Remembering what's important on 9-11

Today is the "anniversary" of 9-11, the downing of the World Trade Center. It seems like only yesterday that I was pregnant with Maya, watching in horror, as the towers collapsed. It was so very sad, sitting in the office with my coworkers, eyes glued to the lunchroom TV as the events unfolded. I cried a lot that day.

Every year on this day, I try to take a moment to reflect on my life and all I am thankful for. It's not often I get a chance to do that. Life gets in the way. That's what I love so much about being in the woods. In the forest, there's no deadlines or carpools or things that demand my attention other than the immediate need to put one foot in front of the other and not trip over any fallen trees branches or loose rocks.

While in Pisgah National Forest, with packs on our backs, Maverick and I hiked up the mountain to Looking Glass Rock. It was drizzling ever-so-slightly. I called upon the rain gods to not rain any harder and spoil our day.

The drizzle and the gray skies kept the temperature low but the humidity clung to the wet forest leaves. I was thrilled to walk quietly through the woods, not seeing another human being. The woods were eerily silent. I thought about how the rainforest in Hawaii was eerily silent too. And Costa Rica. I never knew how silent the forest was before, probably because I never shut up then.

I love the silence now. There's something about a quiet forest. I can't put my finger on it, but its tranquility always has the same effect on me. It wills me to take a big cleansing breath in, hold it, and slowly release. Shuuu...It's peaceful among the quiet, wet wood.

It was the very same peacefulness I experienced practicing yoga on a Maui beach at sunrise. It washes over me when I take some time to just be. Not be a mom, or an errand runner, or a dog walker, boss or wife. Just be.

And in those rare moments of peace, those slivers of time of just being, I reflect upon how very lucky I am. Yes, I can bitch about my thighs or how my commute is sucking the life out of me on a daily basis. I can complain I'm a day late on your birthday card or a dollar short. And I do, I know. Thanks for listening.

But when I'm in those moments of clarity, and on days like today, I'm thankful for so many amazing people in my life. My family and my friends. My girls, of course. My happy, healthy life. But mostly for Maverick, my very best friend and truest love. Thanks for showing me the love...and the peace, baby.

Adventure Trip: Day 3

Today's survivor challenge was a hiking/biking combination at Dupont State Forest. The itinerary sounded easy after what we had done the past two days. I can hike. I can bike. No sweat. But I never took endurance into the mix of qualities one needs to hike and bike for more than six hours. By the end of the day, I felt like I had completed a decathlon. I think I did.

The hiking part was easy for me. This was originally what I wanted to do-- to set out with my pack and hike to the top of a mountain. I've done some hiking before but it's always felt like just a taste of what hiking is really like. I've gone on nice strolls through the forest. I wanted to seriously hike.

We set out on Rocky Ridge Trail. The first section was an easy path in the heavily wooded forest. I felt like running it. It looked like the perfect trail to do that but Joe, our guide, promised me the trail would get steeper and more difficult.

Eventually it did. We inclined rather steeply and the conversation quickly lapsed as we struggled for our breath. Maverick, who stated earlier he's not into vertical climbs after one we did just yesterday, followed behind me. Though I was also winded, I practically ran anyway. I played a mental game just to see how fast I could hoof it up. I had to maneuver around slippery, loose stones, protruding tree branches and other obstacles to weave my way up the path. At times, you wouldn't even know it was a path we were following.

All around us the forest was silent and the sunlight that filtered down through the canopy of leaves above us gave the air below a surreal glow. After some time, we came out of the woods into a beautiful meadow filled with wild flowers of every color.
We took the better part of the morning to hit the top of the mountain and we were rewarded with gorgeous views of the forest. All I could see around me was clear, blue skies and greenery everywhere.

On the way back down the mountain, once we got past the steepest part, I did in fact run it. I. ran over two miles downhill. It was absolutely exhilarating. It has to be one of my best runs ever. Not only did I do well on speed and endurance, but I also had the extra challenge of jumping over tree trunks and boulders while on my way. I sat near the car until the guys made it down themselves. Maverick was not thrilled with me running by myself. I could have been eaten by a bear. Or more likely, missed the right turns to get back to the car. Luckily, my wits helped me survive and find the right paths back. I knew I would. I am Adventure Girl.

We ate lunch afterwords, while I cooled down from my run. Joe set up our mountain bikes. I surveyed the bikes and realized I may have made an error in judgment with the run. For some reason, the biking portion of this trip didn't cross my mind when I made the decision to throw a run on top of an already challenging hike. Now I was expected to spend the afternoon mountain biking. Oops.

Maverick laughed at me. He was waiting for this activity. Mountain biking was what he was super-excited to do. Joe told me much of the biking was down hill today and we were going to reward ourselves by seeing some fabulous waterfalls. That perked me up and we hopped on our bikes and began the downward descent.

The biking portion was an absolute thigh killer but so much fun. It was exhilarating to fly down the mountain on a gravel path, whipping through the woods. Maverick was hopping over tree branches and jumping holes in the ground. I just kept myself focused on not falling over while we sped down the path. The gravelly paths were scary at high speeds, especially when a rock caught in the wheels and I would remind myself not to squeeze too hard on the front break, or I would flip over the front wheel.

We biked over twelve miles and saw a handful of gorgeous waterfalls. I never knew until this weekend that North Carolina is "the land of waterfalls". We saw a triple fall and a very wide fall that we climbed under. There were waterfall slides and more waterfalls. It was an absolutely wonderful day of exercise, adventure and scenery. I loved being in nature with no thoughts of anything other than the immediate beauty in front of me.

Adventure Trip: Day 2

Sunday morning in the damp, cold Pisgah Forest, I craned my neck upward at my morning task: It was a behemoth, 600-foot-tall slab of granite called Looking Glass Rock. I, Adventure Girl, planned to climb a portion of Looking Glass Rock. The idea was to use my hands and feet (which were clad in elfin-like rubber-soled rock climbing shoes), along with my guide Joe's verbal assistance actually climb this monstrosity with my own fortitude and a single rope to catch me if I fell.

