2015

by Cathy

2015...

This is the year that I turn 45, celebrate my 18th wedding anniversary and see my first-born enter high school.

It sounds like someone else's life; someone much older than me. Those are some serious double-digit milestones, the kind reserved for "old" people I used to hear about when I was in the prime of my youth and all of this seemed light years away. Nonetheless, this is where I am in my life right now, crazy numbers and all, so I am here to face it and yes, embrace it.

It still doesn't make sense to me that we are in the year 2015. It still sounds ridiculously futuristic, as if we are living in another dimension. It was, after all, the year Marty traveled to in Back to the Future Part II.

Back to the Future is now

Back in the day, the decades had real sounding names with now marked events and characteristics that defined them for each of us, from the 1920s through to the 1990s. Each decade felt like it meant something, like each had its own representation and weight.

Then it all started sounding strange. How do we refer to the decades after the 90s? The zeroes? The two-thousands? What about the decade we're in now? Are we in the 10s? The 2010s? You don't hear people referring to decades like they once did because there's no non-awkward sounding, all encompassing way to refer to them. They all sound futuristic, even though we've been "in the future" for now, fifteen years. And if you ask me to define the marked characteristics of the last two decades since 2000, I'd venture to say that it's one big reality television show whirred into a technologically frenzied blur. Maybe I just don't care enough to distinguish these decades and acknowledge their own weight because they don't have a cool sounding name that warrants it. That's just me.

There is something, however, about the number and year, 2015, that compelled me to write about it. It's not an even-numbered year, yet it stands out because of the milestone simplicity it represents. It falls directly in the center of this decade, neatly separating the polar (and literal) opposites of what decades start/end, bring/take for people facing, dare I say, middle age.

Writing that statement was very sobering, as were writing the statements that follow...

This year, I am at equal distance from age 30 as I am from age 60. That stark calculation was made by me after an eye-opening statement made by Bella as we sat at home on this past blistery cold New Year's Eve 2014.
"Did you know that right now, at 2015, we are at equal distance from the year 2030 as we are from the year 2000?"
She wasn't even alive in 2000. So, again, those damned numbers. Why do they represent so much?

Well, they do and it's up to us to make these number mean something. God willing, this year like always, we intend to do so. Therefore, in addition to the wedding anniversary, high school milestone and 45th birthdays my husband and I will celebrate in 2015, we've also set goals. Goals put less pressure on results as they are plans to strive towards, not non-resolute resolutions.

We have goals to grow our business, to move into a single family home if plans take us in that direction, (and then maybe get a puppy to round out that American dream altogether), to buy a second car, and to travel to a place we haven't been before. Our personal goal, besides the ever-present "aim-to-salvage-what's-left-of-our-quasi-youthful-physique" goal, is to learn a new language and constantly strive to learn more and network more (Joe's) and for me, to finally embark on my lifelong dream.

We will continue to pray for our good health and those of our friends and family, to take in every minute of the crazy rate at which our girls are blossoming, maturing, molding their personalities, smoothing their rough edges and keeping sharp the ones that should stay that way, and to spend as much time with our parents as possible. The most challenging though for me, will be to make it through Bella's grammar school graduation and high school entrance without becoming a complete blubbering, broken down mess. Kids are, after all, the barometer against which the speediness of passing years is measured.

So please, 2015, seeing as you're right smack in the middle of this unnamed decade, do us a solid and slow down to let us take it all in.

---------------------------

Happy, healthy, prosperous New Year to our dedicated readers, followers, believers, supporters, fans and visitors from around the world. 

It's ValenTimes Day!

A gentle reminder on this holiday of love...Happy Valentine's Day!

 by Cathy

Yes, that's right folks. Today, it's time for some Valen. Yes siree bub.
Forget Hammer Time. It's Valen Time.

I can't get to the lovey, dovey, squishy, cuddly, hearts-a-flutter part of today's holiday, without pointing out that so many people - (young children excluded) say Valentime instead of Valentine. It irks me to no end. Grown-ass people. People my age. Do you not think about what you are saying while you're saying it? Who or what is Valentime? You do know we celebrate St. Valentine, right?
And while you're in a conversation with this grown-ass person who says Valentimes, you just don't have the 'heart' (ha ha ha) to blatantly correct them, so your response will reiterate the word except in the correct form, in the hopes that they GET it. But nooooo....yet again, that word tumbles out of their ill-forming mouth in the incorrect form.

While I'm on this soapbox, I need to take the opportunity to point out other grammatical errors that sit on the same level of annoyance with me.  People, pay attention:
It's Anyway, not Anyways
It's Regardless, not Irregardless
It's Sandwich, not Samwich
It's Supposedly, not Supposably
It's Probably, not Probally
And Groundhog Day (not Groundhogs Day) and Valentine's Day are both in February (not Febuary).

Okay. I've said my piece and feel much better now that that's out there. Enough with the hatin' now on with the lovin'.

No matter how you pronounce it, Valentine's Day means different things for different people. The emotions, feelings and attitudes that come with it run the gamut from bliss to pressure to expectations that are either exceeded or that never come to fruition. Love it or hate it, it's there, smacking you in the face every time you walk into a store or turn on the television. For some it's a chance to really take a day and honor, appreciate and pamper the person you love. For others, it's trivial, forced, Hallmarky and a huge money suck. After all, you should love and appreciate your significant other every day of the year. Riiiigghhht???

As for me, I don't put too much emphasis on it, although I would like it acknowledged in some small way from my husband, as I will do the same for him. Somtimes, the smallest things mean the most. Other women, don't feel that way and that is their prerogative.

But where I don't have any problem making it a big deal is when it comes to my girls. Yes, hugs and kisses and praises and compliments are dished out to them on a daily basis, but what really does it for them is the whole look and feel of Valentine's day. The colors! Pink! Red! The heart-shaped chocolates! The heart-shaped anything! Flowers! Cutesy cards! Valentine's Day cards for their schoolmates! Balloons! Teddy bears! It's such a pretty holiday. Valentine decorations are pretty to look at and induce the feeling of warmness and fuzziness and well, LOVE.

