A Letter to My Son after the Sandy Hook School Shooting

Dear Goofball,

Today while you were in preschool, I took your baby brother to the library, purchased a sweater for your Great Grandma's birthday, and cried my eyes out.

While for you, today was just another day of finger painting, story reading and animal crackers for snack, it was also the day America witnessed one of the worst school shooting ever.

Today a young man walked into an elementary school and started shooting at innocent people...mostly little children your age.  Many children and faculty members are not going home to be with their families for the holidays.  An entire community is mourning, and the entire country is shaking their heads and wondering why.

And I sit here and write my thoughts down because I don't know if, when or how we'll talk about this.

I know you think we live in a perfect world...a world where a kiss and hug can make a boo boo all better...but I feel compelled to talk to you about this...I just don't know how... so I write you this letter because some day we will sit down and talk about this....maybe when you're a little older...maybe something will inspire this conversation... like a discussion about how I'm being unfair because I don't allow toy guns in our home...or a new law will be passed about gun control...or you'll have a police officer come to your classroom and he or she will be carrying a gun...but I pray that it won't be because there is another event like the event that occured today in Newton, Connecticut.

So while I don't know what to say to you about today's headlines, I'll say this:

I love you.  I love you more than you will ever understand.  Until you grow up to be a Daddy with kids of your own, you will not be able to comprehend the amount of love that I have for you....even when I yell....even when I walk away from you....even when you drive me crazy.  I will never stop adoring you.

Also, I want you to know that school is a safe place to be.  We can't predict why people do what they do, when they do, and how they do it, but being afraid is no way to live....so as hard as it could be...we still need to see the good in people.

Next, when you see a kid eating lunch alone....join him.  When you see a kid being teased, fight the urge to join in.  Be a leader and not a follower.  Stand up and do the right thing and don't be a bully yourself.

Finally, I need you to know that there is never, ever a reason to resort to violence.  Even on your darkest day there is still the dimmest light.  Nothing lasts forever...even pain.

I wish I could tell you all these things right now, but I don't think you'll understand....and it will just fuel more questions that I just don't have answers to.

Today when I picked you up from preschool, your teacher gave me a brief rundown about what you learned.  She read you the bible story about Jacob's dream, and your art project of the day was a dream catcher, which we hung over your bed.

No, our world is not perfect...far from it.  However, when I tuck you into bed tonight, and I give you many more kisses than usual, and we reflect upon the day, I'm just going to lie...and let you dream of your perfect little world.

Avon Walk 2006 - Kicking Asphalt!

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  In 2006 I walked in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in NY with my mom (a survivor), my aunts and friends.  Our team of six raised over $18,000 for the cause.  The following is a summary of my experience at the walk and my feelings about it. 

 

Well, my many months of training and anticipation are over and the only things I’m left with are fond memories and tired, sore feet.

It actually all started Friday night when I jetted out of work and met my dad, who drove like the devil was chasing us to the Hicksville Train Station to make the 4:44 train. Without breaking too many laws, my dad made the 35 mile trip in 40 minutes during rush hour traffic and I hopped out of the car to find that the train was 15 minutes delayed. It was then that I regretted not going to the bathroom beforehand. Well my train pulled into Brooklyn and I took the subway the wrong way, and had to turn around and l went a few stops out of the way, But I finally made it to the Marriott in Brooklyn and met up with the rest of my team: Mom, Aunt Ellen, Aunt Ida, Iris and Lucille. We checked in  and headed out to eat. We had a great Italian dinner and headed back to our hotel to rest.

We squeezed 6 of us into a hotel room suite with 2 beds and a pull out couch. Iris and I, being the babies of the bunch got the couch. Being silly and giddy and excited, we stayed up chatting but finally decided we should get some rest since we'd be getting up at 5:30 AM . AS it turned out, I had the worst night of sleep I've ever had in my entire life or so I thought.  The couch was terribly uncomfortable and with the hotel’s open floor plan we heard every sound imaginable.  I didn't know how to get through the next day.