After Canyoneering yesterday, I was ready to tackle any challenge. I woke up feeling fantastic and charged. But standing at the base of the rock, my confidence stepped down a notch. While Joe set up the ropes, I surveyed the rock, looking for some magical path upward of hand and foot holds. I questioned myself and how I was actually going to scale this rock. I must be out of my mind. The realization dawned on me that this was not going to be a Disney ride--no secret handholds quietly disguised along the way to aid me. Darn it.

Maverick went first. His trip up to the 100+ foot ledge was slow going but sure-footed. With Joe providing directions on where to put his left foot or a good spot to secure his right hand, Maverick faltered a bit at the bottom. He then found his way to the top. He conquered his first leg of the mountain. He was thrilled.

Next was my turn. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and I eagerly waited while Joe attached a rope to my harness. He had wanted me to tie my own knot, which he had just shown us, but I informed him I didn't trust my life to my own knot, thank you very much.

"On bolay, " I announced. "Bolay on, climb."

I assessed the rock. Pitched at a 70-75 degree angle (which when you're standing next to it feels like 90 degrees!) I looked at the base for somewhere to take my first step. The key is to find a good foothold and lift your body weight up once you get the foot secure. In some places on the way up, there were cracks in the rock that provided a great spot to anchor your hands and pull yourself up too. Mostly, there wasn't much more than smooth stone with horizontal cracks from water running down the rock. I had to rely on my elf shoes to grab the rock while my hands were pressed into the stone and I just prayed they'd stick like glue.

My left foot found a good resting place and I hoisted myself up one foot. Good job, Tracy. One foot down, ninety-nine more to go! My right foot found a tiny crevice in the rock and I inched higher. Left foot, right foot, up I go!, keep going, and then about fifteen feet up, stop!

There wasn't anywhere to go. I couldn't figure out where to go next. Joe and Maverick were shouting suggestions but none seemed to be working. I slid myself right, trying to reach a small crack that may have offered reprieve,to no avail. I was stuck. My confidence took another backward step down the Adventure Girl meter and stopped on "Whimpy". I faltered, not sure what to do next and contemplated just going back down.

"No whimpiness here!" I chastised myself and willed my body to continue. A new spot suddenly came into my view and I found my footing to move upward. I was thrilled. I continued moving slowly up the rock with the verbal guidance of Joe. Another ten feet up and again, I was stuck.

This time I couldn't get my feet to stick to the rock. I reached left and tried to grab right, to no avail. I tried a hail mary pass to throw my weight at the rock three feet over (and hoped to stick like spiderman) but instead, lost my balance and my footing and slipped. I dangled from the rope and slammed my body into the rock, 25 feet up.

Maverick shouted up to make sure I was okay. I was okay but my confidence was shot. The Adventure Girl meter slammed down to the bottom of the scale. It read "Loser girl, go home and resume couch potato position."

I was perspiring, panting and quite frankly feeling scared. What was I thinking? I was thinking how when I get into something, it's either all or nothing with me. Jumping into climbing a rock like this was slightly nuts and definitely "all in." My fight or flee instinct begged me to shout "coming down!" but I just couldn't do it.

I truly wanted to conquer this challenge and I knew there was absolutely NO way I'd let Maverick be the only one to do it. I wouldn't allow myself give up. I am Adventure Girl! I will make it to the top and see the spectacular view that was awaiting me.

I got back on my feet and slowly made my way to the top. I grunted and moaned and scraped up my knee but I ignored it all and thought of nothing else but the rock. When I hit the top of the ridge, I stood up, turned around and took in the unbelievable view of green mountains as far as my eyes could see. Then I raised my arms into a "see my big biceps" pose and shouted like Tarzan.

Adventure Girl survived day two in the action-adventure trip I requested. I absolutely loved it!

PS. We forgot our camera but took a few on the I-phone. Here's just a few:
Top photo: Joe setting up our ropes on Looking Glass Rock
2nd photo: The view from our high point

I asked for an adventure vacation

Action-Adventure Day 1

So, here we are in the beautiful mountains of North Carolina. Today, we went Canyoneering. Basically, it's repelling down canyons (today we repelled down a gorge), traversed through water and then rock climbed back up. Yep, that's me, climbing back up the gorge. I surprised even myself doing it well. A few times on the way up, I nervously laughed to myself: "Am I outta my freaking mind?"

After a three-mile hike and canyoneering, we came upon a gorgeous waterfall that absolutely rivaled any I saw along the Hana Highway in Maui. The only way to get to the basin of this waterfall is to rappel down a 70 ft cliff. Here's the 75-foot reward that was waiting:
If five hours of this wasn't enough, we then made our way down to the Green River for a two+hour kayak ride. The river had some good momentum, with nice little class II rapids. Enough to enable Maverick and I to have a good laugh if we got stuck in the middle of a rapid (the water was fairly shallow) but not too consuming that I couldn't just lay back in the canoe at times and let the current take me where it will.

A few spots were hairy and I got stuck on a some rocks. This photo is one of the rapids I rocked on! I cut my kayak perfectly around every protruding boulder and gained some decent speed. Afterward, I raised my paddle and let out a loud victory hoot!

By the time we were done, it was past 6pm. We had started our adventure at 9am; and we were completely exhausted but happy. This is Maverick & I at the end of the kayak trip. We were planning our exit to the closest Starbucks.


We're back in our hotel room now, eating room service and downing Motrin like Halloween candy. Tomorrow, we're back out at 8am for a full day of rock climbing. Hopefully, my muscles will make a full recovery. I have a feeling I'm going to sleep really well tonight. Goodnight.

Vacation surprise

Tomorrow I'm leaving on my anniversary vacation and Maverick planned the entire trip in secrecy.

Originally, we were planning it together. I wanted rain forest; he wanted fishing. Unfortunately, it's impossible to find fish in a rain forest. After several attempts to decide on a vacation-spot together, I threw up my hands. Maverick decided to make all the arrangements himself and completely leave me out of the decision-making.

At first, I thought his idea to keep the destination secret was brilliant. I have absolutely no idea where we are going. I only know the planned activities. While the concept of a “complete surprise” was charming at the beginning, now I’m finding it quite the opposite.

What if I don’t have the right shoes? That would be a tragedy. So, maybe I’m exaggerating…just a little. (Yes, I can already hear you laughing at this one, snickering about what I would do if I don’t have the right color-coordinated flip- flop…!)

