and your other books. They have happy endings, right? They all start out like young boys, girls or animals, and they grow into sad, educated creatures until they find love. They get sad if they think they're going to lose that love. Their friends and families help them, and they live happily ever after.
Cienna: Sleeping Booty has a blue dress. Cinnarella has a pink dress.
Me: Yep. But they both wear dresses.
Cienna: You have a dress, and your friend has a dress. That's the right fing, Mommy?
Me: Yep. We're just two girls, who both wear dresses, who both make mistakes.
Cienna: Did you forgive her like the right way?
Me: There was never a question of my forgiveness. In fact, I'm the only one who they can't seem to forgive.
Cienna: That's silly.
Me: Yep. But sometimes when people are hurting, they want other people to hurt. When they can't forgive, that's how you know they're hurting about something, usually some type of loss or inability to get what they want out of their lives. And if it makes those people feel better to think they're hurting me, so be it. It's on them. That's their emotional response. That's what's going on in their lives, not mine. I've distanced myself from all that. Sometimes that's the only option.
Cienna: Did you friend ever hurt your feelings?
Me: Yes.
Cienna: How'd she do that?
Me: We were at a party with girls, like how you have play dates, and another friend said that I looked skinny, which I clearly was not. But the girl was trying to acknowledge my weight loss from having your brother and working out. And the friend whom I thought was my closest of all of them couldn't keep a straight face. She actually had to bite her lips to keep from laughing I think.
Cienna: What did you do?
Me: I just kept working out. I kept losing weight. And I'll keep on doing it because I have the love and support of real friends and people who care about me.
Cienna: You're pretty, Mommy.
Me: You're full of unconditional love, and you're much too clever for your age! I've got my hands full!
Cienna: Clever? What's clever?
Me: It's being smart in a fast way.
Cienna: I like smart.
Me: Hopefully this conversation didn't stop that. Do you think you learned anything from our talk, Cici.
Cienna: I don't fink so. Grown-ups are like little kids, I fink.

Seriously. I'm astonished daily.

My friend Jonathan is the most forgiving person I know. I became frustrated with him once and told him off. Later, when I realized that, true to form, I said too much, I apologized and asked if he forgave me. He said, "Candy, I forgave you before it happened." And it was true.

Here's hoping we all have a little more of that in our lives.

I love Yinz,
Candy

Most valuable thing in Wal-Mart

2008-03-04T18:57:00.000-08:00

We first saw them in the linens. I was looking at valances, wishing that sage was the same universal shade shared by all manufacturers. She was looking at Cars bedding. My children were both sitting inside the shopping cart. Her little boy was walking beside her through the aisle, touching all of the blankets and pillows he could reach.

They both seemed very happy, very pleasant, taking comfort in each other and an afternoon of browsing. Both were incredibly adorable with bright smiles, light hair and blue eyes.

We smiled the mom smile at each other, which is similar to that wave that bus drivers and jeep owners share. And I couldn't help but notice that her spirit seemed as bright as her smile. Her love for her child was so obvious and plenty that she even seemed to hide it between her teeth.

She said hello, and we spoke for a few brief moments. Mostly about character shows and how you unavoidably hum theme songs while doing laundry.

But then we passed, and I never expected to see them again.

We found our way to frozen foods and nearly had a head-on cart collison with a woman who was clearly drugged up like I've never seen someone drugged up in Wal-Mart. And that's saying a lot because I grew up near a Westmoreland County Wal-Mart where young adults liked to walk off their weed after midnight.

But this wasn't weed. After seeing her companion, who could barely keep his eyes open, and taking notice of the way she didn't want to look at anyone, I reasoned it might be heroin. In the interest of honesty, I felt uncomfortable being in the same place as them. Just the way everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, and downward, in their lives made me not want to be part of their environment.

Then I thought I might be overreacting. Then another woman, holding a bag of frozen corn, must've read both my face and mind, and said, "I just hate to see that. How do you become a junkie? These candidates fighting today better starting fighting to stop the drug problem in this country." Then I knew I wasn't alone if I was overreacting.

Moments later, in my attempt to get out of that environment, I made my way to the baking supplies and saw the family from linens. The little boy was reasoning with his mother that, even though he doesn't like strawberries, he would like strawberry cake. Cienna said, "I don't like strawberries eeever."

The little boy's response?

"I don't have a dad."

And we all stopped shopping for a minute.

"Aw, buddy, but you have a Junior and that's just as good," his mother said.

"Yeah," he said.

His mother and I both had tears in our eyes.

"Aw, buddy, you're making me sad."

Cienna, as always, was a voice of reason.

"I didn't have a daddy eeever til I was 2. Now I'm 4. I had a mommy since I was this many," she said, making a zero with her hand.

"Me too. I'm gonna be 5," he said.

"Maybe when you're 5 you'll get a daddy. Wanna play with me?" she said.

Amidst play dates, friendships were starting, but mostly I was just feeling like a proud mom. We can all stand to learn something from the children we love--like reaching out when people need us.

Conversations, which may or may not have been recent

2008-03-03T19:15:00.000-08:00

Immortal Wisdom from Saved by the Bell

MaleFriend: Hey! Some people go skiing to ski, some people go to talk about you. Guess that makes you interesting.
Friend1: Or them very sad. But at least they continue to prove me right.
Friend2: I totally thought you were going to use the Jessica Spano line about "if you're going to share a brain, get one that works."
---------------------------------------------------------------
Sexless dating

Girlfriend1: So I'm listening to this thing on the Today show about sexless dating...
Girlfriend2: Why is the Today show on at 2 o'clock?
Girlfriend1: Um, I dunno, because Passions isn't?
Girlfriend2: So who dates without having sex?
Girlfriend1: At least this one woman. She says it has enriched her life, even though she has had many failed relationships...
Girlfriend2: They failed because she wasn't banging them.
Girlfriend1: This other lady says it's OK to have sex on the first date or not for years, that it's up to the woman to decide.
Girlfriend2: What does the sexless lady say?
Girlfriend1: That you can't find permanence in impermanence.
Girlfriend2: Maybe they should've left Passions on
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Freedom

