Blog Migration

My blog moved to http://cowbellsanddreams.wordpress.com/wp-admin/ Please come visit! Thank you so much for reading. :-)

In Like a Hippo

This week marks the one year anniversary of me leaving my house to go to an office three days a week, and then work from home the other days...becoming a true "working mom". Uggh. This time last year my husband and I were so stressed out. His job was shaky at best as the company he worked for struggled to stay in business. I switched my part time, work from home schedule to a salaried position with benefits, etc. A very similar situation to millions of people in 2010.

Ryan's new job was a true answer to the most specific prayer I've ever prayed and I am forever grateful to God for that. The whole mess was a false alarm and our family bounced right out of it. Unfortunately though, I kept my job. There was something else I held on to last spring...my winter weight gain.

March is usually my month to "step it up". I know I use that phrase a lot for fashion, hockey mom spirit, etc...but it always means "look hotter." In the case of March, I traditionally have to kick it into gear to drop my holiday/football party/hockey tournament/Valentine's candy FAT. I have been dieting in the spring my whole life. The first diet I remember clearly was in eighth grade when my friend Jackie put me on a diet. I believe the whole diet consisted of not getting my daily Sour Cream and Onion Tato Skins (best chip ever invented) fix from the Lincoln School vending machine. There also may have been boiled chicken and Cracklin Oat Bran involved in that diet, but subtracting the Tato Skins was a life changer at that point...and all I needed to step it up. Twenty Marches followed that Tato Skin diet and, minus the three that were spent pregnant, I've spent all of them stepping it up.

So March 2010, 20 years after the Tato Skins life changer of 1990, after twenty years of excercise, diet pills, vomiting, and fad diets...I didn't step it up. I completely let myself go...I stress ate, I drank two glasses of wine every night, I ordered takeout lunch at the office. In my busy new schedule something had to go, and it was my daily trip to the gym. Followed by the Y playground, big healthy lunch of salad, a can of tuna and balsamic, the shower, weigh in and walk to get the kids at school that used to consume my entire day. It used to take all day for me not to be fat! Notice I don't say it took all day for me to be skinny, I have never been skinny- not even in eighth grade. The goal is always- not fat.

I resolved last year that I was going to enjoy summer anyway, even though I couldn't fit into my short shorts (or any shorts). I bought a couple of skirts, and actually had a great summer not obsessing over my weight. But you only get one of those. This year, there's no excuse. I've been back to work a year, and not all employed people are overweight. But instead of just one winter of weight, I have two winters, a summer of not caring and several months of mommy guilt and stress pounds to shed. This is going to take more than a few weeks, but I have to start. Right Now (cue the Van Halen music). Its on, like fat girl donkey kong.

March has come in like a hippo (by the way I recently learned on Animal Planet that hippos are quite deadly, so its a good substitue for lion). I'm not sure what its going out like, maybe a lamb, maybe a cow, maybe a slightly slimmer hippo? We shall see. To be Continued...

My Spirit Scarf Gives me Superpowers

The playoffs are approaching and it's time for hockey moms to step it up. Remember, it's our duty to our children to give 110% toward looking cuter than the other moms on the team.

One accessory we've been rocking big time is the all important spirit scarf... ok, we didn't know it was called that until we heard it at our tournament last weekend. But we love it. Most of us have these scarves courtesy of our crafty and thoughtful friend Danielle. They are three long pieces of fleece sewn together down the middle and then cut every few inches to create a fringy look. Danielle- Hermes has nothing on you baby. Plenty of other teams around Rhode Island have these made in their own colors and we see them all the time. Posers.

I could write a book, not a blog about how I ran around town last weekend with the world's heaviest cake (don't doubt me, the thing was ridiculous), thru like an inch of snow, from a tied Mite game to a super heated one goal squirt game complete with bench penalties, punches and complete mayhem and got an opposing mom to help me with the damn cake. If I were to write that book it would be called "My Spirit Scarf Gives Me Superpowers".

