I am convinced that my oldest daughter has a second stomach. (quite possibly a third) Now this dear child can eat like a horse, an elephant, and even more astonishing...she can eat more than her older brother. You probably think that her figure resembles that of the award winning great pumpkin at the county fair or that she quite possibly has the belly of a champion sumo wrestler, but you would be incorrect.

This girl has the looks and figure of a model. She is the type of girl that belongs on the cover of Teen magazine, the type that can wear a sack and make everyone want one, the type that makes everyone look twice........at what's on her plate.

For a child that refused to eat anything but small strands of spaghetti for 3 years, you would never know it now. Forget the old standby McDonalds Kids Meal, she is on to Big Macs (Plural). Pizza Hut's Personal Pan Pizza? Nope. I may as well order enough for 2...with breadsticks and dessert. Heaven forbid that anyone mentions Greek Food. Her eyes light up like it's Christmas as she knocks everyone over on her way out the door to the car. And just try and whisper the word..buffet. It can send her into a giggling frenzy of delight.

She must have mondo metabolism...like I once had. My parents used to call me "the stick." On my work breaks at age 17 I could devour an entire foot long lemon danish in 10 minutes flat. I could eat Snickers bars every night, stuff myself silly with cheeses, ice cream, and fancy breads. And now? I'm just jealous. I can't even look at a Snickers bar without popping a button. So while I'm sipping Diet Coke and nibbling a head of lettuce like a rabbit...my sweet daughter is licking her plate (much better than our dog does) after her second or third helping of fettucini, applesauce, and sour cream and onion doused cucumbers. While I'm clearing the table...she is adding a plate of cheesecake. When I'm daring to have an after dinner coffee...she's luring her brother out for ice cream.

One day I tell you...she will lose her secret stomach...or it will suddenly swing forward like a hidden innertube. But for today..well, shes having a sleepover...(Imagine TWO really hungry, giggly girls).. and this means an emergency trip to Food Lion. I wonder if I should just go to Costco and buy in bulk?

Well, I'm off to have lunch first...water and a Mentos...sigh

What is it about the mind? The body ages a bit... slumps, sags, stretches..but the mind pays absolutely no attention. Case in point: I clearly recall a family barbecue after one of my childhood gymnastics programs long ago. (I was about 10) While we kids did various flips and leaps, my mother was out in our front yard glowing like a banana in some form of hideous jumpsuit, waving her arms, raising her voice, and insisting to my father across the lawn, "Why honey, I can most certainly still do a cartwheel and back bend"

And at this point I realized that there would be no stopping her.

It was like playing one of those slow motion movies; me, jumping a thorny row of evergreens (risking wounds and scrapes over total embarrassment in front of my friends) in a desperate attempt to tackle my mother at the knees; my sister, tossing a plate of potato salad over her head onto Brutus (the dog) while reaching out to grab Mom's arm (only to hook the side of Mom's hairpiece); and Dad, breaking into somewhat of a goofy man jog (making a slight detour across the kiddie pool) anxiously trying to reach his wife in hopes that she would not tumble down the sloped drive.

But Mom was determined...and quick. Her form spun like a yellow blur, a sideways lunge..planting her hands firmly into the grass, her feet kicking high over her head, a slight rotation..and then...a miscalculation, a slight bend in one elbow, one leg flailing to the left..while the other seemed intent on finding solid earth. Her lopsided hairpiece skidded off her head, looking like a strewn birdsnest. One white sandal flew off and over into the cooler while children ducked and neighbors gaped.

After a roll and solid thud Mom landed flat on her back, a bit dazed but smiling. She looked up at my dad and said, "I told you I could do it."

A few weeks ago my youngest had a gymnastics event. My own specialty used to be the uneven bars. I watched as my child circled the bars, twisting, flipping down, rolling, and dismounting with ease. I remembered the moves, the grip, the feeling of weightlessness in leaping from one bar to the other....and it got me to thinking.

I can do that!

Of course I wasn't willing to put on a show, but when I got home..later when no one was around.. I stealthily slipped into my sons gym area for a quick pull up or two.. or ten. I hung there, gripping that slippery, thick bar for a good while wondering why my arms had suddenly failed me. I thought if I could do ONE good pull up, the rest would follow. I grimaced, let out a few quick puffs of breath...and p u l l e d...and pulled. (and ending up pulling something in my shoulder) (Ssh, I told my husband that I just must have slept funny.)

I am no longer an athlete.

But ya know...the other day I was watching the neighborhood boys skateboarding...I used to be a real whiz on 4 wheels...I watched them leap and race down the hill...

I bet I can do THAT!

"Why, did you know that Jimmy Solveski passed away? I knew his sister Ethel. We used to steal red apples from Mrs. Guzzi's backyard. Mr. Guzzi had gout you know. I wonder if their son, Milo, ever married...he was..."