Hotel Patron 1: What brings you to Youngstown?
Hotel Patron 2: Freedom.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lipstick Jungle

Girlfriend1: Did you start watching Lipstick Jungle like you promised?
Girlfriend2: Yes, it's pretty good
G1: Yeah, the only real weak link is Andrew McCarthy. It's just hard for me to wrap my head around him as some suave billionaire. A starving journalist, searching for the meaning of life in St. Elmo's Fire--believable. A douche bag with a best friend named Blaine in Pretty in Pink--believable. Surly in Weekend at Bernie's--believable. A billionaire dating Victory Ford, who is so hot, not so much.
G2: That Kirby guy is de-lish!
G1: You know, I often find myself watching that show for the visual effects, as well. I love the fashion, the set, the New York backdrop. And that's actually not why I watched Sex and the City. I really watched that show for the great writing. That show was really well written. LJ is very very predictable, even more so than SATC, but with far less witty moments. But how do you not love these lead girls.
G2: Do you feel like you related to SATC more because it was mostly about being single when you were single, and LJ is mostly about being married while you are married?
G1: Not at all. In fact, I was highly annoyed--and still am--with the number of girls who thought they were Carrie Bradshaw while that show was running. But I can't ignore that this show is targeted at the demographic who loved SATC and grew up with it, and now a lot of those people are getting married and all that.
G2: Do you think it's realistic? Is that Niko-Kirby storyline realistic of an affair? How do you know you'd never have an affair?
G1: I think it's realistic in that affairs happen every day. I think it's unrealistic in that the writting is pretty unoriginal and extremely predictable--not creative at all there. Also, the cheaters are never as hot as Niko and Kirby. And I know I'd never have an affair because it's a mistake you can't take back or make up for. It just hangs over a relationship forever. And did you hear what Wendy said about intimacy? So true. Once you have and achieve true intimacy, you don't want to give it up or rebuild it with someone else. It takes time to get to that point with someone. And unless you have it, you have no idea what I mean. It's a lot about being able to, and being comfortable enough, to share everything. I mean, everything. Not to mention that when you respect and love someone, you don't do that shit.
G2: We should have a Lipstick Jungle party.
G1: We definitely will.
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Bullshit and inspiration

Person in Youngstown1: Can you ever remember being this inspired?
Person in Youngstown2: Yes. But not by a politician.
PiY1: Do you think any of it's bullshit?
PiY2: Do you know anyone who has led without a certain amount of bullshit?
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Dress-up

Candy: Why do you have three sets of Mardi Gras beads on, and why are there stickers wrapped around each of your fingers like tribal tattoos?
Larry: Cienna and I are playing dress-up.
Candy: Oh.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One for the books

2008-03-01T13:03:00.000-08:00

A college friend once told me that he wanted to write a book about all the women he had ever met, that he felt lucky to have known so many great ones who had inspired or changed him in some way--regardless of how slight it may have been.

I didn't bother telling him that it had been done, or that a better story might come from Amanda and me because, while the cast of characters we have known haven't always been "inspiring" per se, they have certainly been unforgettable. It is the first of many of our imaginary collaborations.

And I couldn't write that without including Dr. John Rankin, best known to many of you as the reverend who baptized Cienna and married Larry and me. He died early this week. Upon hearing the news, my first thought was selfish. "Did he know how much he had done for me? The strength he gave me when I was a single mother? The wonderful words of advice he shared during meetings before our marriage that Larry and I still talk about?" It definitely felt like the loss of family.

I've been given two pieces of advice that I think are important to share. The first comes from my aunt when I told her how I was feeling about the loss of this man, who was known to some of us as The Rev. She said, "I don't think you had to make a special point of telling him how thankful you were right before he died. His whole life was about sharing the love of Christ and doing things that would make you feel thankful. It was his calling."

The second came a long time ago from Joanne Grimes, following the death of a high school friend. Her son and I were both taking this death hard, and she said, "You have to live a little more each day." I found that advice particularly comforting, and I let that guide me. I learned to really live in the moment and appreciate each day I was given. It's a way of honoring the time my friend did not have. So I live a little more each day for her, and she's in good company.

I know The Rev didn't just touch my life. He touched so many lives in so many ways, including that of my husband and children. How special it is to me to remember the conversation I had with him about Larry, telling him I was going to be married, asking if he'd officiate the ceremony.

"He's just a good guy, you know. And you really do know when you know because when it's the right person there's no room to question the love. You just wake up every day sure of it. Like instinct," I said.

"Well, get him in here, and we'll have a little talk, and we'll see if I can approve," The Rev said jokingly.

I think it's different, special, when the reverend who marries you is one who watched you come of age--to see you through your failures and triumphs, and then to see you on the happiest day of your life. For a girl who didn't have much of a relationship with her father, it was nice to have a man there who watched me grow up.

Larry and I met with him a few times, talking about what marriage is, what it means and how it should not be entered lightly. Not bad advice for two people who pretty much went from being hookups to hitched.

The Rev's advice was unique. It was Christian in base, but he couldn't help but draw from his decades of experience in marriage to his wife Barbara. There was no question, simply by the way he spoke her name, how much he was in love with her after so many years. He'd frequently say, true to his playful nature, "Even at 70-something, she has the sexiest legs I've ever seen." It was a beautiful love--the kind that comes from spending more of your life with each other than without, and never growing tired of someone's presence in your space.

I haven't said this before to anyone, but The Rev asked Larry a question during one of those meetings: "Why do you want to marry this girl? What makes her the one over any other girl you've been with or known?"

And Larry, who surprisingly spoke as relaxed as if the two were sharing a beer together, said, "Because I've never wanted to spend every day with someone the way I do with her. It's fun with her even when it's not supposed to be, and I just know."

To be honest, I may not have been sure until I heard him say that and just...felt the truth--maybe for the first time in my whole life.

"And what about you, young lady? You always said you didn't want to get married. What about him changed your mind?"