A tribute to the Heart Holiday by Ari and I 
adorns our back door.

Happy Valentine's Day to all the people I love!

Yes, even those that mispronounce it. :)

Christmas is coming, my ass is getting fat!

by Patti

Re-posting an old favorite by request. 

....................................................................................................

I'm being pelted by treats falling from the sky. It's not my fault.

It’s the Most! Wonderful! Time! Of the year! You know, that time when treats magically fall out of the sky and land in your mouth, over and over again? Especially if you work in an office environment, like I do. Suddenly people put on their Baker Extraordinaire hats and they are shoving brownies and snowman cookies and red and green sprinkled sugar bars down your throat. And you just sit there and take it like a man. A fat man.

Oh, no?

Well, THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN DOING.

They look innocent, but are evil, evil, evil.

This whole month of December has been an exercise in, well, not much exercise and WAAAAY too many chocolate reindeer balls. What is it about December that leads me to believe that it is okay to shove 13 cookies in my craw and that there won’t be any consequences as a result? I mean, it’s as if I am sugar-shocked into thinking that December Calories aren’t real.

But by the end of December, when I am slowly exiting my sugar fog and find I can’t zip up my pants, I realize: Ohhhh, they were real. And then I frantically make New Year’s Resolutions that include the gym and fat-free cottage cheese for the rest of ever.

Stop. The. Madness.

So today, right now, as I type this, I am swearing up and down that that 3^rd Styrofoam cup of cheese/caramel/regular popcorn I just ate as a “tide me over ‘til lunch” snack will be the last. I WILL NOT EAT ANYMORE POPCORN FROM FESTIVALLY DECORATED TINS.  I will also forego reindeer- shaped anything, and sparkly, sprinkly, sugary stuff that pretends to be snowmen, and Christmas tree brownies with adorable mini M&M’s as ornaments, and marshmallow-stuffed bars of gooey heaven, and pretty  much anything that isn’t grown from the ground or a tree.

And I swear I’ll do it as SOON as December ends.

Red Friday

by Patti

Friday I circled a mall parking lot for 40 minutes. And then I gave up and went home.

I was only there because S is in the Nutcracker again this year, and we went to support those in the cast that were doing a Black Friday sneak preview. After a scouting of the lot with no luck, and eager to not miss the 11 am showing, I dumped S at the door so she could run inside and find Cathy and Mich - whose girls were among those slated to perform - while I continued my search for parking.

But I never found parking. Instead, I got yelled at, honked at, flipped off at, sneered at, arms-up-in-air'd at...... The bloodied, beat-up man slumped into a bench at the mall entrance as paramedics tended to his war wounds didn't even surprise me. What was he thinking, trying to grab that parking space when CLEARLY IT WAS MEANT FOR THE OTHER GUY. For every spot that miraculously opened up, there were at least 20 cars waiting. How anybody knew whose "turn" it was to park was an operation of epic intelligence. And, after a night of wine and too many potatoes au gratin, I wasn't in any mood to think. ABOUT PARKING.

Apparently, the performance was running ahead of schedule, and Cathy, with whom, along with our girls, I had planned to spend some time on Black Friday since we would all be at the mall, decided to bolt as soon as it ended. Since they were leaving, there was no reason for me to continue my manic parking lot tour, and I decided to abort Operation There is No Damned Place to Park! I called S and had her meet me outside again, and out she came, donned in her carefully chosen "mall outfit" and an expression of such letdown I wanted to cry. She was so disappointed there'd be no Black Friday experience, but I made it up to her in the form of an overpriced Caramel Apple Spice from Starbucks and a promise to visit the capital of Smells like Tween Spirit, Claire's, the next day.
"But can't we go today?"
"Honey, there is NO. WAY. I am entering any store today. I mean... LOOK!" I gestured to the madness around me, making sure she didn't miss the beat-up man in the blood spattered shirt.

So, after three near-collisions in the parking lot, we headed to the serene Starbucks, where a jazzy version of Silver Bells soothed us as we sipped our steaming latte and apple concoctions. Just outside and across the street was a Best Buy. Upon imagining the bloodshed no doubt occurring inside at that very moment over deeply discounted flat screen televisions and tricked out laptops, I shuddered. I then sunk more deeply into my chair, humming along to the chorus.

Thank you, Gracias and Sas Efcharistó̱

by Patti 

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Most of you will not read this until well after tomorrow, since you will likely be cussing your way through the baking of sweet potato casseroles and the defrosting and basting of unfortunate turkeys. 

But when you do have the opportunity to read this - hopefully with a glass of pinot in your hand and a gourmet turkey sandwich slathered in cranberry sauce with a side of stuffing who's countin' carbs, not me, that's for sure - we want you to know something: We are thankful.

We love our families, we love our friends, we love the days that are blessedly granted us time and again. And despite the "bite your tongue" day that occurs every year the day after Thanksgiving - the one that has many people shivering at midnight in lines the length and complexity of ancient labyrinths, bellies bursting with Aunt Rita's green bean casserole - we even love this time of year, doorbustin' rib-shovin' shoppers and all.

There's some doorbustin' 'bout to be had.

And there's something else we want you to know: We love you, too.

Happy Thanksgiving!

It's Holiday Time? No, It's Remodeling Time

by Cathy

This past weekend I pretended I was a visitor in my own home - I did a walk-through. I forced myself to look at my house from the perspective of a stranger; someone entering my house for the first time. Have you ever tried that in your house? Or are you afraid of what you will discover?

The reason I put myself through this stressful experience is because I am hosting, like I do every year, Thanksgiving dinner at my house. But each year, our house, like us, changes, evolves and well...ages. Every year, we have something new to contend with like the toll of the normal wear and tear of everyday, commonly used things, stains, breaks, cracks, spills, dirt, results of accidents and what have you. As you go through your day-to-day routines, you eventually no longer see or forget that there is a huge nail polish stain on the living room area rug...