I know I could just buy whatever I forget; but in my new age of “I deserve it, but I’m still not buying it”, I’m going to try to make do with whatever I have. We’ll see how that goes.

Not having the right clothes is only a small part of it. I hate not knowing. The simple fact is that I hate secrets, unless I’m in on the secret. It’s killing me that everyone around me seems to know where I’m going. They taunt me and drop hints. But collectively, everyone’s hints make no sense, but I'm guessing it's an evil plot to
confuse me.

I don’t like to not have the opportunity to research our destination. Part of the excitement of any trip is scouring the internet, reading travel blogs and studying trip advisor to seek out the out-of-the-way treasures not in the guidebooks and the off the beaten path.

Truthfully, the main reason I hate not knowing is because it kills me to not be in control. I have absolutely no say in anything. And that goes against my grain. Maverick is enjoying this part of the secret and milking it for all he can:

What time is our flight? “Why does it matter? We'll get there when we get there.”
What’s the weather like? “We'll definitely be having some weather. May be hot; may be cold.”
Should I pack fancy clothes or casual clothes for dinner? “Yes”
What about our daytime activities you planned? “You’ll either absolutely love them, or you’ll die trying.”


I know we’re going canyoneering, hiking, mountain biking and river kayaking. I asked for an outdoorsy, thrill-packed adventure trip. I know Maverick's going to surpass any expectations. I know it will be fantastic. My husband's always over-the-top, so I don't expect anything less from him this time. I'm actually very excited, albeit anxious, to go.

For the record, I really don't want to know the secret, even though I’ve been hassling him to tell me. I’m just very excited to have him all to myself for five days. Just us. However, I am going to give you my top 3guesses, so just in case I’m right, you’ll be my witness. I'll let you know where it is when I get back.

1) Utah
2) Colorado
3) North Carolina

For those of you that don’t know where I’m going, I’ll be sure to twitter as soon as I know. :)

Are you laughing with me?

Maverick and I celebrated our anniversary this weekend. After 11 years of marriage, 14 years of cohabitation and a history that began almost 20 years ago, I love how amazingly well Maverick really gets me. He understands me in a way no one else does. And when he doesn’t understand me, he laughs at me. I love that too. It’s just one of the many reasons that makes “us” work.

For example, about three years into our relationship, while in the car, I decided to entertain him with my Karaoke Queen singing. Reincarnated in the form of my Rock Band avatar, Bunni, with surfer-girl dreadlocks, Daisy Dukes, knee-hi socks and Chuck Taylors, I curled my hand into a microphone, thrashed my hair all over the passenger seat, shredded my air guitar and belted out every chorus of some Soundgarden tune with ear-curdling off-key half-correct lyrics. I may have truly sucked, but I owned my performance! Thank you for coming out tonight! I love you!

Maverick watched my entire music video with a semi-smirk lurking from behind his hands, resting on the steering wheel. When the song was over, he politely remarked: “You really think you’re good, don't you, Tracy?”

I was mortified—I couldn’t believe he thought I took myself seriously. I’m a jokester, a clown. I make funny faces, sometimes unintentionally, and I laugh at myself. Of all the things I’ve ever thought about myself, being a good singer was as far at the bottom of that list as becoming the smoking-hot, 6-foot-1, Hollywood-supermodel-starlet Mrs. John Travolta, I wanted to be when I was seven.

“What?” I screeched at Maverick in my high-pitched tone. “Good? Are you kidding? I was completely just trying to be funny!” I pleaded and begged him to believe me. I needed him to believe me. I stupidly thought I was amusing him being thy goofy self.

Red-faced, I turned my body towards my car door and sulked. Honestly, I’m pretty clear on which side of the recording contract I sit on. Of all my delusions, my singing well wasn’t one of them. I felt foolish. It’s one thing to be laughed with; quite another to be laughed at.

Maverick laughed anyhow and he laughed for a while. Then he slowly allowed the smile to fade and placated me with: “Okay. If that’s what you say.”

We sat in bloated silence. I peeked at him through the corner of my eye, arms still crossed stubbornly, and saw he was looking directly at me. He was smiling, holding in another burst of laughter. I recognized how hard he was trying to contain himself, muffling the sound that desperately wanted to come out.

I realized how much Maverick really loved me then and my anger faded. I saw the situation for what it was: He sat by quietly, day after day, song after song, and let me sing on the top of my lungs, acting out my silliness, because he knew I loved it. And even if he thought my singing stunk, which it absolutely does except to some neighborhood dogs, he was never going to tell me otherwise. He loved me enough to tolerate my lunacy.

I turned up the radio and belted out another song. We laughed for a long time about that one. And here I am eleven years later still laughing about it. Thanks Maverick, for all the laughs we’ve shared. Even if most of them are deservedly directed at me.

Hypocrisy: How it Plays Out

Setting: Saturday morning, my kitchen table

Maverick (grabbing his keys off the counter): I’m going to get Starbucks.
Me (folding a load of laundry): While you’re out, can you pick up some turkey to make sandwiches for lunch?
Maverick (sarcastically) : Why do you need to buy more food? You just went to Publix the other day and spent $300. We have plenty here.
Me (doubly sarcastic): Because I don’t feel like spending my entire day in this kitchen preparing breakfast, lunch, snacks, dinner and dessert. I thought turkey sandwiches would be fast and easy. Forget it. Just get me a iced quad grande non-fat three Equal extra-ice latte. Thanks.

About thirty minutes later.
Me (phone in hand, lounging on a pool chair, enjoying my 30 minutes of quiet-time): Where are you guys? I just made lunch.
Maverick: Just picking up ‘Bucks. Lunch? Camryn just had a yogurt here because she was hungry.
Me (jumping off my chair in amazement): What? You just spent money on yogurt? I have yogurt here from Publix! And you’d better not have ordered Maya chocolate milk because I have that here too! You kill me! (Click. Silence.)