"Him. He changed my heart. I didn't want to get married to anyone. I didn't care about the dress or the registry or the colors. I still don't. None of those things make for a lasting relationship. But I want to wake up with him every day and know it's right. I want to build things with him--a family, a savings account, a retirement fund, photo albums full of family vacations and birthdays and memories. For a girl who never really trusted in marriage or forevers, he's inspired me to believe in both. And the most intimate relationship I've ever shared has been with God, and I want to share that with Larry now, and that's really why I'm here," I said.

Of course my answer was long. Luckily, I wrote it down in my journal that day so I could share it again here.

And for that moment, we all had tears in our eyes. Instinctively I knew that The Rev was remembering when he and Barbara were that young, just starting to chart their course. And Larry and I were hoping and praying that our life together would be as full, and right, as his and Barbara's had been.

We talked a lot during our meetings, and I'd like to share the three things I think of most often.

He said:

"Whenever there is a problem in a marriage, it's in one of two places--the bank or the bedroom."

"Never tell anyone about your sex life. If you want to feel a cold bedroom, buddy, that's the way to do it."

"Say thank you. For the big things, for the little things, every day."

I still laugh to this day, remembering how many times Larry said "thank you" that morning after we left The Rev. He still says "thank you" a lot, just not every 10 minutes.

After we were married, between photos and more photos, the ceremony and the reception, The Rev called me into his office and gave me a copy of my marriage license and the verses in the ceremony. I still look at those things from time to time, along with the photos, and remember the day we said "I do" which I like to refer to as "the day we did." I think of how far we've come. I think of all the changes we've endured. I think of how close we felt that day and how much closer we are now. I think of what it really means to be intimate with someone. I think of love.

And I'm so glad The Rev was there when it all began--for me, and for my marriage. To say I'll never forget him is an understatement. I think of him every time I say or hear two important words: "thank you."

Thank you, Rev.

Q&A with Joe Pontillo

2008-02-25T17:01:00.000-08:00

Joe is a writer in Los Angeles and movie enthusiast.

Joe, I thoroughly enjoyed your live Twitter updates during the Oscars last night, and I just wanted to talk to you a bit and take the opportunity to share your thoughts with my friends and readers.

My comments, however, became less intelligent as the evening went on and I consumed more spiked diet 7-up. Strange how that happens.

Joe: I spent the Oscars sober, which is unusual considering it was a weekend night.

1. We've heard a lot today about how funny or not-funny the Oscars were, how beautiful or boring the dresses were, and how Javier Bardem's speech was the most moving--and it was in Spanish! What's your overall assessment of last night's show? A general view is fine, as we can talk specifics later.

All I can say is that I wish I had learned more in my Spanish classes in college other than "hamburguesa"--my thanks to you, Amanda.

Joe: I thought they put on a good show this year. There's been worse,there's been better. I didn't feel like there were any classicmoments -- no Billy Crystal inserting himself into movies, nostreakers, no inflammatory political speeches. Pretty tame. Butthere were some well-deserved wins, some genuinely heartfeltacceptances, and the show moved at a pretty good pace which is alwaysthe best way to do it.

2. How about that Jon Stewart? What were his best moments? His off moments?

Joe: Jon Stewart is an excellent host. He had a lot to do with the factthat the show moved at a great pace. I wish there would have beenmore of his Daily Show brand of humor. That show makes me laugh outloud at least six times per half hour. Can't quite say the same aboutthe Oscars. His best moment by far was when he brought the BestOriginal Song winner back on stage to deliver the speech she'd beencut off from giving. I don't really think he had any "off moments."I mean, a few jokes didn't land, but that's completely normal. Can'twin 'em all.

3. Please explain to those who aren't as "in the know" as you how much time it typically takes to plan a successful Oscar night and how much time they had this year, given the writers' strike.

Joe: I don't know as much about putting on the Oscars as I do, say, a typical TV show or movie. Needless to say, they usually use more time than they did this year. From what I've read, the writers seem to getto work as soon as the nominees are announced. As far as whenproducers start planning the show, my educated guess would be thatthey're hard at work a good six months ahead of Oscar night,redesigning the stage, planning production numbers, editing montages,stuff like that. As much as I love all this movie stuff, I've neverdone much studying on how the Oscars actually get produced. I just sit back and watch the show.

4. What's the deal with Jack Nicholson? Is he becoming that guy in the gym who wears sunglasses while working out? Or can he do anything and make it fashionable because he's Jack Nicholson?

Joe: Wearing sunglasses indoors and/or at night is nothing new for Jack.At this point, it's probably just happened. Why did he start? I'msure it had something to do with his delicate eyes getting burnt outunder those harsh movie lights. But the real reason is probably justbecause he can. It's his non-verbal way of saying, "Eff you. I'mJack effing Nicholson."

5. Some have said Julie Christie deserved a win last night. Some have said Denzel Washington deserved to be nominated for his performance in "American Gangster." What's your take?

Joe: Who said these things? No one near me. If there's one thing theAcademy often does that I hate, it's give sympathy awards to peoplejust because they've been around for a while. If Julie Christie hadwon, that would have been the reason. I didn't see "Away from Her,"and probably never will. Why? Every indication I have is that themovie was just mediocre. Good first effort for Sarah Polley, but notgreat. (I certainly encourage her to keep going. I'm sure her nextmovie will be better.) I'm sure Christie's performance was fine.She's been doing fine since the '70s. Sorry to be cynical, but shewas nominated as a reward for making her first serious effort in 20years. Same with Hal Holbrook. Don't feel bad for them. They'veboth had great careers.Likewise with Denzel. Despite how great his performance may have been(I also have no plans to see "American Gangster"), the movie was adud. You simply don't get nominated for movies that make peopleshrug. Denzel just had a big win a few years ago; he's doing just fine.

6. Did you see the Barbara Walters special before the Oscars? If so, what did you think of Harrison Ford's interview? If not, did you at least attend Prince's afterparty? Sean Combs was there.

Joe: On the west coast, we get Barbara Walters' pre-Oscar special AFTER theOscars. That's just how we roll. Represent! I watched it passivelywhile cleaning up and getting ready for bed. At this point in hercareer, I'm sorry, Barbara Walters is a lightweight interviewer. Thatbeing said, I thought her Vanessa Williams interview went pretty well.