No amount of acetone will take this off.

...or that we have turned one corner of the living room into a music area complete with guitars and keyboards, or that half the lights in the bathroom and kitchen have gone out or that the shower curtain bears the streaks of marker-stained little hands which attempted to pull it back to take much needed baths.

How about the piles of papers everywhere? Or the fact that our living room table sometimes doubles as a desk? Between my husband and I periodically working from home, the girls' schoolwork and projects, bills, brochures, mail, 'to file' piles, 'to review' piles, etc., we are begging to go green. Then there's the belongings from the girls' room, which trickle out and find themselves in every single room of the house: books, binders, clothes, stuffed animals, belts, hair accessories and last but not least, the fact that snacks and food are being had in every room that contains a television. Mix all of these together (things that really, you don't have the time to fret over as you go through your daily grind but stand out like flies in milk when you're out of that mode) and you have a house that you will be most critical of than the normal guest. After all, we all tend to be harder on ourselves than others.

So in addition to my cooking shopping list this week, I am making a "get it together" list for my house. Cleaning and tidying up of major areas aside (which is most of the work), I need to replace some light bulbs, spot clean some rugs (although I fear the nail polish is there to stay) and perhaps, if time allows, spring for a new drip coffee maker since ours now apparently, has sprung a leak. And while I'm in the kitchen, how about taking down all the papers that are tacked on the fridge like a shield of armor so I can actually see it?

In order to get my house guest-ready for the holidays, I must first, think outside the house.

Freedom

by Cathy

I took the above picture while driving down the alley from my house yesterday. A small American flag on a splintered piece of wood is slid precariously through some intertwined television cables running alongside a large multi-unit building. At first, I thought it almost sacrilege that an American flag was placed seemingly carelessly above a huge, smelly dumpster. I scoffed at the imaginary person who thought it appropriate to display our Stars and Stripes in such a place and angrily chalked it up as a mockery of our symbol of freedom.

On the return drive home, I passed through this same alley but from the other direction. I had forgotten the flag was there until it took me by powerful surprise when my eye caught it after passing the dumpster. It was completely unexpected and it made me stop.  I reversed the car and took a picture of it, because now, I get it. I get why someone chose to express their patriotism by placing the flag there.

The place where one chooses to display our flag does not matter. The size of the flag does not matter. The only thing that matters is the intention behind displaying it. If this person meant to be sacrilegious with that flag, it would have been sitting on top of the dumpster, or worse, thrown inside of it. But someone wanted to express their patriotism in this small way, which contrarily, makes a much bigger impact than if found in a more expected place. The juxtaposition of such a strong, powerful and symbolic representation of our country against the imperfect, realistically gritty urban setting of the alley, makes one take notice of the unexpectedness of the presentation. It doesn't give any less meaning to our flag, in fact, it brings it more to light - and what it represents for us:

Fighting for and maintaining our right to be free
Respect for the country we are privileged to live in; the country that so many die trying to enter
Expressing our right to freedom of speech
Enduring civil and international wars
Declaring our independence over oppression, occupancy and tyranny
Ousting known terrorists and thwarting their plots
Military: our freedom is not possible without you

Tick, tock, 

our country's locked 

and nobody else can claim it; 

and if they do 

I'll take my shoe 

and beat them 'til they're red, white and blue

 

Happy Independence Day to everyone from sea to shining sea

Holy Holy Week!

by Cathy

Last week was Holy Week for those of the Orthodox faith. This includes me. It was also the same week my two girls were on spring break and conveniently, but shittily, the same week my husband sprained (nearly broke) his ankle. And what's more? The week rounded itself out with yet ANOTHER bout of the stomach flu for me - caught this time, from Ari.

Our Easter mascot: half-bitten ears and cycloped. So symbolic of Holy Week craziness.

Our Orthodox Holy Week began in a most unorthodox way: a passover seder. Every year we get invited to attend a seder with the kids and this year, it happened to fall the Saturday before Palm Sunday.  We stuffed ourselves with matzo, brisket, potato pancakes, kugel and wine, had coffee around the patio fire pit (scotch and cigars for the men) and called it a night around 10pm since we had to get up bright and early the next morning to get a seat in church for Palm Sunday services.

This officially kicked off Holy Week.

Palm Sunday - the girls and I get to church a bit late, but miraculously end up with one of the final spots in the church lot, and thanks to our koumbaro Nick, who is Ari's godfather, on the parish council and an usher, we landed some rockstar seats in the third pew - one of the last available spots. Once we were there for a while, we knew why. The dude in front of us was completely crazeballs and he kept turning around to talk to me every time we sneezed, coughed, shifted, the girls whispered, whatever. He looked like Jim Carrey on speed, (if that's even possible), his crazed eyes widening with every word through his ginormous black-rimmed glasses. He told me about how he knew Betty Ford, about the JFK assassination, bedbugs and many other random things before I loudly shushed him into silence. The lady next to him, also not altogether there but very nice, kept asking me in Greek throughout the whole service: "What's he saying? What's he saying?!?!" Holy Moly.

Holy Monday - I promised the girls we would make Greek Easter cookies (koulouria). Bella looks forward to this every year since she was three because it's our mommy-daughter tradition. Now Ari has joined in on the anticipation and the process of making these complex sweets. They especially love creating different shapes - usually the first letters of all their friends' names.

What koulouria should look like

My daughters' version of koulouria

Holy Tuesday - the only non-eventful day in our week. There were church services, of course, like there are every day this week, but we opted not to go. It was our day of rest.