Five minutes later.
Maverick (kneeling at my lounge chair): What? Are you mad at me?
Me: Yes, unless you admit you’re a hypocrite!
Maverick (with a wink and a smile and knowing full well I’m completely right): I’ll never admit that…

Setting: Evening, in my living room
Group: We’re getting hungry! What’s for dinner?
Me to Maverick: Want to bring in sushi for us? I can make the kids homemade tacos.
Maverick (repeating himself): What? Why do you want to bring in? We have tons of food in the fridge to make. You just spent hundreds of dollars…(fade to black. Discontinue listening.)
Me (red-faced from frustration): That’s right. We do have food to make, but I don’t feel like cooking! I work all week and you hang out with the kids. Then I come home and spend so much time making everyone delicious, healthy, home cooked meals, while you hang out with them. I’d rather spend less time in the kitchen and more time with my kids.
Maverick: Well, we have mahi-mahi filets in the fridge. I’ll make dinner then!
Me (smiling): Great, I love that idea! I’m going to shower. Just call me whenever dinner is ready!

Thirty minutes later.
Me (walking into the kitchen, fresh, relaxed and dressed): How long until dinner is ready?
Maverick: How about we order in from Park Avenue BBQ?

I’m aggravated

Maybe it’s the moon cycle. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it’s the economy. Whatever it is, I’m feeling cranky, aggravated, annoyed, irritated. In no order:

Stop telling me to be funny. I don’t try intentionally to be funny, so when I am funny, it’s funny. I can’t try to be more funny. It’s aggravating when I hear that my blog “isn’t as funny as it used to be.”

Helplessness is really annoying. It’s aggravating when people sit back and wait for others to help them do what they’re quite capable of doing themselves. Get off your lazy ass and do it! Please stop waiting for me to take charge.

If I ask you a lot of questions, it’s because I’m interested in what you have to say. Why is that so F’ing hard to understand?

Excuses are aggravating. Say yes if you want; or just say no. Don’t give me your BS excuses. You’re in or you’re out. Yes or no. It’s not that difficult. I don’t care either way, really.

Reciprocity is key. I’m not talking tit-for-tat or dollar-for-dollar but reciprocating in-kind, as my mother always says. It’s tiring when I’m doing all the giving and you’re doing all the taking. You don’t have to be able to whip up a sit-down dinner for ten like I can. But you surely can reciprocate with drinks and Costco hors d’ouvres once in a while. And damn it, buy me the good vodka.

Leave me alone. Yes, it’s flattering if you want my opinion on everything (even the stuff I have no idea about). It’s aggravating when you can’t make your own decisions without me weighing in either. Go for it! Make your own decision! You can do it!

Leash police, go away! Yes, I let my dog run around without a leash. I know you don’t like it but frankly I just don’t give a damn. It’s not like my dog’s going to eat your face off, Plus, I’ve never heard of a rabid Golden Retriever anyway. If you don’t like it, walk the other direction.

Yak, yak, yak! There’s lots of things people tell me that I really don’t need to hear. Seriously. I’m better off not knowing. If I don’t need to know about the cheating spouse, please keep it to yourself. Unless it was Maverick, of course, then please do tell as soon as possible.

Enough is enough. No matter what I promise my kids, two more minutes…one more cookie…yes, you can do it one more time…it’s never enough. It never appeases the whining for even more. It’s totally aggravating when I try to set a fair limit and then have to argue with them on why one more minute (or cookie, lap, chance, turn) is not an option.

That’s all the civilized grievances I have for today. The rest are utterly unsuitable to write. Thanks for letting me vent. Feel free to share your own. Aggravation loves company.

Dog People

Over the weekend, I had the pleasure of some alone time with my dog. First we went to Starbucks together and then swimming. He didn’t point out that I probably shouldn’t have been wearing a bikini. But he also didn’t remind me to apply more sunscreen either.

I adore dogs but I’m extremely partial to big dogs. I’m not a fan of little tiny toy lap dogs that wear clothes and are schlepped around in doggie buggies. How humiliating for the dogs. Those people should just have cats or guinea pigs.

There are people who like dogs and then there are dog people. I am most definitely a dog person. People who like dogs pat your dog on the head if you happen to walk by. Dog people will cross the street to give your pooch a smooch.

People who like dogs usually don’t own one themselves. Or if they do, it’s only because their partner came with one. I feel badly for those people because they don’t have much choice in the matter. Like Samantha’s big, blubbery, sloppy-drooling bloodhound that came with her boyfriend. She likes dogs but definitely did not expect to inherit a dog that requires a towel to be strapped around the neck.

Maverick likes dogs. He had a German Sheppard once. That crazy dog ran loose in the neighborhood and terrorized the neighbors. When we moved away, Maverick willingly gave up his dog. Maverick insisted that was his last dog.

I informed him if he wanted to be with me, I was part of a human-dog package. I had to have a dog. Always. He thought after our first dog died, I’d be over it. Nice try.

We lucked out with another great Golden. Even my non-dog-loving friends like Casey because what’s not to like about an adorable, obedient, brown-eyed, blonde golden? He listens. He fetches. He finds my lost flip-flops. He curls up with me on the couch and keeps me company when I’m alone. He motivates me to exercise. He forces me to be regimented. He loves riding in the car with me. He’s got a wonderful big, black nose and a warm, pink tongue. He likes hugs. He’s my boy.

I often wonder if getting another Golden would double the pleasure or simply be an insane thing to do. I bet you can guess what Maverick thinks about that!

Crack in a cup

I’m addicted to Starbucks. I love my coffee but it absolutely kills me that I spend almost $4.50 every single day on my quad grande non-fat three equal latte. The fact remains that I can’t seem to give it up either.

Believe me, I’ve tried to like Dunkin’ Donuts or McDonald’s but they’re too weak. I also have tried to brew my own to no avail either. I’ve tried different coffee brands, different grinds and even different coffee pots. In my quest to either replicate my Starbucks or find a suitable alternative, I’ve picked up enough coffee makers to open Tracy’s Coffee Bar. I counted a Gevalia pot that came free with a trial subscription to their coffee of the month club. I also have both a Bodum electric French press and a manual French press. I have my original Mister Coffee 12-cup pot and a large party size 48-cup pot. I have a Kerieg single cup coffee maker and a Starbucks single to-go-cup coffee maker, and my Krups 12 cup coffee maker with a warming carafe. Not to mention the old espresso maker parked in the back of the pantry we got as a wedding gift. None of these seem to satisfy me.

For Hanukkah, our friend bought us an espresso maker. At first, I loved it. It does make perfect foam and is easy enough to use, but unless I invest in a espresso maker that very expensive, I’m never going to get the right amount of pressure to brew the perfect cup. That sits on the counter looking pretty and unused now.