Harrison Ford gave a fine interview. Nothing about it is sticking outin my mind at the moment. Again, just to be cynical, he was clearlygranting this interview as part of his obligation for promoting theupcoming Indiana Jones movie. And if there's any question about that,Barbara herself pointed out that this was the first interview he'sdone in, what did she say, 11 years? He clearly doesn't care forinterviews, but he was a gentleman about it.

7. You seemed very happy last night when "Once" got the nod for best song. Did you like "Once" that much, or were you just that annoyed that "Enchanted" got three nominations?

Joe: I'm not annoyed by "Enchanted." I haven't seen it yet, but I will.Everybody seems to have been charmed by it. So, while I can't make adirect comparison between the two movies at this time, the answer isyes, I loved "Once" that much. It's a simple story, straight from theheart. You fall in love with the characters, and you just want themto be happy. And the songs are great. Most people would love thismovie, but they just don't know it exists. "Enchanted" had thebenefit of Disney's powerhouse marketing department. "Once" needspeople to tell their friends and family about it.

8. They put on a sort of sentimental show last night, showing many clips throughout the show's 80 years. Of all of the special moments in Oscar history, which one was your favorite and why?

Joe: Oh, wow. I'm still pretty young for a question like that, right? I've only seen so many Oscar telecasts in my lifetime. Other thanthat, you just see the same ten to 15 clips over and over again, youknow? (From what I understand, the Academy is very stingy aboutlicensing clips from the Oscars. I couldn't possibly imagine why.)That being said, some of my best Oscar memories are from the mid-90s.This may just be nostalgia for my formative years, but I smile atmemories of Whoopie Goldberg in Queen Elizabeth makeup, Billy Crystalsinging about nominees to the tune of "Fascinating Rhythm," "Show Methe Money" and whatnot. The "year of the indies" - I think it was'96. Or that one year when, no matter what camera they cut to, KeanuReeves would turn and stare directly into it. Maybe I'm getting alittle vague here.

9. Heath Ledger's name and photo came at the end of the memorial tribute, and then it went dark. Would you have liked to have seen an audience reaction after his name, considering he was the youngest movie star to have died in the last year?

Joe: Are you sure Brad Renfro wasn't younger? And did you notice that BradRenfro did not appear in the tribute at all? Quite an insulting oversight.

Not only did I not want to see the audience reaction to Heath Ledger,I actually find it distasteful that they leave the audiencemicrophones on during these yearly tributes. That turns it into apopularity contest: which dead person are we giving the most applauseto? Who deserves our love in the afterlife the most? The only audioyou should hear during the tribute is the musical accompaniment.

10. If you were to only win one Academy Award throughout your career, which one would it be and why? Which one would matter to you most personally and why?

Joe: Costume design.

Ok, seriously, this is an uncomfortable question to be asked. I'm notgoing to pretend I don't dream about getting nominated for or winningan Academy Award. But I also don't want people to know just how muchtime I spend thinking about it, and how frequently I do a mental draftof my acceptance speech.Since you asked, I would hope to be a contender for either writing ordirecting. They would be equally important to me.

I'm sure it feels great to have a huge group of people tell you you're good at something you love to do.

About a Boy

2008-02-23T14:22:00.000-08:00

Dear Tyler,

Among the many things I've learned from you and your sister, my favorite is this: how a person comes into this world is how they go through it.

For example, my pregnancy with your sister was healthy, easy and beautiful, but her entrance happened much faster than we expected. She seemed so determined to get into this big world. And by the time you are able to read this, you will have learned that Cienna is a girl who gets what she wants--whether through work or charm.

My mother, your Nana, tells me that she had a short labor with me as well, and I was born in front of a class of medical students. Maybe that's why I'm as comfortable with an audience and enjoy communicating so much.

You didn't seem to want a disruption in your environment. Not only were you very late (which you obviously get from me), you were looking up, so your head wasn't in position for a traditional delivery. Thus, you entered the world via c-section.

And I knew the first time I saw your cute, little face and beautiful, big eyes that you would be just like your daddy--that you would grow up to be the kind of man who just wouldn't go away. I knew that you would grow up to be as loyal as he is, never capable of abandoning what you love, physically or emotionally.

The front-page headline that day, above the fold (don't worry--we'll talk someday about why that matters), said "Don't look down," and I thought that was funny because you were born the way you were because you wouldn't look down.

(I'm also proud to say that the Sunday paper was the first thing I read to both you and your sister when you were born. You were both born on Saturdays, so it worked out!)

Even though it made for a longer recovery, I have to admit that the eternal optimist in me was very proud that her son wouldn't look down. I can only hope you hold onto that bravery and hope throughout life's challenging moments. In the end, that's what will always get you through.

There's so much opportunity in life. And throughout most of your life you're going to hear people talking about what it means to be smart. Some say it's standardized test scores. Some say it's grades. Some say it's SAT scores. Some say it's what college you go to. Some say it's how much money you make. But what really makes you smart is what you do with all of your opportunities. Smart choices lead to success.

Allow me to ruin the suspense: you won't always make the smart choices. Nobody gets it right 100 percent of the time. (Your mom has seemed to work on a 70/30 plan.)

But what makes that OK is that you have a family that loves you unconditionally. We will always be here for you--wherever here is. You are our priority. When you dream, we will dream with you.

However, we promise not to dream for you. It's important to us that you always follow your heart. There's no healthy aspiration that would ever disappoint us. So as you chart your course, be sure to embrace and appreciate the support system you have. Sometimes all that separates a dream from a dream come true is the right support system.

To be honest, I'm more afraid of failing you somehow. I'm scared that I'll one day run out of answers to questions, or the right advice for moments when you can't be soothed with a lullaby or good book.

But how blessed am I to have memories of all those special hours with you, rocking you as I sang your favorite songs, most of which came from The Beatles: "Across the Universe," "Blackbird," "Yesterday," "Here Comes the Sun," "Hey Jude," "Mr. Tambourine Man" by Bob Dylan, "One" by U2" and "Wild Horses" by the Rolling Stones. I would just stare at you and sing, feeling totally amazed to be holding you in my arms.