I've decided for the playoffs I am going to break out my Blair Waldorf inspired white coat (from Victoria's Secret catalog, I also have light pink, very good deal). I think its a nice fresh way to wear your spirit scarf. Bring it mamas!!!!!

It's Good to Be FIVE

My littlest baby is five years old- it's not his birthday or anything, he's been five for a while now, but it's on my mind today. When I think of 5 , a few things always play in my head. One is Little Bill...is that show even on anymore? Little Bill was five, and I always remember his dad teaching him, and him repeating "it's good to be five" in that smooth Bill Cosby rhthym.

The other line is from a poem that the kindergarten teacher sends home every year on the first day of school. This lady is forever on a diabolical mission to make moms cry...so she likes to find poems to screw with us. I don't remember the rest of the poem, but there's a line that says "when you're five and your heart has wings, nothing can mean so many things". What does that mean? Who knows. But it made you choke up a bit, right?

The third great "five" line that sticks with me is the morning my oldest turned five. My husband and I were lying in bed and we heard him get up and repeat to himself "I'm five, I'm five, I'm five" and we heard his little feet running to the bathroom, see himself in the mirror and say "I still look four". It was one of those great days that started out with a hysterical belly laugh before my head lifted off the pillow.

So in my decade of accrued mommy wisdom, I've determined that five is a year to savor. I know certain things are important in the world that is kindergarten and birthdays parties are pretty much top on the list. I remember when birthday parties were much of my social life, I'd hop from party to party and chat it up with all the moms. Probably carrying Luke in one of my million slings, Lexi decked out in an $80 boutique outfit...oh how times have changed.

This past weekend was crazy around here, we had hockey out the wazoo topped with a big fat hockey party at my house on Saturday night. I was busy with all the big kid stuff. One of Luke's closest friends' birthday party was Saturday morning at the same time as Luke's instructional hockey. I had determined that we'd be skipping hockey to go to the party. He'd already missed a party because we were at his brother's tournament and I know this birthday party age only lasts a few years. There will be plenty more ice time in my little boy's future.

Imagine my surprise when my five year old contemplated going to hockey instead of the party... I saw that little look in his eye, and thought- NO! is the moment my baby becomes one of them- a hockey player?? Because I know so well that the sport has an addictive quality I will never understand. The complulsion to skate is bigger than fevers, tummyaches and broken bones, please don't let it be bigger than a kindergarten birthday party. Thankfully, his little five year old mind can still be manipulated and off to the party we went.

And then I did the craziest thing of all- I STAYED at the party! I didn't take off to run errands, get ready for the evening's bash, drive my other kids places...I stayed and took it all in. They played, they bounced, they sang they caked- my friend's youngest lost a tooth in the middle of it all. I enjoyed every minute of it, because you know what happens at every single kindergarten birthday party? Someone turns SIX.

Why Hockey Moms are the Hottest

Check out the custom Hockey Moms are the Hottest travel mug I ordered for my super hot hockey mom friend. Stay tuned for my fashion line "Cowbells and Dreams"...hats, gloves, blankets and of course sweatpants with COWBELL across the ass. It's all happening! (just kidding, nothing is happening and grown women shouldn't wear sweatpants in public)

I know what you are thinking- just WHY are hockey moms are the hottest? I'm pretty sure it's all about the attitude...

1. if you let your kids play hockey, you can't be an uptight, paranoid mom that hovers over her kid, even if they get hurt. there is plexiglass between mama and her cub, and we are ok with that.

2. flexibility- hockey families don't sit down to a lot of weeknight dinners, or always always go to bed on time. the only routine is going to hockey, it's just a matter of what time we need to be there.

3. one word- SCREAM- that's hot

4. we throw the best parties

5. be aggressive, B-E AGGRESSIVE...no one pushes around a hockey mom. I don't know any other civilized women outside of reality tv who will get into it with refs, coaches, total strangers.