Sometimes I wonder if Starbucks includes just the tiniest bit of crack in their blend. That would explain my addiction. It's like the yummiest tasting crack in a cup, every so slightly sweetened. It’s not the caffeine because I can drink four shots and go right to bed afterward. It’s just the flavor. I just love the dark, rich, almost burned taste. It wouldn’t be so bad if I at least limited myself to the morning commute cup. Now, however, in the afternoons, I’m driving over for a mid-day iced drink too.

I’ve even got Maverick hooked. The guy never even drank coffee until he shacked up with me. Plus, I think I’m creating a monster in my five-year old. Surprisingly, Camryn loves Starbucks too. Most of my adult friends can’t stomach my four-shot drink but Camryn would drink it all if I let her. For now, I only let her have her favorite vanilla milk. Between the three of us, we have a family fortune going down the drain to one benefactor. We stopped calling it Starbucks and refer to it lovingly as FourBucks. Maybe calling it more than three thousand a year bucks would be more appropriate.

I’d be much happier if my gym knew me by name instead of all the baristas who ask if I’m having “the usual” when I walk in. For Maverick, they special order his favorite yogurt. I even have my very own Starbucks Black card, which saves me 10% on every drink. The card makes me feel special, like my own American Express Black Card for coffee drinkers, though not as many perks. It would be great if it also had perks like my own personal concierge, or a home barista would be nice. I think I’ll submit that idea to Starbucks. Maybe I should run over there now and pitch my suggestion. While I’m at it, I might as well pick up an afternoon iced coffee too. And the vicious cycle of addiction continues…

Fight for dominance

Friday night, my kids and their cousins were enjoying some night swimming. Casey wanted to swim too. He’s almost five months old now, and getting big. He just learned how to swim, and being a water dog, wants to be in the pool at all times.

Swimming with the kids, however, is a bit of a problem. Whenever one jumps in, he jumps in after them. As he doggie-paddles around, his sharp claws extend and he often scratches the kids. They have yet to learn how to grab him underneath his belly and hold him. When I do this trick, he relaxes in my arms. He likes this position and even rolls over so I can scratch his belly at the same time, like a big, hairy baby.

So in my effort to control my dog, keep him out of the pool and thus save the children, I tried to coax Casey of the water. He ignored me. I called him sternly, in my deepest I’M SERIOUS NOW! tone, to no avail. Finally, I dragged him out by the back of his neck.

Once out of the pool, he decided to play-bite me. He chews at my ankles like a juicy rawhide and it’s painful. I yell again, No biting, DAMN DOG! Not surprisingly, he ignores me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Maverick and Doc J laughing at me, knowing that the battle of wits, woman vs. canine, has begun.

Now, I’ve tried all the Dog Whisper BS to establishing dominance. I’ve bit Casey’s ear, thumped his rump with a magazine, tried positive reinforcement with a treat….all to no avail. He sees Maverick as the alpha-male and I’m just another litter mate. However, I’m sick of this household position and want to win. So this time, I try to get down on Casey’s level.

I bent down, threw him on his back and stuck my face into his muzzle while holding his jaw closed. NO BITING, I growled. Casey squirmed beneath me, trying to get back to his feet. I hear Maverick and Doc J coaching me. Growl louder. Holder tighter. Don’t give in.

Casey wriggled. I growled as low as my vocal chords will allow, GRRRRR…. I dug my fingers deeper in his muzzle. Casey squirmed harder and I felt like I was losing control. I threw my whole body’s weight on top of him. I’m going to BEAT HIM, damn it. I’m not going to let him win. I laid on top of him for several minutes, until he stopped moving and gave in to my domination.

AH-HA! I won! You stopped struggling, pup, and I am your MASTER! You WILL listen to me! You will OBEY me! You will… Oops.

I must have given an extra inch of room while doing my mental celebration lap. Not sure what happened but the next second, Casey was standing right next to me, while I was on all fours, and we were practically nose to nose. For a very long pause, we looked each other square in the eye. I questioned silently, have I won? Is he going to listen? Did I teach him a lesson of who’s boss? Is he going to stay where he is?

He responded in returned silence by making a mad dash straight back into the pool with a big jump and huge splash ending. Maverick and Doc J. laughed their asses off. I sulked back into the house, knowing that I’d lost again.

Tired from mother's day

I had a wonderful Mother’s Day. My goal was to not do much but relax. I had breakfast and Starbucks served to me, and spent some quality time in the pool with Maya and Casey. Then I had the family over for dinner. It was lovely.

Later that night, I checked my Facebook to see that Maverick had updated his status. It read: I love to spoil my wife, mom, sister, mom-in-law…for mothers day! But, it is one tiring damn day!!

I wrinkled my nose in despair at that last part “one tiring damn day!” I have to laugh and at the sake of killing the good place Maverick and I are in right now, I have to give a very loud HARRUMPH to this notion that spoiling me on this day could be so tiring.

First, the bagel and egg breakfast paired with Starbucks arrived after 11am. Maverick slept in with me and then, when he was ready to head out to get my breakfast, also informed me that he was going to run an errand to Home Depot too. I did ask him to go to Home Depot, but I kinda expected him to bring me breakfast first!

So, instead of having my nice, warm breakfast served to me on a tray, in bed, I had to wait for him to run his errand. I should not have to wait, stomach growling. Breakfast should have been prepared and anticipating my beck and call, preferably from a bell placed on my nightstand. I’m a fantastic mother. I deserved it on my day.

Afterwards, Maverick had to run yet another errand. He was not home all afternoon while gallivanting around town doing stuff. I didn’t get to hang out with him, nor was he around to fetch me a drink when I got hot. I had to do that myself on MY mother’s day. Plus, if he didn’t leave his errands for the last minute, I wouldn’t have had to suffer. So if he was tired, this was completely his own doing.

Meanwhile, I still had to make lunch for Maya, and listen to her incessant whining about how I wasn’t playing with her in the pool. Finally, I informed her that his was my day, and all I wanted to do was float quietly on my raft. If she wanted to join me in doing what I wanted, I would like it. But on my day, I didn’t want to play mermaid. I wanted to do nothing.