Off we went to South Street Seaport and thank God -there was coffee!! We had our breakfast and began opening ceremonies.  Just like 2 years ago, they showed us the connection ribbon, a pink ribbon that's printed with “Every three minutes" symbolizing the scary statistic that every three minutes another woman is diagnosed with breast cancer. They gave out the first ribbon and said they'd continue to give one out every three minutes for the duration of the weekend.  I wondered if I’d get one. We then created a connection by taking the hands of the people around us, the people who'd broke the record for the most participants in an Avon walk  - over 3,550 participants, and the most money raised - over 9.7 million.

The first ten miles were a piece of cake. We walked past the New York Stock Exchange, the World Trade Center site, Chelsea Piers, the intrepid, and before we knew it, we were eating lunch. It was after that when the pain set in. We only had three miles left, but my muscles had tightened while I rested and we had some scary hills in front of us near the George Washington Bridge.  While I trained the best I could before the walk, the most I had done at one time was 9 miles. I was worried for me but also for the rest of my team who hadn't all even trained as much as I had. What kept me going was the way the walk was organized.  It seemed as though every two miles or so we were stopping to stretch, fill up our water or grab a snack.  And everywhere we looked someone was cheering us on.

We made it to the end of the day’s walk and hopped on the bus to take us back to the campsite. I got on first, sat down and my mom walked over to me leaned down to kiss me, and with tears in her eyes said "l can't believe I did it." I don't think she realized that the hardest part was ahead of us. We had to do it all again the next day.

We got back to the campsite and immediately were taken care of.  I was handed water and a goodie bag.  I took a yoga class to stretch out. I went to the massage tent and told the guy that my lowest disk is herniated and torn and that I won't be offended if he tries to work out my butt cheek. "Please, offend me" I told him. Well I think he was masochist, because I like a firm hand, but he was torturing me and every time I said, "Not so rough," I think he heard "Rough."

After my massage with Adolf Hitler, my second toe on my right foot was killing me. I had no idea if I could do anything about it, but since Iris was headed to the physical therapist for hip pain. I decided to stop by the podiatry tent.  Seeing people bleeding, hobbling and covered with blisters, I felt a little stupid. But the stupidity became worse when I found out that my toe pain was caused by my toenail being too long. My diagnosis: clip the toenail.  At home, I would have paid 80 bucks for that diagnosis.  How dumb did I feel!!!!!!!

Anyway, we got our gear and some tent angels helped us set up the tent and we made ourselves at home for the night under the Tri-borough Bridge.  We went to dinner and I got 1,000 people to sing "Happy Birthday" to iris and we enjoyed the hostess cupcakes that she didn't see me sneak in.  We hit the port-a-potties and took showers on a truck and hit the sheets, or, well, hit the sleeping bags.

I figured that since I hardly slept the night before, my only saving grace was that I was completely exhausted. I was wrong. I fell asleep almost immediately around 9:30. I wanted so badly to sleep through the night. When I woke up and looked at my watch to see the time, it was 11:00. That would end up being my longest stretch of sleep that entire night. I tossed and turned and was so cold that Iris put on a Mylar blanket which crinkled every time I moved and would come to be known as "the Burqer King Hamburger wrapper."  It did work however.  As thin as paper, it keeps your body heat trapped in. After a bathroom trip at 3:30, I was pretty much up and had no idea how I could possibly make it through another day.  It was the worst two nights of sleep I’ve ever gotten, and it was the two nights where I needed sleep the most.

Well l did manage to get up, since I hadn't really gone to sleep anyway, and outside my tent was a connection ribbon, it was placed outside our tent during the night to symbolize another woman who was diagnosed with breast cancer while we slept. After I got up, I realized that Lucille was wearing one too. That means that out of the 6 of us, 2 of us were symbolically diagnosed with breast cancer -  2 out of 6! That's 1 out of 3! I put it on and wore it to raise awareness, but I won't lie -it was a little creepy.