Holy Wednesday - I had to leave work early to pick up the girls, amazingly already dressed in their church clothes, for the service of Holy Unction. This is where the recipient is blessed by the priest with a "cleansing of the sins" prayer, while making the sign of the cross with holy oil on your forehead, both cheeks, chin (the sign of the cross on your face) and on both palms and backs of your hand. The girls and I rubbed the holy oil into our skin and let it seep, heal, de-sin and cleanse our souls.

Holy Thursday - this is the day that is designated for egg dyeing. (The only other day we are allowed to dye eggs is on Holy Saturday. Not exactly sure why, but these are the 'rules'.) We Greeks don't pastel up our eggs, or use that PAAS stuff, or mix in liquid food coloring to color eggs. We use the heavy duty blood-red powdered food coloring imported from Greece. Why? Because that's the stuff. The eggs are meant to symbolize the blood that Jesus shed for our salvation, so the eggs, in essence, are stained with his blood. Now of course the kids didn't think this was as fun as PAAS-ing or liquid food coloring up the eggs. So we made two batches. And they had fun.

Ours Greek eggs are red, but I've seen some seriously dark, blood-red eggs.

Holy Friday - well...is Good Friday...a day of mourning. No music is allowed on that day out of respect for the crucified Christ. There are TWO church services this day - one in the afternoon, where Christ is symbolically taken down from the cross and laid into an epitaph, and one in the evening, which is spent singing mournful, beautiful hymns while holding lit candles and walking outside the church in a funeral-like procession. Since it can  be exhausting for the kids to do both, we usually go to the afternoon service. This year, however, the girls wanted to do a morning retreat at the church, where they could decorate the epitaph with countless flowers and pack food for various food pantries in the area. Both activities were amazing experiences for my girls.

Holy Saturday - it's 9am and I'm up and at church again, this time, to receive Holy Communion. I had fasted (Bella referred to it as going vegan) for the past three days to prepare for this. (The girls received it on Palm Sunday).

Once at home after some other activities that day, I prepared for the night service. How? Taking a nap, forcing the girls to nap but to no avail, making some coffee around 6pm and keeping myself up for another 6-8 hours. Holy Saturday midnight mass is the mother of all Easter services. This is one that my girls look forward to every year. We go to church at 11pm, sit in the dimly lit church and listen to the beautiful chanting, and at midnight, sitting reverently in a blacked out church, save for the light coming in from the magnificent stained glass windows, we gloriously, one-by-one light our candles, the lights of which look like the swelling of a wave from the front to the back of the church, and joyously sing that Christ Has Risen!  We make the sign of the cross with our lit candles in the air (the girls hold decorative candles, like most of the children do),  while singing, and it's just all so magical.

What wasn't magical, was what we encountered as we attempted to exit the church. Just as we were about to head out, lit candles in tow, careful to bring the light of the resurrection to our homes as we do every year, thunderstorms, lightening and torrential rains flash flooded the streets. By the time we got into the car, Ari had lost her purse in a puddle one-foot deep, which had to be fished out by me, Bella stepped squarely into that same puddle in her haste to get into the car and I? Looked like I had just taken a dip in a pool. Even my underwear was sopping. Shivering in the car, we hightailed it home, changed in to warm, cozy clothes, waited out the storm and drove to my parents' house at 1a.m. - kids in tow and Joe in crutches.

Then, the feasting began. Nearly every year, my family and my sister's family gathers at my parents' house for a casual meal of lamb, salad and oven roasted potatoes after the midnight Anastasi service. Other Greeks reserve tables at Greek restaurants and do it up even bigger.  Typically, this meal should consist of mageritsa, a mish mash of lamb innards: sweetbreads, lungs, intestines, brain, all in a brothy, soupy concoction. Thank goodness we opted for lamb this year. We ended up going to sleep at about 3:30a.m. and awoke on Easter Sunday around noon, got ready and drove to my uncle's house in Grayslake to feast yet again.

Easter Sunday - The fun part of this day is to hang out in the open garage, watching the lamb roast right outside with its tongue hanging out onto the steel rod that has been shoved up from his ass through his mouth and is rotating on an electrical roasting spit. We grilled some Greek sausage and some more sweetbreads, cracked some of those blood red eggs, listened to Greek music and perhaps spun a dance or two, told some funny stories and practically ate the whole lamb while it was being chopped up on the table, piping hot; the best way to eat lamb, take it from a Greek.

This is how we do it.

The rest of the day and night was filled with more food and stories and then it was time to go home. We were all exhausted. The torrential downpours decided to resume again Sunday night as we were driving back into the city. Mist, hail, buckets of rain, fog, lights were all hitting the car from every direction making it impossible to drive. Ari was asleep in the back seat and Bella was relaxing - we were almost home. Then....BLAGHCKCKH. The all-too familiar sound of vomit. Ari threw up in her seat - the onset of the stomach flu I was bound to get and still have. She not only threw up in the car, but in my bedroom, the girls' bedroom, the bathroom and on her bed. Since Joe is still crutcheting around, I had clean up all those messes AND do two loads of laundry at 9:45pm. Just the perfect "topping" to my sundae of a Week.

Rain and Holy Week and stomach flu, now go away,
Come again when I'm less stressed (and not all at once), Okaaaayyyy???

Cabo? I'll Go.

by Cathy

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a simple step."  -- Confucius

I have a very good reason for being M.I.A. on the blog this past week... I was off on a "work" trip to one of the places I've been wanting to visit most - Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. I heard it was a haven for jetsetters and celebs alike (evident from the fact that I counted no less than 28 learjets on the tarmac when I landed) and that it was probably one of the most picturesque places in Mexico.  So when the opportunity came for me to be whisked away by these fancy hotel chains and corporate resort companies for the sake of wedding research to follow through on my editorial obligations to inform the local wedding demographic of what Cabo has to offer, I was all in. Well, all except for my conscience, whose guilty side kept rearing its ugly ass head. Guilt, for being the only one in my family able to experience such a beautiful place and take some much deserved time off.