At three, I had to get out of the pool and prepare for the troops to arrive. So I straightened up the house, cut up the veggies and assembled the appetizers, washed the dog, prepared the kitchen for dinner and vacuumed the floor. I bathed the kids and myself. All in an hour. On yet another errand, Brian left to pick up the to-go food.

Everyone arrived, and I served the appetizers and made sure everyone had a drink. I heated and served the food. I made plates for my kids. I fed the dog. Maverick, along with Doc and the other men watched golf. Finally, someone shouted that the women were going to sit down and leave the men to handle the rest.

Afterwards, I helped clean up dinner, pack up the leftovers, serve five (5!) cakes, clean up dessert and usher everyone out the door. Once the company left, I got the house back in order, vacuumed again and walked the dog. So much for me not having to do anything on this day.

All in all, Mother’s Day was not much different than every other day. It was a very nice day but I’m not sure what constituted “so much work” for Maverick. Nor am I sure I accomplished my goal of rest and relaxation either. I guess I can take another shot at it come Father’s Day.

Playing the Game

Maverick and I have a pretty good system for managing two full-time careers and raising two young daughters. We split the morning routine, each taking care of one kid; and in the afternoons, he gets the girls from school, entertains them for a while and then feeds them. When I get home from work, I finish up the nighttime routine of homework, baths, books and bed.

I do the laundry, he takes the dry cleaning. I do the lunches, he does dinner. He manages the finances, the house maintenance, pest control, the landscaper and the pool. I do the shopping, miscellaneous errands, and daily house straightening. I do the scheduling of doctor’s appointments, vet visits, dental cleanings, babysitter and weekend plans. He does all the “daytime” things that I can’t get to and I do all the other things he deems is “my job.” We share the dog responsibilities and taking out the trash. …And so on…and it works for us, usually.

Every so often we get into a pissing match of my least-favorite game, called “Who does more?” Every married or cohabitating couple plays. All you need to get started is to pick out something in your relationship that feels uneven and you want acknowledgement for. There’s no minimum to how small the uneven “thing” can feel. It can be as insignificant as who cleans the orange juice ring left in the sink.

One player goes first and calls out, “I do everything around here! I did X today and Y and Z!” The other person counters with, “What? I did A, B and C! Not to mention that yesterday, I also did X and Y and Z!” The game continues until one player “wins” by beating the other player down to beg for mercy, ask for forgiveness or thank the winner profusely for all he or she has done.

As competitive as I am, for the first twelve years of my relationship, I always went for the win. Sometimes, I’d even continue “playing” long after my Maverick left the game. Now, I’m just tired of playing it and often accept defeat for peace.

The last few days, Maverick has been grumbling about me under his breath. We're playing the "Who does more?" game in silent mode. I know what he's thinking but I didn't engage him in the conversation. I didn't want to. I'm tired. I'm busy. I've been dizzy. I'm just not in the mood to play.

Finally this morning, Maverick started round one. However, instead of the opening line, he began by uncovering a new strategy to the game. He jumped right in without the usual banter and went right for the kill with the "Martyr" card. The martyr card played out like this:

Me: “I’m going in late to the office so I can register Camryn for kindergarten today.”
Him: “Why didn’t you just ask me to do that?”
Me: “Because I can do it. I thought I'd take care of it first so I don't have to bother you with doing it.”
Him: “Why not? I do everything else around here.”

So now, instead of trying to make me feel guilty and/or thankful for how much he does, he’s offered to willingly “do it all” to play his martyr trump card. And of course, the martyr is an automatic win.

The truth is we both have to do what we have to do to keep our family and house running. We have to stop keeping track and just get it done. Sometimes I do more, sometimes he does more. I hear the same game being played daily with all my friends. And we’re all tired of it, yet we can’t seem to find a way to stop the pattern.

Next time, I’m going to try ending the game before it begins. I’ll say: Maverick, you can pass go, and collect your $200. Thanks for playing. Oh, and can you pick up my prescription while you’re out?

Shopping frenzy

Maverick called me at the office to say he was taking away my credit card. Apparently, he said, I don’t know how to control myself when it comes to shopping. As I pleaded and explained and poorly attempted to keep control of my plastic, in the back of my mind, I know he can be right, sometimes.

Not too long ago, Starr and I were doing some out-of-town shopping. We hit a stretch of unique shops and the two of us started salivating. My saliva was caused by hunger. It was mid-afternoon and neither of us had anything to eat all day, but Starr was drooling over the clothes she saw displayed in the window.

After promising her that the stores would remain open afterwards, we grabbed a bite to eat and drank a bottle of champagne over lunch. Feeling warm and bubbly from the cold bubbly, we hit the boutiques.

We looked like two kids in a candy store. We practically ransacked the first shop, throwing things around and stock piling clothes in the dressing room. Tops and skirts and dresses flew out of the curtain while my poor friend, Jenny, carefully hung up the discarded clothes for us. While Starr paid for her finds, I scoured the jewelry counter and strung several necklaces around my wrist and tossed them on the checkout counter for a last-minute photo finish of a clothes horse-race.

And that was the first shop.

By the third or forth…or maybe the fifth or sixth boutique…I think I lost count….I realized I also had lost my head. I walked into this store, still rearing to go on the high that everything was on sale, everything was in my size and everything looked great. (And how often do the stars align that perfectly?)

I stood over a pile of beautiful 50% off scarves and was trying to pick out one or two to buy. But I had found six that all looked great and agonized over which ones to put down. So I moved over to the sweater table and picked up three or four cute things. Next, I found another necklace, so I made my way over to the cashier but couldn’t bypass the shoe section and saw my weakness…crystal studded flip flops and found several pairs I wanted…I looked at all the stuff in my hand and started to hyperventilate.

I realized I wanted everything in the store, right now. I’d hit a bonanza. A magic treasure chest filled with beautiful clothes, and shoes, and accessories just for me. I looked down at the packages I was carrying…I added up what I had spent already (justifying to myself I had just bought my own birthday present, Mother’s Day and Hanukkah presents at this rate and it was only March). My pulse was racing and I started hyperventilating.