"Oh wait, look here. Margie Kopelka died. You know, she was married three times? She and her last husband, Walter, had that one eyed German Shepherd that used to chase Uncle John down the alley on his way back from the liquor store, not that he drank, but Henry Chibo did, and..."

"Aw, Mr Plotz finally passed on. He used to be that kindly man on Pierce Street that always passed out popcorn balls on Halloween. One year Danny Dabriak cracked a tooth on one and his mother Stella sent Agnes Plotz the bill. Can you believe that he..."

Mom would go on like this for what seemed like hours. I think she had some odd connection with just about everyone in Northwest Indiana. My sister and I never really knew who in the world she was talking about. I just went on stretching putty around my fingers, occasionally sticking it up my nose, while my sister ripped at coupons for "Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific" and "Pamprin" My dad? Well...he had the right idea...escape...but sooner or later he would show up again..usually at the first whiff of bacon.

Since then, so many years have passed. But I tell you, at 87 years old, my mother still calls me every Sunday to let me know the latest from the obituaries. And oddly enough she doesn't even live in Indiana anymore. I tell you, the woman has powers.

But you know...somethings changed. The names Mom reads off...I know them. I knew them as my friend's parents, old neighbors, or even as classmates. Sometimes I find myself telling stories about hiding in Mr. Baker's garage eating lemon slices or playing along the ditch behind the old Zubrack house... I can weave my way through a family tree.. and like a dot to dot puzzle, make connections...and pull up memories.

I get it now...why Mom spent her Sundays reading and talking. I also get why my dad slid off away. Sometimes it's painful to remember...sometimes it's healing...and sometimes it takes you back to a time of laughter and youth.

So...if Mom doesn't call first on Sundays..I call her. She will remember the lemon slices and the forbidden ditch...and she will listen.

It used to be a no-brainer.

I could pop into pretty much any shop or drugstore and easily find my Secret Solid. I'd usually opt for "powder fresh" ...until recently. (My daughter hugged me and told me that I reminded her of baby diapers.) In a perfect world wouldn't it be much nicer if my dear child associated something like lilacs or vanilla with me? Diapers?...no. (Although, it's better than what I associate with my own mother....onions)

Needless to say, I set out to Walgreens on a new and exciting quest. Little did I know that I would be faced with quite the challenge. Not only does one have to decide between solids, gels, sticks, sprays, crystals, and roll ons...but the scent choice? Let me name a few...Ooh-La-La-Lavender (that really IS the name), Fabulously Floral, Truth or Pear, Coco Butter Kiss, Cherry Mischief, Pretty N Peach, Pink Crush, Pop Star, Soft Breeze, Morning Clean, Pure Cashmere, Fresh Fusion, Lotus Glow, Fruity Melon, and Passion. And this isn't all of them. Not that the men get off so easy...with scents like Adrenaline, Pulse, Dark Temptation, Phoenix and Bullet.

So WHAT did I want to smell like?

Hmmm...well the Pretty N Peach was nice...but it reminded me of a Del Monte Fruit cup (I couldn't have my kids go thinking I smelled like their lunch snacks) Maybe the Lotus Glow? (No, with a name like that I feared radioactivity) How about Passion? (No, maybe that would have sparked a riot at the shops on senior citizens day..bad images of frisky old men)

I settled on Cherry Mischief...but immediately felt evil, as if when I wore it people might assume I was always up to no good. Thus I decided to play it simple and go with the Toms Of Maine Brand. (No, not the cucumber scent...I didnt want to smell like a salad) I went with the Lavender (Not the Ooh La La...just plain L A V E N D E R.)

It smelled pleasant enough, rather soothing really. Sadly though, I must say that even though the children praised my choice, I couldn't get past the strange stickiness the deodorant left me with. It felt as though someone had painted honey under my arms. ( I swear my blouse was fused to it)

I drove back to the drugstore, returning with something called lemon verbena...it somehow seemed familiar to me..but later I realized that I'd spent the rest of the day smelling like Lemon Pledge furniture polish.

Today I am gearing up to take a seasoned band of scientific experts (my children) out with me so we can best determine my signature scent. (And I haven't even told them about my plans for a new shampoo!)

Sorry, there is just no easier or polite way to describe a migraine....they suck.

One of my daughters had a nasty one a few days ago. It was quite spectacular...We were having "girl time" on the sofa watching The Time Travelers Wife, and all of a sudden she says, "Mom I can't see the TV." I glanced over the tips of our toes as we were all stretched out, reclining...expecting to see Fat Ted (dog one) ambling around the side of my daughter's foot rest, blocking her view of the television while foraging for stray potato chips. I didn't quite understand, as I was grumbling in attempts to press the pause button, that my daughter was talking about one of the first visual cues to a migraine. "Mom", she says, more panicked, "I see a blurry line, its wiggling." At that point I realized what was coming. It had been three years with her, but the warning was the same. ..the wiggling line.