First off, I have never gone on a vacation solo; I have visited my friend Sue in London once when Bella was two years old but this is the first trip I was taking completely alone. Sure I would meet others in my group while I was there and I have no problems with my social skill set, but not only was I going "alone" but without my family. Here I would be in these beautiful, beach town resorts, watching other families enjoy their time together, smooching their spouses while doting after their flotation-deviced kids in the infinity pool overlooking the Sea of Cortez. And I?  I would be...with a bunch of strangers, (some of whom DID bring their significant other) and the latest issue of Glamour. This was going to be quite the test for me on many levels.

Once I got there, checked in, explored, had some goodies laid out for me in my room and took in the scene, I relaxed - I felt more at ease. I was starting to slowly let go - of the need to constantly be with someone, of the stress, of the guilt and most importantly, of the boundaries I set upon myself in many ways.

Notice the TWO wine glasses and TWO coffee mugs.

As I met new people (I discovered that even those traveling with someone felt the need to chat people up, and that it wasn't just me wandering aimlessly around the pool trying to mask my 'I'm starved for conversation' look) I discovered that there are pluses and minuses to traveling without your family - traveling alone.

The pluses:

- No one is snoring/farting/coughing/tossing/turning you awake at night or crawling into your bed and pounding you with their little fists and feet. I slept like a champ for the first time in a long time my first night there.

- You don't have to be on anyone else's schedule except your own; well in my case, we did have an itinerary that we had to adhere by but all the activities were spaced out perfectly that allowed for a nice amount of free time.

- I was never late to anything because I didn't have to wait for anyone else to get ready or help anyone else get ready except myself. 

- Because of that last point, I looked fresh and fashioney every evening for dinner and tequila tastings. No accessories were missing, no outfit was stained or mismatched and hair and makeup was perfectly in place.

- You get to be alone - truly alone - in a place other than your day-to-day environment, which gives you a whole different perspective on life and everything outside your "little world." I wrote some thoughts down. I allowed myself to take things in and feel. My five senses were alive. Because of this, I found myself being moved to tears on more than one occasion: when I slid open that giant balcony door and took in the ocean view from my room for the first time; 

when I went for my first walk on the beach and admired the overwhelming awesomeness of the sea while the frothy waves crashed at my feet; when I looked up at night from my balcony and saw the night sky lit up like a Christmas tree with seemingly all the astronomical formations in the cosmos; and when I awoke one morning to find this expression of love for someone in the sand below:

 Now, the minuses:

- Until I got used to being alone, and even then, it was hard to not want to share such a beautiful place with someone I loved. Like I emailed to Patti on my first day there - torn between feeling sad because I was alone, guilty because my family couldn't join me and tingling with curiosity as to what the upcoming experiences would bring - "even the most beautiful place in the world can be lonely if you have no one to share it with." But the goal was to feel comfortable with being alone and enjoying the freedom of that - and that's what I tried to focus on.

- You have no one to rub suntan lotion on your back. I blindly sprayed back there and prayed it took in all the right places. Then I relied on my long hair to do the rest.

- I don't mean to be ungrateful that I get to sleep in an ocean view room right on the beach, but those waves crashing haphazardly in no rhythmic fashion whatsoever (isn't that what they're supposed to do?), actually kept me awake at night rather than lulling me to sleep. This is not my life; it needs getting used to. I know, I know, I'll cry you a river.

- All of your pictures are of scenery. Except for the ones you try to take by turning the camera on  yourself (thank you iPhone for making this super easy to do now with the reverse camera angle feature!) Here, the results:

Me, posing for me, on the Sea of Cortez. 'Am I doing this right?'

or

Me, posing for me, on the (romantic) sunset cruise at Land's End Arc

Of course once I got to know the people in my group and realized that they were interesting, fun and funny, things got even better. We went shopping, had gourmet four-star dinners every night, went on tours, and even karaoked. We had drinks at the hotel swim-up bars, exchanged industry stories and gossip and had some great laughs. We saw whales spouting and flicking their tails in the shimmering sea as we had sushi and cucumber margaritas during a sunset cocktail hour. We saw iguanas, sea lions that swam up to our catamaran in the Pacific, turkey vultures hovering overhead, dolphins, fly fish and even sea urchins. 

Even though I technically wasn't "alone" I felt as though for me, I was. I used this trip as a challenge for myself - to push my boundaries, to go outside my comfort zone, to "Do It Anyway" like Patti and I say. And I am so glad I did.

Stay tuned for my next post about how I pushed my physical boundaries while in Cabo!

Resolutions

New Year's Eve celebration headbands made by my daughters. 

 

by Cathy

New Year's Eve is an emotionally taxing holiday. The celebratory expectations revolved around how one will spend the very last minute of the current year, but most importantly, the first minute of the next year, seem to take on a desperate feel. One must get dressed up; have somewhere fun to go; have someone to share it with; someone to hug; someone to kiss; someone to have a glass of champagne with.They say, after all,  that with whom you kick in a new year is whom you will be with the rest of the year.


I spent this New Year's Eve with my husband and two daughters. We drove downtown to check out the windows at Macy's, the lights down Michigan Avenue, people-watched as dressed-up crowds laughed and rushed through the chilly yet unseasonably mild night and naturally, ended up at the Rock N' Roll McDonald's before we headed home to celebrate together. We danced in feather boas and glittery pink scarves, drank champagne, had some sweets, snapped pictures and even threw homemade confetti. In classic Greek and Latin style, my kids stayed up until 1:30am and showed no signs of settling down to bed until forced to do so.

As part of Greek tradition/superstition, I clean my house from top to bottom every New Year's Eve as a way of ridding the house of the old, dusty and dirty - and welcoming in a new, fresh, clean year. Additionally, upon entering your house for the first time in the new year, you must enter with the right foot, to ensure that the year starts on 'the right foot'.