6. we move fast. ice time is precious and work, dinner, traffic and homework can sometimes delay our best efforts. no time to daudle. last week I dropped one child off to sharpen all the skates, two more at the door while I parked the car and still had my friend's (not even my own) six year old completely suited up and on the ice in five minutes.

7. naturally, my new Cowbells and Dreams fashion line makes anyone look HOT!

Seeing your Shadow

Today my friend posted a photo on facebook of her boy in tears at the end of his last hockey game of the season. The groundhog didn't see his shadow, I like to say, and it's an early spring for his Squirt team. I say this tongue in cheek, not only because we live in New England and can get snow in June, but also because he still has weeks left of House League playoffs followed by spring clinics, summer camps, etc...hockey truly never ends.


Someone commented under the photo that they had "learned more from their defeats than from their victories", which I think is quite true. And this is one of the reasons I'm glad my children play hockey. It seems that fewer and fewer youth sports keep score these days, and most give a participation trophy to everyone who shows up. I'm not sure what this teaches kids about life, but it certainly doesn't prepare them for disapointment. Youth hockey is one of the few places you will find competitive tryouts for kids as young as seven, for better or worse. It's not easy to deal with loss and rejection at a young age, but it doesn't get any easier as you get older, so you may as well give it a try early on. Once you lose a playoff game, or get cut from a team, and then you wake up the next morning and go about your day, you realize you don't need to be afraid of failure. Kids learn to take chances, shoot the puck, tryout for the team- what's the worse that can happen? My dad always taught me that adversity builds character. I hope hockey is helping to build my kids' character. Or at least to counter-effect the X Box games that are rotting at their souls.

My daughter's team will likely see an early spring...their season has been a lot more like the movie Groundhog Day. We wake up, drive thru the snow, get to the rink, and they lose, same routine every time. Sometimes, like today, they only lose by a couple of goals, sometimes we're just praying for a groundhog to pop out of the ice and put us all out of our misery. Learning to lose with grace is part of life, and it's hard. Winning is much easier. So when the buzzer rings and her team has lost, again, it's ok for my daughter to be disapointed, to give the ice a little bang with her stick and then brush it off and shake hands.

I just hope she knows God made her perfectly; that her Dad and I love her to the moon and back; and that life is short but the hockey season is loooong- there will be another game next week. And I hope she takes a lesson from her brother (below), everyone hugs the goalie when they win- go get your goalie after a tough loss.

The Hardest to Learn

I named my blog after the song by the Indigo Girls, which was a favorite in my college dorms. I've known the words to the song by heart for years http://www.metrolyrics.com/least-complicated-lyrics-indigo-girls.html and "the hardest to learn was the least complicated" truly speaks to my experience with motherhood. And the line "the kids are walkin home from school" reminds me of how much I wish my neighborhood was full of kids walking home in lieu of the SUV traffic that rivals Los Angeles at rush hour.

I've always been a pretty laid back mom, but it took me until my third baby before I gave up feeling guilty about it. I stopped stressing over all the scheduled nursing, waking and sleep training nonsense. I was all about keeping simple. I used to wear Luke in a sling everywhere, not because I'm a hippy but because I had two preschoolers to chase around. I breastfed because it was easy, but when I had to give a bottle it was formula, pumping was too....say it with me...complicated!

Now that my babies are not so much babies, but kids ages 10, 8 and 5...I try my best not to complicate things. When I thought about this blog last year I was still a stay at home mom. I was itching to cut out all the crazy from motherhood; from the baby music classes to driving kids to school early so that they can join the walking club- hello anyone else see the irony? I felt like it was more complicated than ever to raise kids, and I felt like we moms were making it that way. I was longing to be more of an old fashioned 50's style mom, who didn't have a car or cable or a gym membership and who's kids did chores and entertained themselves around the neighborhood.

Circumstances have changed and I now work outside the home. I've gotten a chance to make friends with a couple of moms outside of my usual circles. They don't have time to drive their kids to school, so their kids take the bus. If the kid forgets something at home, that sucks for them. If my kids forgets something at school and I am stuck at the office, I usually cry because I feel so guilty. The girls at the office don't fret about gifts for teachers or school events, in fact when I try to discuss such topics at work I have often gotten the reply "who do you hang out with?" and I just laugh...I hang out with people exactly like me!