I realized I was in a full-fledged shopping frenzy and had to walk myself right out of the store to catch my breath. As I stood outside in the cold air, my breathing finally slowed and my blood pressure returned to normal. Jenny, not knowing anything was wrong, came outside to comment that she had never seen two girls do as much damage as Starr and I had. In two hours, she said, we’d spent what she’d spend in a year on clothes. She said she was fascinated by us. But I felt disgusted and ashamed.

I didn’t spend a dime afterwards that day. I did however, continue to enjoy shopping vicariously through Starr, who even managed to find something fabulous at an airport boutique on the way back into town. I’ve been trying to be better since then and not buy whatever strikes my fancy when I see it. It’s hard still sometimes, especially when I see cute $5 t-shirts for the girls at Target. Okay, I admit, I still get them the cute $5 t-shirts when I see them at Target. Now, I just try to pick out one or two instead of one of every kind.

With all the recession talk, I know I should tighten my belt and do better with less. I can cut back on another pair of flip flops or another pair of earrings for a while. I’m good with less shopping for now, just as long as Maverick doesn’t ask me to cut out my daily Starbucks. I have a feeling that request is coming soon too. Especially since we just got a new espresso maker.

Lucky me

I’m not easily fooled. I read between the lines and know what you’re hiding. I can read your facial expressions and know what you’re not telling me. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter. But apparently, you can pull a surprise party over on me!

Surprise parties are the best kind of parties. There’s no involvement on the recipient’s end. Everything is handled for you. You get to show up and just enjoy. You get the honor of being celebrated. You get to bask in the love of your friends. You get to dance around like a wild woman and not worry about being judged. You get to sit at the head of the table and make toasts. You’re allowed to get mushy and tell your friends how much you love them twenty times. You get to blow out the birthday candles (Unless your cake has sparklers, thank you very much!). You get to eat a beautiful cake. (Unless someone drops it and then there's a second beautiful cake!) You get to open wonderful surprises in beautifully wrapped bags. It’s a wonderful thing.

The beauty of a party in your honor is while your friends are celebrating you, you can celebrate your friends. There’s no better feeling than in knowing how much time, energy, thought, effort, and love was all put forth for you. I’m so very lucky for my dear, wonderful friends who took the time from their very busy lives to make me feel so incredibly special. I’m so very lucky for my dear, wonderful husband who has redeemed himself from spilling the beans at my 30th birthday surprise twenty feet away from the door. I’m just so very lucky for you, and you know who you are. Thank you.

Hip hop and tics-a-lot

Do you have a personal tic that you subconsciously know you have but never realized others were aware of it? Damn, it’s embarrassing when you finally learn that you don’t do such a good job of covering it up. Or worse, is when you learn that you do it more often than you thought and your girlfriends all see it but never mention it to you. (until it’s time to laugh at you!)

I used to wear glasses on occasion. I should have worn them more often than I did, but I was vein. I didn’t like how they looked nor did I like when they slid down my nose. But more importantly, I didn’t like how they looked. Instead, I wore contacts. However, the contacts constantly dried out my eyeballs. I used to blink often, or stare straight ahead in an effort to fix them. I knew I did it. I just didn’t realize how often I stared bug-eyed at my friends or fluttered my eyes until I was called out on it, while they laughed mercilessly.

Yeah, yeah. I can laugh at myself with the rest of you. But a month later, I gave into Lasik surgery. Of course, now I have the last laugh with my better than 98% of the world 20/15 vision…but anyway, I digress…

So last night, I took a hip-hop class with my girlfriends. I absolutely loved it. It was just as I imagined it would be. The instructor was young, flexible, and amazing. I however, am not. I looked more like a fleshy robot and I didn’t even care. We laughed a lot, both at ourselves and at each other, and I can’t wait to go back (albeit alone!) to the next class.

On the ride home, I was asked why I wanted to learn hip-hop. It’s not like I’m going to bust a hip-hop move on a table at the Greek restaurant, right? No, I explained that I want to learn how to be fluid in my movements. Because there’s nothing fluid about me, except maybe my frequent need to pee. Hip-hop is beautiful dancing to me—plus it’s such fun, not to mention a great workout.

Ironically, the instructor was also Maya’s hip-hop teacher. Furthermore, we’re learning the same routine. So now, I’ll be not only humiliated next to the other women in the class, but I can be shown up by my seven year old. Now I understand why Maya has two left feet. She gets it from me. And we’re left-handed which makes learning the moves all the more confusing and backwards for us.

At lunch today, I shared my experience with some girlfriends. One asked to see the routine and I willingly obliged. The other, who has danced on many tables beside me, laughed about how I always hang my tongue out in some fashion when I dance. It’s a part of my “look”. Ha ha, we laughed, but inside I cringed because you know what? Damn it, she’s right! I guess I was subconsciously aware that I do some weird thing with my mouth—twist my lips and who-knows-what with my tongue. I’m sort of mortified. I think I just make lots of funny faces in case anyone is watching me dance. This way if they think I look hilarious, they’ll also think apparently I think I’m hilarious too. Maybe I do it to distract anyone from actually looking at my body while I dance. Either way, it’s just another tic in a long list of mine that I possess.

Oh, and did I mention I also seem to snap my fingers while dancing too? Maverick shared that nugget not too long ago, while I was dancing around the house. Now you may get the picture why I’m looking for some help.

Vacation calling etiquette

My recent post regarding whether it's okay to call a girlfriend while she's on vacation has received a great response. Thank you! I'm truly enjoying this blogging experiment, doing some writing like I've always wanted to do, and developing my own creative outlet. And as an added bonus, I get feedback from my readers and friends, which I absolutely love. (Even when you tell me some of my posts are bitchy!)

So I have two requests of you, my readers:

Comment on my blog. If you read something you like (or don't!), respond to it. Say what you think. It's a shame when I'm the only one to hear your similarly funny stories. I want to share it with all my girlfriends. You can respond with your name or you can respond anonymously. Just get engaged, share your comments and join my tribe.

Vacation phone calls, or not! Would you like to be called while on vacation? Should I expect that you may be calling me? I just want to know your stance.

Tonight, Jamaica told me, "Definitely not. I will not call you on vacation. My mind will be far away from here!" That's cool. Now I know that unless I'm having a true girly emergency, when Jamaica's away, do not hit #8 on speed dial!