Every January, hope springs eternal and gives us a new opportunity to erase our past mistakes and rid ourselves of toxic people or unpleasant situations. We do this by dedicating and disciplining ourselves and setting new, different, big, challenging, life-changing, aspiring, success-oriented goals for ourselves. I'd like to share with you some of mine:

- To truly put myself first in every sense of the word. This will be the overall theme and objective that all of my other resolutions will revolve around.

- To be more intuitive to what my mind, body and soul are telling me.

- To be more intuitive in terms of my relationship with my family.

- To meditate and make yoga a bigger part of daily routine.

- To set higher personal and professional goals for myself and see them through.

- To be dedicated to these goals and aspirations. In the famous words of Oprah, if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that no one will give you anything in life. If there is something you want for yourself, you have to get out there and do it for yourself. NO ONE else will do it for you.



As I can personally attest, none of these superstitious rituals or traditions guarantees anything. Doing them doesn't guarantee that the year will go 'right', or that you will end up spending the year with the people who were there with you at midnight.  Because no matter how badly we want these rituals to be true, and cling to the hope that they might, they don't. But we do them anyway because they give us hope. And if we don't have hope, then we have nothing.

Here is hoping that 2012 will bring you and your families everything you are hoping for.

The 12 Whines of Christmas

by Cathy and Patti

By this point you are undoubtedly DONE with Christmas music. And it's not even Christmas yet! But since Walgreen's has had its Christmas decorations out since before the Halloween pumpkins even had the chance to shrivel up, and you, completely and totally against your will, know all the lyrics to all the Christmas songs ever, AND, even though you can't stand those songs, you inevitably find yourself humming those damned songs whether you want to or not, it's no wonder you have had it, Had It, HAD IT with All Things Christmas.

So, we have taken the liberty of cramming yet another song down your throat. Come on; what's a little more merriment? Shoot back that gingerbread Schnapps and sing along with us, won't you?

The first thing 'bout Christmas that makes me wanna whine... is the swollen glands I got from my husband!


The second thing 'bout Christmas that makes me wanna whine...is obligatory gifts and the swollen glands I got from my husband!

The third thing 'bout Christmas that makes me wanna whine...is circling mall parking lots, obligatory gifts and the swollen glands I got from my husband!

The fourth thing 'bout Christmas that makes me wanna whine...is Poinsettia overload, circling mall parking lots, obligatory gifts and the swollen glands I got from my husband!

The fifth thing 'bout Christmas that makes me wanna whine...is GETTING SHOVED AT TARGET!

...Poinsettia overload, circling mall parking lots, obligatory gifts and the swollen glands I got from my husband!

The sixth thing 'bout Christmas that makes me wanna whine... is Jose Feliciano, GETTING SHOVED AT TARGET!
...Poinsettia overload, circling mall parking lots, obligatory gifts and the swollen glands I got from my husband!




The seventh thing 'bout Christmas that makes me wanna whine...is urine-smelling wreaths, Jose Feliciano, GETTING SHOVED AT TARGET!
...Poinsettia overload, circling mall parking lots, obligatory gifts and the swollen glands I got from my husband!


The eighth thing 'bout Christmas that makes me wanna whine...is pulling kids crafts out my ass, urine-smelling wreaths, Jose Feliciano, GETTING SHOVED AT TARGET!
...Poinsettia overload, circling mall parking lots, obligatory gifts and the swollen glands I got from my husband!


The ninth thing 'bout Christmas that makes me wanna whine...is recycling colds and flus, pulling kids crafts out my ass, urine-smelling wreaths, Jose Feliciano,  GETTING SHOVED AT TARGET!
...Poinsettia overload, circling mall parking lots, obligatory gifts and the swollen glands I got from my husband!

The tenth thing 'bout Christmas that makes me wanna whine...is stressing over shopping, recycling colds and flus, pulling kids crafts out my ass, urine-smelling wreaths, Jose Feliciano, GETTING SHOVED AT TARGET!
...Poinsettia overload, circling mall parking lots, obligatory gifts and the swollen glands I got from my husband!

The eleventh thing 'bout Christmas that makes me wanna whine...is hauling decoration storage bins, stressing over shopping, recycling colds and flus, pulling kids crafts out my ass, urine-smelling wreaths, Jose Feliciano, GETTING SHOVED AT TARGET!
...Poinsettia overload, circling mall parking lots, obligatory gifts and the swollen glands I got from my husband!

The twelfth thing 'bout Christmas that makes us wanna whine...is going flat broke, hauling decoration storage bins, stressing over shopping, recycling colds and flus, pulling kids crafts out my ass, urine-smelling wreaths, Jose Feliciano, GETTING SHOVED AT TARGET!
...Poinsettia overload, circling mall parking lots, obligatory gifts and the swollen glands I got from my husband!

....

Now that we've whined...it's time to wine.

We all know that a good whine needs a chance to breathe, right? So it's done; our whine has been popped open and aired out. Now it's time for the good part: It's time to drink up the velvety taste of Christmas and all the good it has to offer. Because, despite our whining, we know that with the bad there is always the good. And for that? We are merry.

Happy Holidays! Merry Christmas! Happy Hannukah, Festivus for the Rest of Us!

Love,

Cathy & Patti

Side-Targeted

by Cathy

'Tis the season to be jolly, Fa la la la la, la la la la!'

Whoever came up with that lively little ditty didn't have to shop at Target with their kids during the holidays, did they.

Going to Target on a regular, non-holiday day with the kids is crazy enough, but throw in the hustle and bustle of the holiday shoppers, the sales, the glitter, tinsel and sparkle and toy endcap displays, and it becomes the ultimate money-and-time-suck.

Without fail, upon entering Target, my kids all of a sudden, are starving. Since I try to avoid taking them to Target because of the reasons explained in this post, when I do, I indulge them in one of their favorite foods - Pizza Hut pizza. So we go straight to the counter, order their pizzas and they eat while I usually catch up on emails and mentally go through my shopping list. When they're done, I wait for the next Target side-track.

"Mommy, I have to go kaka," says Ari.
"Me too" chimes in Bella.

