In roughly nine hours my family and I were going to embark on a family vacation.

My kids have had a lot of things happen in their lives that most kids don’t have to deal with, and right now they have an aunt and a grandmother fighting cancer. Things have been kind of heavy around here. We planned a trip around fun life experiences to show them that things don’t always have to be a bummer.

We were going to go to Key Largo with trips to the Everglades and Key West. We were going to go parasailing, swimming with dolphins, and tour the islands on wave-runners. We were going to have a picnic on the beach.

My nine year old son, who has a map of the world on his bedroom wall and who sleeps with an airplane, was so excited for his first plane ride. He has been counting down the days.

But, irony? It bites hard! Because the kid with all of the medical problems is now too sick to go.

Sigh.

This afternoon, I had to make massive, last-minute cancellations through my tears as my son slept fitfully on the couch. I cried for an hour straight. When my son woke and found out we weren’t going, he shed tears of his own.

We may not be headed to the beach, but there is certainly no shortage of salt water around here.

Follow

Email

I received an email yesterday that contained lyrics from a Salt-n-Pepa song. No one pointed them out to me and for all I know it was unintentional, but I knew they were Salt-n-Pepa lyrics because I used to look like this.

That’s me, circa 1986, the year Salt-n-Pepa released their first album. I was 15 years old, which was prime hip-hopping age. Of course, I went to a practically all-white high-school, but technically you’re still allowed to be white and hip-hop as long as you bite your lower lip.

Unfortunately, back in 1986 you couldn’t dance because of the risk that your bangs would go flat. This meant spraying a half-a-bottle of Aqua Net directly on your curling iron, teasing your hair with great force, then applying more Aqua Net. Afterward, it was imperative that you not stand near an open flame.

These ladies know what I’m talking about.

The overabundance in the 80’s took a lot of work. You had to shred, bleach and peg your jeans, you had to destroy your hair, stack bracelets up your arm, and you had to make room in your closet for a bag of shoulder-pads. Sigh. The best shape my body was ever in was completely wasted on 80’s fashion.

Thank goodness the neon, lace and crazy clothing shapes are gone for good! What? They’re back? That’s okay. My teen daughter will look good in big, baggy tunics.

I, however, won’t be wearing those clothes again. And as for my poor, poor hair; I will never again tease my bangs unless it’s for Halloween. The styles of the 80’s are gone for good.

But, as shallow and corrupt as the music was, I can’t seem to shake it. Or, Push It. Same difference.

Follow

Email

My oldest sister has always had an incredible knack for decorating. She lives a few hours away and one time when I was staying with her, I actually got out of bed extra early just so I could surround myself with her pretty stuff. True story.

I visited her home this past weekend and, though I wasn’t there for a happy occasion (same city, different sister), I had that same urge. This time, I actually fought the desire to fill up my car with as much as I could grab. True story.

Her living room. Swoon.

See that white sofa? SHE HAS A DOG. A big one, who runs freely in the rolling fields surrounding her house. First born overachiever!

This is her mud room. What you can’t see is the gorgeous, heavy, antique door that marks the entrance. What you can see? That she has forced bulbs in February and I can’t grow plants in June when I buy them from the nursery already in bloom.

Doesn’t everyone have leaded glass over their kitchen sink? Oh, look! More bulbs!

A nook for when one of her guests picks up the guitar and plays. True story. It happens every time I’m there. Also, look at her phone! Who has a cute phone? Oh yes, that’s right…she does.

All I know is that I’m 40 years old and I still want to be her when I grow up.

Follow

Email

Despite my fervent warnings, my 13 year old daughter is going to see her first scary movie today. I suppose I’ll need to make some room in my bed tonight.

It’s possible she will be like her father, who has no problem sitting in a dark house in the wee hours of the night while the TV flashes images unfit for my psyche. cough…Saw…cough. Popcorn and Paranormal Activity are not my idea of a good time.

My guess is that she’ll be more like me and won’t be able to wash the dishes without thinking someone is walking up behind her. Note: Always wash the steak knives last, so they’re within easy reach for a quick stabbing.

Maybe she will walk past a window and be startled by her own reflection, or feel the need to look in her closet and under her bed before she goes to sleep. Maybe she’ll be scared to go in the basement, or take a shower, or walk anywhere after dark. Where’s my Zoloft?

Though, I suppose it would be a good thing for this movie to scare her in the way Amityville Horror did me. I am cautious, aware, and I know how to wield a crucifix.

Not to mention that the last time my husband and I went to the shooting range, I was a way better shot.

Follow

Email