I immediately got some Advil into her like her pediatrician recommended. It wasn't long after, that the familiar feeling of nausea hit her hard. I grabbed some ginger capsules, hoping to ward it off. I thought we'd succeeded, but within 50 minutes a horrible throbbing head pain hit her hard, making the nausea return with a vengeance. I turned out the lights, got a cool head pack on her, and tried to suppress all sounds....but there wasn't much else that I could do. It was horrible to watch. As if the excruciating pain wasn't enough, the inevitable arrived..the vomiting.

At only 13 years old, it seemed completely cruel. I suppose I say that because I never developed migraines until my 40's.

I thought I was having a stroke, honestly. My first headache was not like my daughters. I was out shopping, feeling completely fine, when out of the corner of my eye I saw what I thought was a fleck of dust. I rubbed my eye and tried to refocus, but the spot was still there. Within 30 seconds the spot grew. It reminded me of an irregular splash of shimmering pool water. I was terrified. I have no idea how I made it to the car. I was in an absolute panic. I sat staring at the steering wheel, parked in the lot...and regardless of where I looked this blotch stayed in the right corner of my vision...about the size of a baseball. Within minutes the shape grew, almost glowing around the edges...very much like the picture to the right. I waited to stop breathing, die right there, collapse...but nothing happened. I closed my eyes and within 5 minutes the splotch faded and then left. I thought my heart would jump out of my chest. I never got the headache afterward...which was why I had never identified it as a migraine, but my doctor did.

Unfortunately, occasionally I do get the head pain now...not so much of the "aura" as they call it anymore...but that throbbing, nasty crushing pain. My migraine followed my daughters the other night. People say we are so very much alike...but this is one thing that I so wish that she did not have to inherit. : (

The route to the bus stop shouldn't be a perilous journey.

Yet for me, just navigating my way out and about can become quite an adventure.

It all started with the wind you see. I was hard at work at the factory, sweating...working my tail off for some coins, pressing lots of buttons, then running here and there with messages (On Yoville) when I was distracted by the banging of the screen door...which led me to leave my post at my faithful computer to check to see if one of my neighbors were in dire peril...but instead it was the awakening of a sudden storm...and a loose door bolt. A quick glance at the clock reminded me that my youngest would be arriving at the bus stop within about 10 minutes. I noticed that she'd left her neon glow umbrella behind and I was faced with a terrible dilemma. Should I save the wee child from a certain soaking, or should I go and collect chicken eggs on Farmville. (I kid, I kid ) I grabbed my jacket and keys determined to save any and all small neighborhood children from drowning in any of the ever growing puddles of melting snow and wild curbside water runoff. And here is where the peril began.

In a desperate attempt to reach my little girl before the wind might consider blowing her in the opposite direction down the road, I dashed for the door. Suddenly, a large furry beast, snorting like some evil fiend blocked my path. (It was Fat Ted, dog number one) To defeat the slobbering obstacle I threw a tennis ball over my shoulder while vaulting over him with my handy rainbow umbrella. Then, by performing a slick Matrix type maneuver, I carefully avoided dog number two (the acrobat) as she leapt ever so gracefully off the staircase in front of my head. As I cackled and pushed at the door I realized I was not yet able to escape the house...I was thwarted by a plastic topiary bush. The spiral giant had blown across the porch, wedging itself against the door...its wirey branches now blocking the way between me and my jeep. I shoved, pushed, used all the strength given me by the last bit of sugar rush I'd had in me. After a desperate struggle (and a nudge by my eldest daughter) I was free again! To my horror I saw that my son did the unthinkable...he parked my Jeep next to the great thorned holly bush. I struggled to get past the pointy mocking leaves of doom only to realize he'd left so tiny a gap between the car door and bush that Id have to lose 20 pounds quick just to get in..or race to the other side of the car. With split second timing I made my way around the Jeep, dodging 2 bags of mulch, a skateboard, sled and recycling bin. I lunged across the front seat, making my way into driving position, scraped and bleeding from the tangle of holly leaves (and annoyed by the fact that I could have sworn my other two children were mocking me from the window) I started the car and was practically hurled backwards by a rush of air coming through the air vents at supersonic speed (I think my son uses them as a blowdryer) My eardrums were shattering from the vibrating rap music blaring from the speakers as I anxiously fumbled with 6 dials to try and extinguish it. The rain was pelting down by now, my windshield wipers were stuck, the seat was so high my knees were jammed under the steering wheel, and I hadnt even backed out of my driveway yet. I reversed swiftly, spinning round in the culdesac with the grace of an idiot, tires screeching as I gave it a lil too much gas to get up the hill. The mail truck was in my way now, and then came the UPS, a pizza delivery, and someone's grandmother in a large white cadillac driving up the center of the road. I could see the congregation of mothers with brightly colored coats and umbrellas huddled next to the stop sign ahead. I stopped a ways back next to the old cemetery because it seemed that everyone else managed to get a closer parking spot then me. The rain eased and I opened the car door, ready to join the ranks of waiting moms until I realized a beady eyed squirrel was staring at me. It shifted quickly left to right..and was joined by another..and another. I was clearly being stalked. I mean I know it is winter and the squirrels might be rather hungry..but geez. I felt claustrophobic...I swear, even the birds started circling the car. I was in a horror movie, trapped with an empty can of Coke, a dead cellphone, and a stick of gum. It all came closing in..I was about to scream, open my umbrella as a weapon, look threatening...and then I was startled by a pounding on the window. It was my wee girl, smiling at me with her one front tooth and frizzy wild hair, waiting for me to unlock the door. I looked back and the squirrels were gone, the birds disappeared, and the sun began to shine.