Then, another girlfriend hit me with: "Of course, I want you to call! You think I want to sit around for three days,with my husband, by myself ?"

Here's my answer: If I'm traveling with the family, call away. I can probably use a break from the choke-hold of kids asking me to buy them something else or from the exhaustion of trying to do something fun while the kids are bickering and would have really been satisfied had I just let them play their DS's until their brains melt and ooze from their ears.

But if I'm alone with Maverick, don't bother calling. There's no way I'm answering because most likely, I won't care where my phone is. It's that simple. So tell me, so I'm clear. Do you keep your phone on, fully charged and close by when you're on vacation?

Kiss your man

The other day I was astounded to learn that many of my friends didn’t kiss their husbands anymore. I’m not talking the polite-on-the-cheek kind of passing kiss. I’m talking the deep, passionate, tongue-mashing-tongue French kiss kind of kiss. The kind of kiss that probably draws each couple together in the initial “oh yeah!” of courtship. The kind of kiss girls all dream of sharing when we were still young enough to fantasize about what that kiss would feel like but not old enough to try it. Or if we did try it, it was sloppy and awkward with teeth scraping and confused tongues lashing about trying to connect at a unison speed.

I love kissing. Short kisses, long kisses. Fast kisses, slow kisses. Kisses on my neck and behind my ear. Kisses on my lips. Teasing kisses. Long, luxurious, leisurely kisses. Fast, passionate, desperate kisses. I like to kiss a lot. Maybe that’s just my nature but as surprised as my friends were to learn that I kiss Maverick that way after work still was in the same vein for me to learn that they did not.

It got me thinking about how does that make your man feel? And what else have you given up along the way. I know when months stretch into years in a relationship, it’s easy to let those things go. Careers, kids and responsibilities get in the way and we make time for more pressing needs. But if you think back to what brought you two together in the first place, wasn’t passion a major component of your connection?

Sure, we all looked for the boy from a good family with a good upbringing and a secure future that could provide for a family. Someone who took notice of our hopes and dreams, with whom we shared interests in common and a made us giggle like school girls. But wasn’t chemistry and passion and sex and kissing a part of it too? And if so, why do we let that integral part of that connection go so easily?

We’re great at finding all his flaws and pointing out and bitching about what’s he’s not doing for us, or how he doesn’t do what he used to do. But what about what we stopped doing for him? Let’s face it—as much as we still need to hear we’re beautiful and desired after all these years, he still needs to feel handsome and sexy too. Our men don’t just go to strip clubs to look at the girls, they go for the feeling they get when they’re slathered with the female’s attention too. And truthfully, he’d rather get it from you, I’d bet.

So go brush your teeth, gargle with Scope and lay a wet one on him. Now. For no reason. You may be pleasantly reminded just how damn good it makes you feel, too.

Living with the junk

Years ago, when Maverick and I were building our first home, an friend told me it took her 10 years to buy living room furniture. I thought she was off her rocker. How could it possibly take that long to get around to it? That would never be me, I insisted to myself….

And now 8 years later, I find my living room empty, aside of the pool table that fills the center in a feeble attempt to deny myself the fact that I still don’t have furniture yet either. Just last week, I had company in for a visit and that finally prompted me to redo my guest bedroom.

The weekend before my friends arrived, I was aghast at the realization that they would be sleeping in a room still filled with my old college furniture. And truth be told, some of it was even older than that. It was embarrassing that after all this time, we were still “making do” with the junk we brought with us to this house. Now it was time to move on.

So I ran around like a lunatic, found new bedroom furniture and redecorated the room. It looks terrific. Now, of course, I’m looking around the rest of the house, ready to “fix up” everything else that needs to be finished or even started for that matter.

I walked from room to room, tearing my house apart in my mind and thinking about all the things I would like to do if I had the opportunity to start over (with a chic decorator, of course!) As I passed by the family room TV, my first thought encompassed the beautiful new flat-screen television I’d place there. Then I noticed the CNN news anchor talking about the rate of foreclosures and the stats of how many people have lost their jobs and their homes….

It was depressing news. I shut off the TV and thought about how my good my life is, and realized that all the other things can wait. I’m thankful for the nice things I have, along with a beautiful home that we’re not in jeopardy of losing. My life is not as hard as others have it right now. I can live with the rest of the junk for a while longer.

The ex-list and Facebook

Somehow this post got lost in my blog. If you haven't read it yet, enjoy.

This past fall, a TV show premiered called, "The Ex List." The premise was a 30-something protagonist has to find the love of her life within a year or she’ll be single forever. The caveat was that she has to explore all of her past relationships because her future husband was someone she already dated.

I watched the show a few times and thought it was rather incredible how often the protagonist ran into her ex's. I live within an hour's drive of where I finished high school and in the same state as my college, and I almost never bump in to my ex's, thankfully. However, as I continue to Facebook, I realize that all my ex's are hiding out in cyberspace.

However, none of these guys really are ex's. Once you get married, you no longer have ex's. Those guys/boys/men become "old boyfriends" or "a guy I dated" and those terms are not interchangeable.

Lately, there's been lots of debate about catching up with an old boyfriend or girlfriend. Especially as more of my friends dive into Facebook. Is it okay to add him as a friend? Can you innocently IM him too? How about coffee?

There's plenty of resentment that can come from knowing your husband is Facebooking with women from his bachelor days. Or maybe you don't even know. The etiquette of FB between partners seems to be evolving because it's easier than ever to reconnect with everyone from your past.

I just don't care who Maverick Facebooks with. The truth is he doesn't need a website to find a woman with whom to have an affair if he so choosed. He travels weekly around the country and surely has plenty of real face-to-face opportunities. Yes, he may be FB'ing with an old flame with whom he's had hot sex. But that was no earlier than 14 years ago. Am I going to waste my energy worrying about that? I say no. Because there's nothing I can do about it except trust him.It's imperative in every marriage to have trust.

I like Facebook very much for the intended purpose of catching up with old friends and yes, sometimes finding a guy I once dated. There's no harm in that. It's my nature. If I cared about you in my previous life, I like to hear that you're doing well today. It makes me happy to know if you're happy. I like to say hello, recall a few laughs and then say goodbye and get back to my real life. Except of course when you find out though your Facebook conversation that your ex actually lives down the street from you. Then, you might have a problem.