I never guessed I could learn so much about motherhood from younger, working, single moms who've never even been to a PTA meeting. But I have...by just listening to my friend Amanda on the phone with her sons everyday after they get themselves home from school...I've learned about discipline, chores, independence and fierce mama bear love. I still don't know where my ideal throw back mom is hiding in 2011 but I know her kids are walkin home from school, or at least taking the bus.

No Pleasure Cruise...

I've had the song "We Are The Champions" stuck in my head all weekend, and it has nothing to do with the Super Bowl. It's because I heard the movie The Mighty Ducks playing on repeat in my van all weekend while driving to a hockey tournament in Saratoga, NY.

And it's probably no coincidence that the particular line "its been no bed of roses, no pleasure cruise..." has stuck with me. The trip featured my hubby with a fever, chills and the stomach flu, weather that could only be described as a "wintry mix", opposing parents who were CBWI (cowbelling while intoxicated), and a swinger party sharing the hotel with us. Kind of like a Carnival Cruise with the Noro virus.

Unfortunately, it was no bed of roses for my daughter's Mite A team. It was no pleasure cruise straight into the boards for the kid my little girl jacked up for her "roughing" penalty, either... but unfortunately that was the most interesting part of their tourney. They got beat, and they got beat bad- four games in a row. Oh well. It happens. You lose some, you lose some, you swim in the pool some, (get a wierd skin rash) and torment the hotel staff some. It's all good.

Lucky for me I got to see our B team show up and quack all over those Upstate New York teams, Mighty Ducks style. Those little buggers skated their hearts out and won all of their games- the championship in a quardruple overtime! A Mite B game can be more exciting than the NHL, because absolutely ANYTHING can happen, and the slow pace just adds to the anticipation. I laughed, screamed and had tears in my eyes, remembering my son's State Championship Mite B game. When they won that game, we moms screamed, cheered, cried and some of us peed a little. Now that the kids have gotten bigger and skate faster, we all still miss the magic of that season, when they were small and clueless and mostly off sides.

Today when I heard a hockey mom scream to her youngest child, as he took the faceoff in overtime "You got this baby!", I realized my baby- my 5 year old- could still be a Mite B someday and I'm already looking forward to it. But if they ever play "We Are the Champions", be prepared for me to bawl my eyes out.

Texts In The Suburbs

As promised, today I launched my much anticipated (well by Jen and I anyway) website http://textsinthesuburbs.com/ and I think it's going to be a lot of fun.

I am a self admitted textaholic. I text my girlfriends all day long...we text about kids, husbands, work, sex, tv shows, wine, the school parking lot, hockey scores, the people sitting next to us, deals we find while shopping, diets, things we see on facebook that we can't say on facebook, and what have you.

Its the perfect communication for moms because we can usually not speak freely as we are always in the presence of children or in places that are so flippin loud no one could hear us if we tried to talk.

Texts In The Suburbs is inspired by Texts From Last Night, which is dirty and profane and totally cracks me up. For my mom friends and I, the days of waking up in our own vomit are (for the most part) over... but waking up to some little person's vomit, well sometimes can inspire funny texts too.

And that's really the part of motherhood I adore- the part that people don't admit on facebook or twitter... that even though we are grown ups, and moms, we still have fun. We still think (and text our friends) hilarious, dirty, desperate, wacky thoughts and get into hilarious, dirty, desperate, wacky situations. I find even the most stressful moment at home or at work can usually be helped by a funny text from a girlfriend.

So the next time you get one, send it straight from your phone to textsinthesuburbs@gmail.com so we can post it!!

This post is so 2010...

the following is a post I wote a year ago, UPDATE: my friend Jen bought me an apron and then I went back to work and ran out of time to wear it.