Having slept on the floor and being absolutely exhausted, I could barely stand. My back was killing me. I went to the physical therapy tent and found a therapist to stretch me out. I don't think I would have been able to walk otherwise.

We headed to the starting line and were off.  Day 2 was very scenic. We crossed bridges, walked through parks and neighborhoods and ended up having lunch in a quaint little park in Brooklyn overlooking the water between the Brooklyn Bridge and the Manhattan Bridge. It was much harder to keep going, but by the time we finished lunch we were only 3 miles from the finish line. Again, our saving grace was that we were constantly being cheered on. Towards the end it seemed like every block was a group of people thanking us, cheering us, and high-fiving us. We made it over the Brooklyn Bridge and had only I mile to go to the finish line.

Finally, after what seemed like the longest mile on earth, we could hear cheering up ahead and spotted pink pillars, pink signs and pink balloons. We held hands and headed toward the noise. Fighting back the tears, we met up with our families and said hello to our husbands who were holding pink roses for us.

We had done it -26.2 miles in 2 days! Over $18.000 raised amongst the 6 of us. More importantly, we made our personal goals to show our commitment to this cause. We all cried in each other’s arms.

Maybe it was from the excitement; maybe it was from the fulfillment we felt; maybe it was because we were exhausted or maybe it was all of that. We had done what we set out to do and it made us feel like we could do anything!

We marched in for the closing ceremony and it was as if for the moment I felt every emotion possible. I smiled, cried, laughed, and cheered. I was proud, yet humbled to walk with breast cancer survivors who fought for their lives. We remembered our loved ones lost, and the last connection ribbon was given out and our last three minutes together came to a close.

I think back on my experience and pray that we're coming closer to finding a cure. I think of my mom, and although breast cancer took her breast, it didn't touch her soul. May she never again fight breast cancer. And I think of my best friend who walked beside me and I pray that she will never know breast cancer. And my aunts, friends, and mothers and daughters who I walked with -may they never have to fight breast cancer. And I think of my nieces sleeping in their cribs, and I smile because maybe one day, they’ll grow up in a world without breast cancer.

Penny's From Heaven

Here's another oldie, but goody.  I wrote this back in 2006 when I was training for the NY Avon Walk.  October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and so I share this with you!

Every three minutes, another woman in the United States is diagnosed with breast cancer. When my mother's three minutes came, it shook my world upside-down. It was just months before my wedding, and just weeks before my nephew, her first grandchild, was due to make his entrance into the world. It seemed so unfair. She had so many things to look forward to, but I later realized that it was just those things that made the battle worth fighting.

Mom was lucky.

After her three minutes, it only took me three minutes to decide I needed to do something. Back in 2004 I raised $3600 and walked 26 miles to fight breast cancer. Now, two years later, I'm doing the same thing, only this time I'm joined by Mom.

Back in January, our family lost a dear friend, Penny, and my two aunts, Ellen and Ida, felt hopeless and lost. Joining forces with us, we created a team of six, pulling in our friends Iris and Lucille. We call our team, "Penny's from Heaven" in tribute to our friend Penny who lost the battle to breast cancer.

I've been diligently training and fundraising, as well as preparing to camp out for the big weekend, which is only 7 days away. This will be the last email I send to you until after the walk. I wanted to thank all of you that have supported me financially as well as emotionally through both my mother's ordeal, as well as my training. With your help, my team has raised over $18,000. We've reached our team goal, although I'm still a few hundred dollars away from making my personal goal of $3600. It's not too late to donate -hint, hint!