I'm certain there's no greater gift in life than motherhood, regardless of how or when that graces a life. And coming from someone who doesn't really believe in luck, I sure do feel lucky to be your mom.

So as I get things ready for your first birthday party, gently crying in amazement that you were ever so tiny to fit into your first shirt and tossel cap, I know that before I can even imagine it I'll be writing about you graduating from high school in another cap and gown.

My wish is that between now and then, all of your birthdays, and all of your unbirthdays, will be filled with hope, peace, love, good health and happiness.

Love,
Mom

A Heart Full of Love

2008-02-20T18:47:00.000-08:00

When I was in high school, I had a pretty serious poetry phase. I read it, I wrote it, I loved it.

I still appreciate all that I read. What I wrote provides some amusing insight to how I was feeling at the time--much more than any of my journal entries ever have. But I very much prefer other genres of writing to poetry now in my adult life.

But there was a book of poems, "A Heart Full of Love" by Javan, that was among my adolescent favorites, and I kept thinking of that title during the walk to Mellon Arena for last night's Penguins game.

As we approached a homeless man with a cup, silently begging for money with his image, Larry started to pull out a dollar. I would've fainted if I wasn't so cold.

When we were in Chicago a year and a half ago, he complained about how annoying it was to be approached by homeless people outside of games while we were leaving Wrigley Field. I didn't argue with him or anything, but I simply said that I try to give when I can. If someone asks and I can, then I give. I know all about the arguments that these people may be buying drugs and booze and who knows what else, but maybe they're just buying baby food. I'd hate to support a harmful addiction, but I have the same odds of doing that simply by being an American consumer.

Larry put a dollar in the man's cup and said, "Coffee, not crack, buddy."

As we walked away, Larry said he felt kinda bad because the man's cup was empty. And I said, "Well, maybe he has a heart full of love."

And I kind of knew that, you know, that probably wasn't the case. But it was the first thing that popped into my head. And I thought of that poetry book again until we got "up the 'rena," as the Yinzers would say.

Even though I wasn't really thinking of poetry during the game, our seats were like poetry. My Jordan Staal bobblehead is poetry. The fact that I have such an amazing friend--who knows and understands my love for Jordan Staal and GAVE UP their center ice, front-row seats so that I could go on Jordan Staal bobblehead night-- is poetry. (The same amazing friend could argue that we were poetry when we sold them our Winter Classic tickets.)

Luckily we sat among wonderful people, and the young man to my right was as giddy as I was. You know I love my giddy people. At one point when people were angry that a certain ref continued to obstruct their view, my giddy neighbor said, "Eh, he's human. He makes human mistakes, right?"

And I thought of that book again. There's a line in there a lot like that. It was as though I was meant to think of that book for some reason. It was as though I was supposed to think of human mistakes, of which I'm guilty of many.

On the way home, I told Larry that I just feel different this year. In nearly two short months, I feel like I've learned so much. I've learned how little I actually know about what hurts and helps people. I've learned that good intentions don't really matter if it makes people cry themselves to sleep. I've learned that the people we like the best are sometimes the people we hurt the worst. I've learned that I should talk less and hug more. I've learned that I shouldn't parent my friends the way I parent my children.

Also, during the new year, I've reaffirmed a lot of what I already knew. I'm not afraid to start over. I have amazing friends--who are consistently there to remind me of my strength and my roots, who are there to share adventures in parenting, who are there to laugh and cry with--sometimes in the same 5 minutes, who are there to accept me for all of my human mistakes. I have happy, healthy children who have made my heart grow with a love that is unlike any other. I have an incredibly loving husband who ...if I ever cry myself to sleep, it will be in someone's arms. I have a mom I can tell anything to and a Mark who will share advice through Southern Fried Rock. I have inlaws and brothers and sisters who are the most dependable people I've ever known.

I have a heart full of love.

That man had a cup.

And somewhere along the Parkway West, I started to wonder how he must've lost everything else.

"I just hope it wasn't because somebody couldn't forgive him, Lar. I mean, I've screwed up so many times. I have knee-jerk reactions to too many things. I overthink, overanalyze, overcare. I talk when I should shut up. I've said hurtful things to hide sadness. I can be lousy. But I have incredible love despite that. I just wonder what he could have done so bad that made him unworthy of unconditional love," I said.

"You wonder about everyone. People are your thing," Larry said.

I did a story in college about homeless people, and it was just OK. Nowhere nearly as good as stories from the reporters who lived homeless for a month or so to get a real perspective. But I still remember the people I interviewed. I still remember their stories. I still remember how fragile stability can be and how quickly our life choices can determine our shelter. And the thing all of the people I interviewed had in common was regret. They had a life of love they left behind. And most of them did view it as them leaving, as so many admitted they had chose something--an addiction, another lover, a job, travel--over their loved ones.

At no point could I be so naive to believe they were all telling me the truth. But their regret--that was real. The lonliness, the emptiness, the homelessness was real. The heart full of love for all they had lost was real.

I thought that was powerful. That, even in the bitter cold temperatures when a frigid, subzero wind threatened their lives, what they wanted more than shelter was love.

"I think I would rather possess
Eyes that know no sight
Ears that know no sound
Hands that know no touch
Than a Heart
That knows no Love"

--Javan

Getting Lucky

2008-02-16T11:44:00.000-08:00

It's no secret that I tend to live my life holiday to holiday. I'm sure it was learned during my childhood when it seemed like the day after a holiday we were decorating for the next one.

So I'm gathering the shamrocks and Easter wreaths, debating if I should decorate for St. Patrick's Day or just Easter, which are sharing the same month this year. I enjoy both holidays. Both have meaning. I'm both Irish and Christian, which adds even more meaning.