The BERNATA PROJECT…becoming a throwback mom

It started with Throwback Mountain Dew. Just after January 1 when everyone I know was giving up sugar…apparently carbs are ok now? Its just the sugar? fair enough…I came across Throwback Mountain Dew “made with real sugar”. Hmmm? What’s this now? We are advertising something is made with real sugar? And I immediately think “oh that no sugar diet is like so 5 minutes ago. It’s the no high fructose corn syrup diet people should be trying” maybe a little sugar is ok, just like a little butter is ok, after all back in the day, before everyone was fat, they ate sugar and butter, not Splenda and Promise. Sugar and butter are total throwback foods. By the way, do you love how “throwback” is the new “old school”? It’s so old school to say old school. And did I say “back in the day” before? That was positively retro of me.

And then along came Bernata. That’s a lady’s name. Isn’t it fabulous? I love saying it. A few days after the Mountain Dew, I was at my husband’s grandpa’s funeral “after party” (that was just a shout out to my friend Mimsey-yes that’s her name and yes she is also fabulous,- who recently pointed out that everyone calls the gathering after a funeral an “after party” but uses quotes so as not to be offensive). ANYHOO…my father in law and his cousins were reminiscing about their childhood and their moms, who were all sisters, and neighbors. When they spoke of the sister named Bernata, they mentioned how she always wore a dress or skirt, always an apron, never any shoes and she was always baking something. The cousins all remembered going down the street to her house to taste whatever treats she had made. How wonderful! How delicious! How old school! I was immediately reminded how tragic it is that I don’t own an apron. I have always wanted an apron. This is first on my list of things to do tomorrow- buy an apron. A really, really cute one. I want to be just like Bernata. But I just don’t think I can embrace the skirt thing. I like my jeans. I have lots of super cute jeans. And as much as I want to be barefoot, my butt looks cuter in my jeans if I wear a shoe with a heel. Soooo, I will be just like Bernata, but in jeans, with an apron that doesn’t cover my butt. Because my husband likes it. OMG- it now occurs to me that an apron WILL cover my stomach. This is the accessory I’ve been looking for all my life. The real conclusion here- I’m getting an apron. Hopefully that will inspire me to cook yummy buttery, sugary things. I’d love for my kids to come home to a mom like that. The neighborhood kids showing up at the door? Well, we’ll see.

Cowbells and Dreams...

I couldn't believe how much all my friends loved my blog about hockey. The reality is all hockey moms are not created equal, and it has taken me a couple of years but I have truly learned to appreciate each style.

Luckily I had three games this weekend at which to observe the moms....now that I am a blogger (as of a week ago), it was my journalistic duty.

When it comes to a travel game, I personally think it's our obligation to our children to look cuter than the moms on the other team. I try to wear jeans and heeled boots even if its early and I haven't showered. A good long coat hides a multitude of sins. There are certain rinks where I know I have to step it up a bit because the moms are known for being decked out...and you might even see a fur coat in the crowd. This morning I knew I was headed to baggy sweatshirt territory, so I let my guard down and wore Uggs.

Other moms are more the spirit week kinda moms who show up with team colors, kids names on their jackets,scarves and hats. I like to reserve this type of behavior for tournaments and playoffs, and pace myself. There are several reasons for this: I'm vain and know I look ridiculous in bright blue and yellow; I can't keep track of my keys, let alone my team scarf; and my kid is a regular in the penalty box and I don't need any trouble in the parking lot.

My favorite way to classify hockey moms is their spectator style. Most of us fall somewhere in between what I would call "book" and "cowbell".

While I haven't seen a mom actually reading a book during a real game, there are those who act like they'd rather be. These are the moms who say things like "its only Mites", or "no one is going to the NHL here"... (I confess I dabble in this type of hockey momhood.) Never believe a hockey parent who says "no one is going to the NHL", because none of them have completely ruled out the possibility that their kid just might be the next Sid the Kid or at the least play Division 1 in college. Or if they have, it's likely they've hitched their hockey wagon to another sibling. When they say "its only Mites", they mean to add "unlike my son's Peewee game later which is clearly life or death". Let's face it, we are all pretty crazy- what else would we be doing here?