With only one weekend left to train, I posted a message to all Suffolk County walkers to please join me at 9AM this morning at the 7-11 on the corner for a training walk. I woke up bright and early, put on my Avon t-shirt and my new stretchy walking pants, my blister-free socks and my ninety-dollar sneakers. And I waited. And I waited some more. And at 9:15 I made a decision to walk alone. Feeling lonely with my motivation dwindling, I went about 4 miles and found myself in Port Jefferson village. I went into McDonalds to use the restroom and was lured in by their offer for free coffee. Sitting by myself, sipping my coffee and pondering going on with my walk, and just thinking about the walk in general, I took notice of a young mother having breakfast with her little girl. They weren't doing anything out of the ordinary and they weren't being loud, but I took notice of them. And seeing them, and thinking about my mother, I watched them, and with tears rolling down my face, trying not to cause a scene, I silently thanked God for my mother's presence, and wondered why my mom made it and how come Penny didn't? Why did my mom dance at my wedding and why won't Penny dance at her sons'? Why is my family so lucky?

It was as if someone from above was reminding me why I'm doing this. Yes, it's exciting. Yes, it will be fun. But maybe this money we raise will someday make a difference, because since you began reading this email, another three minutes has passed, and another woman was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Can't sleep...swirling thoughts in my head

Here's another one in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  I wrote this in 2006 when I was training for the Avon Breast Cancer Walk. 

 

So it's 3:45 AM and I finally decided to just get out of bed after an hour of staring at the clock. After stupidly drinking what seems like 6 gallons of water before bed I get up to go to the bathroom and now I find myself lying in bed. The longer I lay still, the more thoughts that go swirling in my head and the more I want to get those thoughts down. I'm listening to the rain outside and becoming more and more convinced that I won't be doing my nine mile walk in the morning. Damn you, rain! Why don't I own a treadmill? Why am I awake? Perhaps it's because I was in bed by 10 o'clock on a Saturday night. When did I become such an old fart?

It was such an exhausting week. The last week of the summer is supposed to be about relaxing. But for me it was about working part time at the Huntington Learning Center, signing forms and contracts for my new jobs, new teacher orientation, observing labs at Suffolk Community College, cleaning out my classroom in Massapequa.

These past two weeks have been crazy -more than I can take, physically and emotionally. First off, I'm leaving my job in Massapequa, which was a very hard decision to make. When I left the East Meadow School district and Connetquot, I didn't have a job the next year, so I was forced to look for a new position. But now I'm leaving a job that I have, where I've been very comfortable and very happy, and I'm taking it harder than I thought. Cleaning out my classroom, I was sobbing like a psychopathic lunatic.

So I've filled out all my paperwork and I'm ready to start my kindergarten position at Rocky Point when another part time position basically falls into my lap. My mother-in-law calls me and tells me to call someone at Suffolk Community College about a reading lab position. Basically I sent her my resume and within 30 seconds she emails me and tells me to come to a lab meeting where I can meet the rest of the staff. So I' m perplexed ... do I have this job?????? I go in and my name is on the mailbox and files. My mother-in-law points to the mailbox and says, "Yeah ... I think you’ve got the job." So basically they're paying me $32 an hour to assign independent reading work. Sounds good.

In the meantime, my cousin's temple calls me to come in and interview about teaching religion. Now here's the kicker: Out of all three of these jobs, this one seemed to be the most formal interview. A panel of five is interviewing me to teach religious school. It's a first/second grade class where I'll be teaching about the holidays and doing arts and crafts, singing, dancing, cooking ... and I'm being interviewed by the entire education committee. I was a little taken back.

So basically I've taken on three new jobs within the course of a week. I know I'll do well, but this has been overwhelming. For those of you who know me well, I don't do things half-assed. If you've seen my gift baskets, scrapbooks or drama club productions, you know that I'm committed... perhaps I should be committed.

By the way, there is a point to this story ... and here it is:

So Thursday afternoon I'm hanging out at my girlfriend's house in Jersey and her two year old is telling me how he went pee-pee on the potty ("not poo-poo, pee-pee") when my cell phone rings. I didn't recognize the number. This is what the conversation was:

“Hello."