And there it is.

So we all head off to the bathroom. There I stand, listening to Ari recite school poems or sing Christmas carols or tell me the drama that occurred during recess that day at school while she is doing her business and I lean against the door to keep it from opening whenever someone else opens or closes their stall door. And God forbid someone uses those turbo XLERATOR jets to dry their hands; then we are literally screaming to be heard until they stop abruptly and we're still found screaming with our hands covering our ears.

[Allow me to vent: Those things are the loudest and most annoying thing EVER and whoever invented them should be subjected to sit in a bathroom for hours having to listen to those thing run non-stop. It's like a helicopter is landing in the middle of the bathroom to help you dry your hands. Really? (Here's a little tip, people: If you don't place your hands close to the nozzle, they won't be as loud. In fact, try to go as low as you can go without it shutting off and the noise level reduces by a few decibels.)]

Once my hand has dipped into the low toilets with the high water levels at least once during Ari's wiping session and the toilet has flushed on its own at least three times in the process (again, way to be green, people) then we wash our hands, avoid the XLERATOR like the plague and let our hands air dry as we finally head out to get a cart.

Actual cart; child actors

Enter the cart drama. Ari wants the cart with the separate double-seater section in front, which is not only as long as a bus but also feels like I'm maneuvering one as I do complete 180 degree turns every time I want to go anywhere. I feel like I'm plowing the aisles of Target with that contraption.

What actual cart feels like; again, actor

 If I'm lucky, some other poor parents are stuck with them all and I can get a normal, nimble cart. Once my girls have each argued about who will walk, who will sit in the cart, which part of the cart they want to sit or stand in, who's going to hang off the front or the side, we start strolling. By this point, I can't remember for the life of me what it was I came here to buy.



At about the same time, we are walking past the dollar bins, where I inevitably get side-Targeted once again by being forced to "Look!" and "Ooh!" and "Isn't this cute!" and "Can we get this?" over silly little doodads and other non-useful items that are presented to me with big brown eyes and pouty, puppy dog faces.

I mind-muscle them away by distracting them with questions about what we have to buy. But in the end, it doesn't matter what we have to buy - it's what we end up buying. And battling over. And negotiating over.

But I will be honest: the good thing about shopping during the holidays with the kids, is that anything they ask for can be answered with, "Oh, that's cute! Put that on your list for Santa!" And let's not forget the go-to lifesaver of the season: "Remember...Santa's watching you!!"

Until the post-season trips to Target, where upon I'll have to come up with new side-Targeted avoidance tactics.

Good Morning! This Is Your Wake Up Call!

by Cathy

 Since we are taking time off this Thanksgiving holiday to spend with our families, I thought you would enjoy a re-post of one of my favorites. Below is one that I think many women will find fitting on a day like today, when so many of us will indeed wake up to this scene. Well, those of us who STILL don't have dishwashers, that is. Screw it. Leave 'em there and go out shopping instead. You'll ALWAYS have dishes to do, no matter what. Enjoy!



I woke up this morning at around 9am, treasuring my sleep during the last few days before my kids start school and life becomes one big hustle.

As I groggily shuffle into the kitchen to make some coffee, this is what greets me:



I stop short, startled out of my long, luxurious yawn.

Instantly, last night's conversation with my husband replays through my head. We were preparing a movie snack of microwavable popcorn and homemade wine coolers (because that's how we roll) and he saw my reaction as I disdainfully observed this mess.

"Yeah, I saw that too but I said 'screw it'. We'll just do them tomorrow," he says to me. Those words sounded like they had the sound of angels singing around them.
'Yes,' I thought at the time, "that sounds wonderful." Ah the feeling to chuck it all and do what you WANT rather than what NEEDS to be done! So we settled in to watch a nearly three-hour "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," and went off to bed.

Cut to this morning. As I was digging my way to the coffeemaker to make my now desperately needed cup of coffee, I was noticing how conveniently absent my husband was. Oh, that's right. Every Saturday morning he has his weekly breakfast visit with his parents. "We'll just do them tomorrow" kept repeating in my head.

I should have known better. 'WE' never means WE. It always means YOU. Whether you use it on your husband ("WE need to take the trash out") or he uses it on you ("WE really need to organize these closets") it's the same game.

So after my coffee, I begrudgingly stood there and washed this heap, all the while thinking that my first comment to my husband as he walks in the door will be:
WE really need to get a new dishwasher.

Thankful

Most of you are probably at the grocery store right this very minute, hoisting frozen turkeys into your cart, and wrestling over the last bag of stuffing as you elbow your way through packed aisles of frenzied, frowning women. We know this, because this is what we do every year before Thanksgiving -- last minute, of course.

Not only is November a stressful joyful month for many mothers and wives, this November happens to also mark the the six-month anniversary of this blog. We wanted to take this time to express our thanks to you, our readers, for being loyal and supportive. We look forward to and truly appreciate every one of your comments, "likes" and emails. We want you to know that none of it goes unnoticed.

This blog had its humble beginnings as a creative outlet for us - a place where we could log our thoughts, frustrations, and laughs -  but we have discovered that what initially started out as something for "just us" has turned into something for all of us. This journey of motherhood, marriage, friendship -- this journey of life -- is one that we all share. We are in it together, and for that? We are thankful. Giving thanks wouldn't be complete without including our families, who unknowingly provide us with limitless fodder for this blog, and of course, who we are extremely thankful to have - despite the whining.

We are going to take the next few days off to be with our families/get fat/buy "doorbusters!" flat screen TVs, but we will each re-post a personal favorite tomorrow and Friday -- which, by the way, if you have time between The Muppets movie, eating turkey sandwiches, and re-heating leftovers, feel free to check them out. You can find lots of good whines under "The Whine Cellar" to the left of the post.