The other end of the spectrum, and wildly criticized, is the cowbell mom. This lady wears her crazy right on her sleeve and I dig that. There is nothing that pisses off a group of moms faster than a mom on the opposing team ringing a cowbell, blowing an airhorn or any other noisemaking device. I know moms who spend the entire game screaming out specific instructions to every child on the ice, but as soon as they hear a bell they are completely offended. It's ridiculous, but I always get a kick out of it. I even found this facebook group against cowbells:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?id=1520763495&aid=2049784#!/group.php?gid=48414314585

I can't even count on two hands the times I've seen moms on opposing teams having words with each other about the particular way they are cheering at a game. I used to be a little horrified, but now I just sit back and watch and think...I freakin love these crazy broads.

Blognoxious

About a year ago I started trying to come up with ideas for the greatest mom blog ever. Like most goals I come up with in life, I never got around to it. But feeling nostalgic as 2010 came to an end, I posted the introduction I had written a year earlier. Over the past few weeks I've written a few more blogs, just to try it out. It's harder than it looks!

So now that I actually have a blog, I'm back to my ideas for the greatest mom blog ever, something blogtastic, something- BLOGNOXIOUS! (blognoxious is a good thing, trust me.)

THE IDEAS...

Red Red Wine You Make Me Feel So Fine: The mama's wine blog. Wine reviews, for moms. I discover the best wines for different occasions- party wine, happy wine, PMS wine, sex wine, wine to bring in a travel cup to a hockey game, and the holy grail would be to finally find the wine that goes best with the giant $5 tub of liquor store cheeseballs. The motivation here is free wine, clearly.

Hockey Mama Drama: a blog chronicling the particular type of crazy that is the hockey mom. The tournaments, the gear, the politics, the schedule, the cowbells, the smell, but most importantly: the love. I gave this one a try.

Chaptick Forest: like Lipstick Jungle, but way boring-er. Me trying to be the do it all career mom and failing miserably with my particular spastic flair. Sitting in my kids' dentist office using two phones and a laptop, being late for everything, and crying a lot. This blog would mostly feature crying ~ always a crowd pleaser.

Texts in the Suburbs: Now this is a money maker and if anyone takes it I will as JWOWW says, "cut a b*tch". My version of Texts From Last Night...for moms. All the hilarious things moms text when they can't talk in front of the kids, or because it is always too loud to hear anyone anyway. i.e.: "I think my pig is preggers", "There's a mouse in the kitchen and I can't get to my wine."

Or maybe my blog is just ideas for other blogs...well in that case i could've started a long time ago. To Be Continued...

Hockey...the tip of the iceberg

There is no way I could write one blog about how much my three children's love of hockey impacts my life. So consider this just the tip of the proverbial iceberg- or rink, in this case.

As cliche as the phrase has become in the wake of Sarah Palin, I am still proud to be a hockey mom. There is a reason my husband always says "hockey moms are the hottest." They wake up early, go to bed late, scream loud, drive fast, love big and always acknowledge when the opposing goalie makes a nice save. They endure freezing cold rinks and stinky bags and though some (like me) complain, they love their babies and their babies love HOCKEY.

I thought a lot about being a hockey mom at a recent tournament in upstate NY.

If a youth hockey team is a family, then the out of town tournament is like a holiday, when you are all together whether you like it or not. Players, parents, siblings and coaches all cozied up in a Holiday Inn complete with an indoor pool and, with any luck, some space for the kids to play knee hockey and the adults to drink heavily. Often, there are other teams staying at the same hotel. This always seems to turn the hotel into a state of gang warfare. Nerf guns, water balloons, the aforementioned knee hockey sticks...everything is a weapon. Even the meekest child is suddenly a thug when surrounded by his teammates (and their brothers) and hidden in the confines of an out of town hotel hallway.