"Heather?"

“Yeah?"

"It's Adam"

“Who?"

"Adam"

"Adam?"

"Yeah."

"Who are you trying to call?"

 "Heather"

 "Who is this?"

"Adam!"

Now it wasn't the best connection, but I totally did not recognize his changing voice. Adam, who I still think of as a three year old, is the kid who I used to babysit. Now when I say babysit, I mean all the time. I saw him at least weekly, if not more. I was only sixteen when he was born, and I was already sitting for his older sister and brother. I remember how his brother Ian was only 5 months old when I met the family. He was such a good baby. After the older one was asleep, I would take him out of his crib and let him sleep in my arms. I couldn’t’ resist. When his parents came home I would sometimes lie and say that he woke up.

Adam, on the other hand, was a horrendous baby. I'm convinced that he would cry for days at a time. I used to sit with him in the bathroom with the water running with the hope that the sound of it would soothe him. After about two years of torturing me, he mellowed out and turned out to be the sweetest kid on the planet.

Adam was calling me to tell me about his plans for his Bar Mitzvah. I remember that age. Ahh ... how the years go by so quickly. I remember being awkward, ugly, flat ¬chested, with braces and glasses. I also know that thirteen year olds are supposed to be confrontational and self-centered. Not Adam.

Anyway, as a Bar Mitzvah, Adam has to do a mitzvah, a good deed. Having been touched by breast cancer in his family, he decided to make a contribution to the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer and wants to talk about it in a speech at his Bar Mitzvah. I was floored. During the service yesterday he talked about my commitment to this walk, how I've set a goal of raising $3600, how I'll be walking 26 miles. I sat there beaming, looking at this child, this young man, thinking about how he's so adorable with this sweet innocence, yet so mature. I had partially assumed that his mother had put him up to it.

But then during the party he walked up to me, gave me a hug and looked me straight in the eye and said "I really hope that you get more donations."

I guess I knew how much this family had touched my life. I wasn't just their babysitter. I went on trips with them. I went out to eat with them. They sent me care packages in college. They were my second family. I don't see these kids as any different than my little cousins. I just didn't realize how much I'd touched their lives.

That's what keeps me going. I'm only five weeks away from the big walk. And although my fundraising is doing well, and I'm ready to take on this challenge mentally, physically I've still got a ways to go. If only this rain will cooperate. But when I' m walking and don't think I can go on any more, I'm going to think of Adam, and picture him at his wedding standing next to his beautiful wife. And I pray that she will never know of breast cancer. And I'll picture Adam holding a beautiful daughter, and I'll pray that she'll never know of breast cancer. And I think of how glorious Adam's mom and sister looked yesterday, and I pray that they'll never know of breast cancer. And I'll be walking next to my mom, and holding her hand, and overcome with emotion about my mother's battle with breast cancer, I'll thank God that she's here with me, taking on this challenge with me. And when I look in my wallet and see the pictures of my two newborn nieces, Lily and Casey.  I'll smile because in their little world, there is no breast cancer.

 

 

My 2004 Avon Walk Experience

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  In 2004 I participated in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in honor of my mom who had just undergone a mastectomy.  After my walk, I wrote my thoughts down about the experience.  Today, I share my thoughts with you:

 

 

 

Well my weekend is over and my Avon Breast Cancer walk is nothing but a memory - an exhausting, emotional, life-changing memory.

It all began on Saturday October 2, 2004 when the alarm went off at 4:45 AM. I woke up after a mediocre night's sleep with my friend’s 2 cats. The alarm was so loud that it jolted me off my friend's couch and I fell into her coffee table and then slid across the floor. I hate the morning. I managed to turn off the alarm before waking up the entire apartment building and sneak around in the dark to get dressed and repack my duffle bag. It was still dark when I left and met a friend on the corner to share a cab to South Street Seaport where the festivities began.