I'm sure I'll just go with Easter. Since I was a little girl in Sunday School, I always loved the story of Easter. I loved the feeling of hope and new beginnings that it inspired. I loved the idea of being unconditionally loved and forgiven when I didn't deserve it. I loved being all dressed up with a pretty bonnet and matching purse, with the five bucks my Pap tucked inside. I loved the lillies everywhere and singing with my friends, as our parents looked at us with pride and wonder. I loved the egg hunt and Easter dinner that followed at my grandmother's house, and the baskets were beautiful and full of everything I would need for summer.

Days before Easter, I would dye and decorate the eggs with my grandparents, and Pap and I would shop for my Mom's and Grandma's baskets. I always picked white chocolate crosses for them, and I'd get my mom those little chocolate footballs that Sarris' makes. We played football on Atari a lot, so I guess I thought it was the perfect gift. I'd usually pick out some sunglasses for her and things we could use on summer vacations. My grandmother loved to knit, so I always bought her yarn and pattern books at Murphy's.

Now I'm all grown up with my own family, and I still enjoy those same traditions and the most amazing story of hope and love that has ever been told. We decorate eggs, fill and hide baskets, take lillies to the special ladies in our lives, and we still support Sarris when we pick chocolate for the baskets.

But St. Patrick's Day deserves attention as well--and I'm not talking about the kind that involves kegs and eggs or hours of public intoxication. Feel free to Google St. Patrick if you want to learn the history behind the holiday. There are always two things I take away from anything I've ever read. A lot of St. Patrick's life is unconfirmed by hard evidence, but the stories that were validated involve him being a missionary and helping others without expecting anything return. The other thing I remember is that he used the shamrock, with its three leaves, to teach people about the Holy Trinity.

The luck side of the holiday likely grew out of stories claiming St. Patrick prayed vigorously while he was held captive and finally "got lucky" and was set free to return to his family. Somehow that resulted in the "luck o' the Irish."

I'm mostly Irish and have never felt luckier than anyone else.

In fact, I don't think I'm someone who has really attributed success or failure to luck. I always think it's hardwork or a lack thereof, love or a lack thereof, ambition or a lack thereof, or the natural balance of life that results in our circumstances. As much as we'd like to blame or credit something else, it's really our own life choices that determine our fate. And that's a good thing because it actually gives us more power over our lives than if we just left it all to chance.

This has nothing to do with serendipty or religion--both of which I believe in. I believe in prayer. I believe in living for something greater than ourselves. I believe in being useful and helpful. I believe in asking and receiving.

But don't expect to receive if you never ask. And don't expect to get everything you ask for.

I think luck can truly be defined as receiving when you don't ask. But how often does that really happen? Even people who win the lottery tried to win.

So maybe luck is about beating odds that are against you. What's unusual about that? Many people beat those kind of odds every day.

Still, we have those amazing, impressive weeks when everything seems to go right--an amazing date, a promotion or raise, we snag the perfect apartment with the awesome neighbors, we avoid a speeding ticket even though we were clearly speeding, a shipment arrives earlier than you expected, and you're traveling out of town on the same Friday that you get paid.

Give it time, though, and sometimes those things will unravel.

For example...

During the beginning of summer 2001, I thought I was as lucky as a girl could get. On the final day of spring semester my sophomore year, I found out that I got an internship instead of a junior I expected might get it on age alone. I got an apartment that was just two blocks away from my best friends and a block away from all that Forbes Avenue in Oakland had to offer. And I could spend Sunday afternoons on Flagstaff, a beautiful hillside park with views of the city and a lot of frisbee.

But...

By mid-summer, I learned our landlord was an elderly woman who occasionally set things on fire, which was really unfortunate considering she lived below us. My internship, while providing me with vast writing opportunities and martini glasses, paid so little that I could barely afford bus fare and yogurt. And those beautiful Flagstaff views couldn't ease the pain of watching someone die of cancer.

Yet, by the end, I still felt lucky to live on That Street during That Summer. It was the kind of street where kids played guitars on rooftops and offered you a beer on your way home from work. And it was still only two blocks away from some of the best people I have ever known, who would share Dave and Andy's and great conversation to help me through the roughest days.

Lucky or not, I clung to the consistency of it all. The crowded bus at 7:40 a.m. The morning coffee at Seattle's Best. The phone messages waiting for me at my desk--that blinking red light that made me wonder if it was a compliment or a complaint. The budget meeting and the deadlines. The brown bag lunches at the Point, and the overpriced ones at the local grille. The walk home past the newly-built PNC Park, smiling at the enthusiastic Yinzers and holding onto images of dads with children on their shoulders, hoping I would have that someday. The really crowded bus at 5:43 p.m. The walk home, down from Fifth Avenue, across Forbes to Meyran, past the little tables outside the small restaurant, wondering what those people were talking about, wondering what their lives were like, wondering if wondering about it made me crazy or just destined for great things. The walk past the kids with guitars offering me beer, past the landlord's garden of unidentified vegetables, up to our second-floor apartment with cool throw pillows and a lot of plants. The walk to my friends, two blocks away, to watch "The Golden Girls" and "Friends" and to talk about our days--and the wise advice from BG that the Laxative and Coffee Diet was not a wise choice. The Eminem from Sib's room. The Aaliyah from upstairs. The laughing until bedtime. The prayers and wishes before sleeping that I wouldn't worry about things like bus money one day and would be blessed as one of those moms next to the dads with children on their shoulders, simultaneously hoping that I remembered to water the plants.

Nearly 7 years later (and isn't 7 supposed to be the luckiest number of all?), I feel like those prayers are being answered.

But some of it had to be luck because, when I look at my children, I feel like I got a lot more than I asked for or deserved.

The Greatest Love of All

2008-02-13T17:46:00.000-08:00

The other night Larry, Cienna and I watched "Gameplan" together. It's a Disney movie, starring "The Rock" and seems to emulate the life of Tom Brady, though it claims not to. The plot is pretty simple and unoriginal, but I still got teary a few times. Because, well, it's me and a Disney movie that we're talking about, and I'm a kid at heart. Basically, an egotistical football player's life is changed when he learns he has an 8-year-old daughter. But he doesn't realize that she's so important to him until she's no longer living with him. Magically, she returns just in time for him to win the big championship (aka Super Bowl), and they live happily ever after. Sorry if I spoiled that for anyone. (Somehow I just know Joe is laughing at me right now.)