I made the long journey home (about 300 feet) worn and beaten. I hope it doesn't rain again tomorrow.

I was expecting a cold wet wind as I walked out of the drugstore...I saw the skies darkening as I went in so I braced for a familiar whoosh of chilling February air and readied my umbrella upon my exit. What I didn't expect was snow....big, fluffy, airy flakes...floating down from the sky like feathers from a shredded pillow. I gasped in amazement, and then I laughed aloud...and I couldn't stop. Tears streaked my face as I spun in a circle across the parking lot, sticking my tongue out like I had as a child, hoping to catch as many flakes as I could. I hadn't seen snow such as this in many years, and like a familiar smell often does, the snowflakes took me back to the magic of my childhood. My heart felt light and happy....I was 5 years old again, anxious to see the flakes stick to the grass. I must have looked pretty silly to anyone that saw me, but I didnt care. I had found a feeling that Id lost so very long ago. I sang along to the radio all the way home, dazzled at the beauty of the first fallen snow sticking along the rooftops, pines and oaks. The world became so quiet. It was beautiful.

I wondered how I had come to hate the snow once I'd grown up. It was a pain, it was heavy, a nuisance, a headache. I couldn't wait to be free of it and all of those Midwestern dreary winters when I left my hometown near Chicago. And then I was...free of it all.

No more white Christmas, no more sledding, snowballs or even mittens. No more slush or snowmen or the sounds of shovels and snowblowers. No scarves, red noses, boots, or parkas.

I didn't miss it much my first year away, but by the time the 3rd rolled around, winter seemed hollow, lost somehow. After ten years I could hardly recall what the crunch of the snow underfoot had felt like, forgotten how to make a snow angel, lost what was essentially a very important part of growing up.

It wasn't until that first flake of snow...leading way to the white blanketing of landscape...that I realized what Id taken for granted so many years before. It wasn't until I built a snowman with my youngest child that I recalled my father building my first with me. It wasn't until I heard all the laughter that I remembered how something so simple could be worth so very much more.

Nothing speaks louder to me on this marvelous romantic day better than a big ole super frosted pink cake shaped like a heart. It's real, it's perfect!, it's on my counter....next to the roses.
Actually, Im quite fond of the roses as well, but for some unknown reason they seem to wilt quickly. I change water, change vases, add super secret of life packets...but no...they shrivel, sag, or droop in a day or so. Maybe roses aren't me. They are so perfect, mild, delicate. Me? I dunno. I figure I'm a wildflower type....you just never know what's going to sprout up in life with me. Maybe my hubby would be better off skipping through the forest edge along the highway and gathering random bits of colorful twigs and thistles...but then again he might bring me a bouquet of poison ivy...and besides...he really should never be seen skipping.
No, he did the right thing. he brought me cake AND roses.
How can he go wrong with sugary goodness? It won't wilt, need water, or an expensive crystal vase....just a plate. I can enjoy the calories for days (before I go on a diet) while watching my poor roses wilt. Maybe I can add a few plastic flowers to the vase...you know...to give the illusion that Im good with plants.
Isn't Valentines Day grand?

The only thing that comes to mind when I see or hear the words "Super Bowl" is food, namely cereal or ice cream...heaped in mounds...much to my delight. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I don't care a hoot about football. I can imagine the scowls, rolling eyes, and thoughtful daggars of disgust aimed my way.....but I'm annoyed by the crashing of helmets, gnashing of teeth, grunts, hikes, jerseys, and doofy referees. So, while just about everyone I know has this Super Bowl to look forward to, I'm not really missing out.....as I am looking forward to a bowl of my own...topped with whipped cream!