Thanks again to each and every one of you for your support.  We look forward to uncorking many more friendships with all of you.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Cathy and Patti

HELLoween

by Cathy

Thank the ghouls and goblins that Halloween is over; the 'holiday' felt like it lasted for one full week.

In fact, as I was leaving my kids' school on Monday, after having spent the entire school day there planning room decor, shuffling snacks, large jugs of water and hoards of Pirate Booty, I exhaustedly sung to one of the teachers on my way out: "Bye! Have a nice weekend!" She stopped my exit short with a gentle hand on my shoulder. She lowered her voice and said calmingly, "Today's Monday...but I know how you feel."

I had in fact arrived at school at 8:30a.m. along with 12 other harried moms lugging boxes of witch cauldrons and bags of toilet paper for mummy wrapping. We dove right into transforming the school cafeteria into an obstacle course of Halloween play stations. Within the hour, 100 kindergarteners (my daughter being one of them) descended upon the room to partake in the activities. Another loooong hour later, as the kids filed out high on Halloween games, the moms flopped down on the mini lunch stools exhausted. Time for the clean-up, which consisted of millions of craft sticker backings, toilet paper remnants (which were stuck to pretty much all the shi-shi shoes in the place) and pumpkin balls rolling everywhere.

One kid party down - one to go. I had about an hour to spare for lunch, which I ran out and gobbled while checking email and texts. I raced back to school and began preparations for Bella's party. Five other moms and I hung skeleton door decorations, unpacked gallons of apple cider, pallets of bottled water, and millions of bags of popcorn and Pirate Booty. We set up 40 chairs for a game of Musical Chairs, cranked up an iPod belting out teeny bopper tunes and waited for the crazed fifth graders and their costumes to be unleashed into the clean room. In busted an assortment of random costumes, including a Christmas Tree, a Cupcake, Lady Gaga, Nerds Gone Bad, a Rock Star, Mother Nature and the Devil herself. A frenzy of makeup application and accessory staging began by all the moms on standby, running furiously to retrieve plastic bags from within plastic bags, cameras, smartphones and video cameras. After the primping and snack eating were complete, we had 3.2 minutes to play Musical Chairs, which consisted of me removing chairs at the rate of two per 30 seconds to keep up. I was suh-weating.

We snapped a few obligatory class pictures before we herded down to the school gym for the all-school Halloween parade, in which every child in the school parades on stage and around the gym by classroom. This was a lot of fun, save for the fact that it was standing room only. I made the best of it and bobbed to the music of Thriller, Ghostbusters, The Monster Mash and the theme song from The Adams Family, more times than I could count.

After a mad rush through cattle herds of crowds in the hallways to each classroom to retrieve both girls and their backpacks, costume bags, treat bags, snack bags and lunch bags, we finally emerged from the school, headed to the car and dropped off the kids at the in-laws for one hour of T-O-Ting in their midrise building. In the meantime, Joe and I ran home to clean up our disaster of a house before some friends and their kids came over for spiced rum, pizza and a of course, Trick or Treating.

After a quick sweep of dishwashing, tidying and Windexing, Joe was back out the door to go pick up the girls while our guests arrived. Since the girls were late in finishing up with the in-laws, we decided to pack into the car and just meet Joe and the girls in the area we were TOTing in - but not before we warmed up the spiced rum and took it to go in thermal warmers. (The best idea of the day.) After a few texts we finally met up and tried to make the best of navigating through thousands of people on the spooky, spirited streets. Bella and I were getting tired and cold, so we split up yet again so I could start heading home to pop in some pizza - it WAS dinnertime after all. That plan would have worked out great if Joe remembered where he parked the car in his discombobulated haste to get the kids there. We walked SIX blocks out of our way to NOT find the car.

The girls and I hitched a ride back with our friends - seven people in a car, baby, cuz that's just how we roll - while Joe went on a ghost hunt for the car. After we all safely assembled at home, we chowed on some pizza, had some good conversation, drank some more spiced rum and called it a night.

And what a hell of day and night it turned out to be. Until next year...when we get to do it all again! Mwaaah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha....[evil laugh fading]

Holiday Overload

by Cathy

The other day (September 29th to be exact) I got off the bus on my way home from work, happy that it was my last workday of the week and that the sun was finally shining after a week of rain and gloomy skies. With a spring in my step, I rounded the corner leading to my block and suddenly stopped in my tracks when I saw this:

It took me a while to process what I was seeing. "What the...wait a minute...what's the date?"

This is how far removed I am from Halloween right now, maybe because, um, I don't know, it's more than a month away? Yes, I've seen the costumes at Costco and Target that hit the shelves in early September but I just scoffed in disgust as I passed them by. "It's waaaaaaay too early," I mumbled to myself then as I did on this day. I stood and observed the elaborate scene before me and imagined the hours of planning, details, storing, designing, purchasing and decorating that went into a creating a scene like this. I'm not this organized with the essentials in my house and I barely have enough room for said essentials in my house, let alone for holiday decorations of this size and quantity.

But I didn't expect anything less from these guys. You see, this is our neighorhood Holiday Hoarding House. You know, every neighborhood has one: the house that has 53,724 pieces of decoration for every holiday out there, and all of these thousands of pieces are presented on their lawns, porches, decks, fences and even sidewalks ALL at the same time. Or they could be the ones with the biggest, gaudiest decorations like inflatible Frosty the Snowmen that end up 'melting' and lifeless on crowded lawns. These are the people with turkey shaped flags for Thanksgiving and bunny planters for Easter. These are the people with heart-shaped rope lighting in their windows for Valentine's day and life-size leprechaun cut-outs on St. Patrick's day. The Holiday Hoarding Houses.

Why is everyone is such a friggin hurry to get on to the next holiday? Doesn't time fly fast enough already that I need to buy my kid's Halloween costume the same week I buy back to school supplies? Must I be subjected to viewing these decorations more than a month in advance of the actual holiday and worse, for quite some time after the holiday has passed?

Is this a trick? Cuz it ain't no treat.