While the little girl and her father were separated, Cienna put her head down and started to cry. But she was wiping her tears away quickly and acted like she wasn't crying. She kept saying, "Is her Daddy sad, Mommy? When is the little girl coming back?" I assured her that, this being a G-rated Disney movie and all, the girl would definitely be back, and everything would be OK. And it was.

But in that moment of her sympathetic tears, which Larry and I both found precious and poignant, my heart paused. I realized that it wouldn't always be like that--the three of us tucked in together, with Larry and I on either side of her like book ends, protecting her from falling. There will (hopefully) be many other photos of us in the same order--her in a ballet recital costume between us, in a soccer uniform between us, a prom dress, a cap and gown, a wedding dress, holding a baby--but they are just reminders that my little girl is growing up. I know this is just one of many moments I'll have like this. I'll surely go through the same with Ty.

It's these experiences that make me feel the magnitude of parenting. One wrong piece of advice, and I may give my children a false sense of perspective on something.

I'm one of those people who believe family is everything. It's the most important foundation there is. You can give a child money, the best education, the best clothes, the best nutrition and the best shelter, but if they don't have a loving and stable family, the rest won't matter. Materialism will never replace the gift of someone's time. And if you don't get enough attention from your parents, you'll never feel like you're getting enough attention from anyone.

I don't subscribe to the theory that a perfect parent exists. I think we can offer perfect love--which can only be perfect if it's unconditional. We can offer perfect care--which is to say we are meeting the needs of our children. But I don't think it's ever possible to be a perfect example simply because we are all flawed. In that case, I just try to teach them to rebound from their mistakes with dignity, honesty, courage, forgiveness and the wisdom to avoid that mistake again. I work on these things daily.

Even though I'm painfully aware that my own weaknesses will cause me to fall short with them one day, my hope is the love I've given them and will continue to give them will be what matters most in the end. Regardless of how old they are, Larry and I will always have enough space between us for them whenever they need a hug. Whenever they need to know that it will be OK. We'll get through it together.

Because the greatest love of all is that of a family.

That's What Friends Are For

2008-02-09T12:22:00.000-08:00

A friend from work, who also went to the same college as me, shared a couple memories with me the other day. One of his memories, I was familiar with. The other, I was just learning of.

The first thing he shared was about, what I consider to be, the remarkable manner of my dear friend E.T. He was one of the most loving, sentimental and passionate men I've ever met. He was passionate about our local sports teams, music, his roots and whomever had his heart. A broadcast journalism major and student government president, he was a talent that loved our school and its teams. One of his last radio broadcasts was during a men's basketball playoff that our Pioneers lost. Gone were our hopes that we would return to Branson for the national championship (and another opportunity for the players to believe they'd meet Nelly). E.T. got all choked up at the end of our loss, and his co-commentator, MadDawg (seriously), finished the broadcast alone saying, "I guess all good things come to an end." My friend asked if I thought E.T. got choked up about the game or that it was his last broadcast. I said it was definitely both, but mainly that it was his last broadcast. Up to that point, college was definitely the best time of all of our lives. And to this day, it's definitely one of the most memorable. It's near the top of the list of incredible life experiences. My work friend went on to say that E.T. always wore a lucky PJ shirt under his dress shirt and the same tie. I never realized that, but I couldn't doubt it either. He was always loyal that way.

The other memory he shared was about one of my absences in a history class, which was a three-hour evening class every other week. My friend was in the same class, and our professor, the amazing Ed Meena, was taking roll, got to my name and said, "Oh, she's probably at the River City Inn." Who could argue that? Not to defend my absence or anything, but the class was "History of Pittsburgh," and, well, I knew where Point State Park was.

Anyway, my work friend and I were both laughing, and it sent me down a path of nostalgia that ended in an immensely thankful place. Because I've always known how lucky I am to have these friends, to have had fate bring us together in that school, during that time, to experience those experiences. We were all pretty inseparable in college, never taking for granted that one day all of that would change.

And it has changed.

We're all over the country, pursuing dreams, having families, doing what we set out to do when we first met. Gone are the days of playing drinking games like Kings in a dorm room. Now we're taking our kids to Kings for Frownies. (OK, so maybe that's just me.) But I promise you that, even though I always got stuck with that cup, the rewards of those losses are everlasting.

Our friendships are also everlasting. And the distance has only proven that. Even when they're not with me, they are, because so many things still remind me of them.

Like spring and the beginning of baseball season and the PJ/Globe wiffle ball matches. Light Up Night and The Happiest Night of the Year. Stadium implosions and new arenas that inspire Redneck Holidays. Thursdays. The very little Spanish I learned, but all the classes I remember. Come On Eileen and Dexy Eileen. Mary Beth and Evil Mary Beth. The Hobbit and Scraggly AssAss. The Quote Book and the immortal outgoing messages from 1624. My brown shoes and Amanda's brown shoes. Beating Cleveland and going to Cleveland. Not knowing our division had a national tournament and going to the national tournament. BGs making friends with baseball players and BGs making friends with Canadians. Pigs and roosters. The Thrust and The Khandaker: the two things most likely to be part of every student activity. Two BGs in a class and classes taught by two professors: how much can one room really handle. Dormal and Shathole. Estrogen that wasn't feminine. Leroy and Lohman. Flasks in inappropriate places. Stuck in an elevator with 15 dancers--all of whom were dancing. The breakfast sandwich of champions in the city of champions. Movies in Joe's room and movies in Zilla's room. Jimmy's and Sanremo's: a choice that always depended on the value of a dollar and inevitably resulted with Pepsi in a paper cup. Panic attacks and political rallies--especially when candidates ran unopposed. Living with Ed and Zilla and living with Cr. Sarah. Living with BG, living with MB and living with GKing. Cutting stories and needing stories. BrianEdEdBrian and MaryLouBeth. That Summer.

The list could go on forever. Just like my love for all of them.