As moms we try to be a little more civil...usually. We will smile at the other teams, ask how their games went, maybe even offer a mom one of our gourmet jello shots. We'll placate the hotel staff with empty promises about the children not running. We jump in the pool in our jeans to save our drowning 3 yr olds (ok fine, that was just me and thankfully he can swim now), but I did witness a mom effortlessly splint her son's finger after a gang related incident in the hotel hallways and send him on his way without missing a turn at our beloved game- Left Right Center.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000YMXAAQ/ref=pd_lpo_k2_dp_sr_2?pf_rd_p=486539851&pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe-1&pf_rd_t=201&pf_rd_i=B000F9YDKY&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=0BVPGB9WDW0C2C29G60S

Generally all is fair in love and hotel hallway wars. But no matter who we are in real life; doctors, lawyers, former debutantes...at the tournament, we are hockey moms. And if you mess with our kids, we don't care if you're other parents, coaches, refs, hotel staff, local police...we will go Jersey Shore on your ass.

The Funeral Dress

Today I watched a dear friend bury his dad. The ONLY good thing about funerals, is I always have something to wear. No matter what my size (more on my yo yo dieting issue later), no matter what the season, I have my funeral dress.

My mom bought me this classic Diane Von Furstenberg black wrap dress at Saks in Florida about four or five years ago. She spotted it on a sale rack and asked "do you have a funeral dress?" (umm, what am I 90?- of course not), the dress fit and the rest is history.

The dress is just short of magical. Its comfy, its forgiving, it has this cool feeling against my skin, just like the cold side of the pillow. It looks great with tights and boots or bare legs and pumps. It always seems clean, and it never needs to be ironed. It shows just enough cleavage to brighten up sad situations...don't judge me, it works. And if you don't think everyone loves boobs, explain the pink for breast cancer phenomenon. Magical.

I've worn my dress to bury both my husband's grandpa and my grandpa, my beloved aunt and a few of Ryan's cousins and great aunts. I've thrown it on straight from the beach, the boat, the gym, work and scooted off to countless wakes. Sure I've worn it to work a few times, an engagement party or two, but it's just not the same- something about feeling that knot above my waist, the elegant notched cuff at my wrist and that slightly chilly cleavage just makes me want to hug someone and say "I'm sorry for your loss"...which is just awkward anywhere else but a funeral.

http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/ProductDetail.jsp?PRODUCT%3C%3Eprd_id=845524446160157&afsrc=1&site_refer=GGLBASE001&ci_src=14110944&ci_sku=ParentItem0475575855575

Rebecca at the Well

School project...the words are like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. I hate homework. I hated it as a kid and I hate it now that I have kids. But I want my kids to be good students. I want them to have the study skills that I was completely lacking when I got to college. Basically I don't want them to be like me. And unfortunately, my daughter Lexi is- just like me.

I have spent a lot of time judging the ridiculous parents in my older son's class for doing their kids' projects for them. This has been easy for me because he likes to do things his own way and I sure don't feel like doing anyone's schoolwork.

But here I am facing my brilliant, adorable, charming, LAZY little 8 year old daughter, and the research project she just will not start. We chose a topic, our beloved vacation spot Block Island...checked the required three books out of the library...and, well that's it. Occasionally I suggest "you should start your project." She moans, whines, and falls on the floor. I check facebook. We all move on. Apparently this isn't enough to get a project done.

So I have to go against my strict code of ethics and get involved in a school project. I start flipping thru a book and come across a familiar statue on Block Island...Rebecca at the Well. I discover a fun fact, apparently the statue was erected by the Women's Christian Temperance Movement, thinking it was depicting Rebecca from the Old Testament. It was discovered years later to be Hebe, cupbearer to the Greek Gods. No doubt they put a gal like Lex and I in charge of that research.

Tonight I made an outline for Lexi...but she will be finding the facts and doing the writing herself. I think between the two of us we can get thru this school thing...hopefully better than I did the first time. And really, that statue of Rebecca or Hebe or whoever is quite lovely, regardless.