Keeper of the Stars

2008-02-08T19:06:00.000-08:00

It's Friday, and I'm busy. But I hope you will enjoy this list of recommended love stories (and quotes with the top five) until I return with something like yesterday when I have more time.

Love Actually ("Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaking suspision love actually is all around." --Prime Minister)

When Harry Met Sally ("I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."--Harry Burns)

Say Anything ("She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen."--Lloyd Dobbler)

Breakfast at Tiffany's ("You could always tell what kind of a person a man thinks you are by the earrings he gives you." -- Holly Golightly)

Casablanca ("If that plane leaves the ground and you're not with him, you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life." -- Rick)

Annie Hall
Serendipity
Gone With the Wind
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
My Best Friend's Wedding
Dream for an Insomniac
The Wedding Planner
Dirty Dancing
Sweet Home Alabama
High Fidelity
Bridget Jones' Diary
Notting Hill
Pretty Woman
Ever After
Sleepless in Seattle
Some Kind of Wonderful
Last of the Mohicans
About a Boy
The Notebook
Fever Pitch
Sabrina
The Graduate
Titanic
Ghost
An Officer and a Gentleman
It's a Wonderful Life
City of Angels
Stepmom
Father of the Bride
The Bridges of Madison County
Jerry Maguire

P.S. I Love You

2008-02-07T17:57:00.000-08:00

Where better to do devote a week's worth of loving than on I Love Yinz? We're all about love here, right?!

Remember how on MySpace I overwhelmed you with Christmas posts for a month leading up to the holiday? OK, maybe it was more than a month. And remember how I used a holiday song title or lyric as the title of my daily blog? Yeah, I'm going to do that again. Only this time it is all about love.

As someone who recognizes the cheesy side of this man-made holiday, I cannot completely devote this to romantic love. So during the next week we will talk about the love of all kinds of things. Just as long as we're living and loving. (Imagine that last sentence in the voice of Matthew McConaughey.)

I plan to share lists of my favorite love songs, lists of my favorite romantic movies, love quotes, love poems and love stories. Most importantly, I invite you to share all of yours with me. It's up to you whether or not you want to share that in a comment on here, or if you want to email it or call and chat about it.

While I'm compiling these lists, I'm very aware that a lot of people out there don't enjoy Valentine's Day. Many times it has nothing to do with single or taken as much as it involves people complaining about "a holiday created by Hallmark." I'm not sure anyone should take it out on Hallmark. I enjoy the greeting card chain's ornaments, suncatchers and Yankee Candle specials too much to view it as some evil empire. Instead, I think people loathe it because of the pressure it can create for couples--as if some perfect gift or lack thereof can or will determine the quality of someone's relationship. When, really, I think we all know it's about what goes on during all of the other days of the year.

Or you side with me and think red stuffed bears with pink noses are treacherous little creations that should be banished along with all musical greeting cards playing "Unchained Melody." Don't get me wrong: "Unchained Melody" is a beautiful song but not when it is played by a miniature keyboard the side of an earring clasp.

I encourage all men to look far beyond the discount retailers that offer bad chocolates filled with unidentified pink cream and silk lingerie that is not silk. Those things are not precious. Skinny red roses from the local produce department wrapped with a not-soft bear holding a heart saying, "I wuv you beary much" is not thoughtful.

If you're going for flowers, and you're lady likes roses, get some good ones. I'm a fan of Equadorian roses, and red is my least favorite. But there's nothing wrong with red--it's a classic--if it's good. A good florist will carry so many colors and tones that you will have many options beyond red.

Some women would rather have tulips.

And I would love an orchid.

You can't go wrong with roses, tulips or orchids. But, friends, you can go very wrong with carnations.

Chocolate isn't worth the calories unless it's Godiva. Or those amazing truffles at Sak's. If you're local, Sarris is also acceptable. This would suggest that my tastes are expensive, but that's not true. I'll have you know that I buy the Russell Stover's Weight Watchers candy and am proud of it. I'm just saying that for Valentine's Day, if you're going to buy her food that she will possibly feel guilty for eating, make it good.

Valentine's Day dinners can be disasters. Talk to any local restaurant manager after this weekend to enjoy stories that I like to file under Yinzers Without Reservations. There's so much double-meaning there. If going out to dinner is your thing, that's awesome. I personally find it difficult to find special meaning when every table around me is doing the same thing. (Note: this won't keep me from doing that this weekend, however.)

I recommend cooking at home. Even if you think you can't. Cook together. Involve candles. Good wine. Even better champagne. Strawberries. Chocolate for the strawberries. Conversation.

If you're on a budget, give the gift of time. Have a Scrabble marathon. Have an Xbox marathon. Have a Wii marathon. Massages. Plan a trip together for when you do have money. Share the Sunday paper. Watch a movie. Take a winter walk while wearing cute hats.

If you're not on a budget, give the gift of travel. Go somewhere so that all you can really do is enjoy each other.

If you're a lady wondering what to get your guy, you probably don't know him. Men really aren't that hard to please. Feed them, water them, love them, sport them. No man will ever be unhappy with some form of entertainment. Go from there.

If you're single, this is actually the best time of your life. You won't realize this until you're not single to fully appreciate it. But there's something precious and beautiful about being comfortable in your own skin, on your own, with the ability to celebrate your commitment to yourself. In fact, until you get to that point, you really can't have or succeed in a functional, healthy relationship. Whether it involves watching TV in your underwear, taking a new yoga class, having martinis with your other gal pals, volunteering somewhere, reading a book among a bath full of bubbles or redecorating your space, let your biggest investment be in yourself. You will see the reward for years to come.

If you have children, you should enjoy the chance to be a kid again too. Write those valentines together and make some from scratch. Grandparents love these! Bake homemade, heart-shaped cookies together and let the little ones decorate them. And when you taste them, be sure to say they are the best thing you've ever had!

If you don't really care about the holiday either way, but know someone who does and could use a smile, send them a little surprise, custom to their personality, to remind them that you care.

My favorite suggestion is actually the most perfect and perfectly simple: Write a love letter.