For weeks I had been preparing for this. I had fundraised and with the support of family and friends I raised over $3500. For six months I spent almost every weekend walking the trail from the Massapequa Train Station to the Bethpage Park and back. I also had to mentally prepare for this. I also had to accept the fact that I'd be using port-a-potties all weekend.

I met up with my team of eight and we headed up the stairs for the opening ceremony. We heard from women who are walking for all different reasons. I looked around and saw how many women had decorated their shirts. Some had names on them. One woman wrote "To my mother who lost the battle." That's the one that hit me. It made me realize how thankful I am that my mother is a breast cancer survivor and not a breast cancer statistic. I'm lucky for that. Many of the walkers that I met could not say the same thing.

During the ceremony, we learned about the "Every Three Minutes Ribbon." Every three minutes a woman in the United States is diagnosed with Breast Cancer. Every three minutes a random person was given one of these ribbons. 670 were given out during our two days together. That means that 670 women were diagnosed with breast cancer while I was walking. I never got one, but 2 of the 8 people that I walked with got them.

The most beautiful sunrise came up over the seaport. We learned that together New Yorkers raised 7.2 million dollars for the 2004 walk. Our city had the most money raised and the most registered walkers. We stretched our legs. We held hands. We cried together, and we were on our way.
We headed uptown along the west side. We passed the World Trade Center site. That was the first time I'd been there since the attacks. Posted are the names of those killed in September 11th. I stopped to find one particular name. It was the name of a man whose wife had given me a generous donation.

We continued on passing Chelsea Piers and all of the cruise lines that leave from Manhattan. We passed a group of children who were with an organized group cleaning up the shore and studying pollution. We stopped for lunch after 10 miles. We stretched our legs and continued on for the last 3 miles of the day, which were the hardest. We finally ended the day at Fort Tryon Park in the 190's.

We were bussed to camp on Randall's Island where we were greeted with cheers and love and hugs and lots of support. The sky was ready to open up so we tried to get our tent set up ASAP. Luckily there were boy scout volunteers to help us. The boys set up the tent for us and I was able to get inside and take a little snooze while the rain came down. Some of the other walkers were out walking in the rain. I didn't envy them.

At the campsite there was a wellness village with medics, massage, yoga classes, and free flip flops. I raised $3500 and walked 26 miles and all I got was a lousy pair of flip flops. Of course the massages were booked up in about 5 seconds, so I made an appointment to see a chiropractor. I explained to him that "I'd like an adjustment because I have a torn lower disk and if it's not too personal, my right butt cheek is really tight." Being a professional, he was very nice and was able to work the knots out of my butt cheek, as well as adjust my spine. I think I heard every bone in my body crack as he put me back together. I was very tight, but after that I felt much better.

We woke up to have dinner, which was a giant disappointment. There was so much food the entire weekend, but the meals were not very good at all. The snacks were wonderful. Every few miles we had choices of cookies, chips, nuts, pretzels, granola bars, apples, bananas as well as Gatorade and water. But the meals were awful. Saturday's dinner was sweet and sour chicken, chicken chow mein, steamed veggies and spinach salad. I ate the veggies and some mediocre strawberry ice cream. It was a good thing that I filled up on snacks all day and wasn't terribly hungry. One of the wonderful walkers was able to lie, cheat and steal for a corn muffin, so we split that as well.

That night we had some live entertainment, but I left to get away. The band was really good but I didn't have the energy to sit and listen to them. They were very loud. Instead I headed to the showers and took a nice warm shower on a truck. Yes, you heard me right. They brought in shower trucks. It wasn't as bad as I thought. One of my team members had rented a hotel room in case it was pouring, but we all decided to stay for the full experience. So instead of showering at the Marriott, we showered on trucks.

So I headed to bed and went to sleep. At 1 AM I woke up to go to the bathroom. I almost dropped my flashlight in the gross, blue, port-a-potty water. That was close. It's a good flashlight and I would not have gone in after it. I headed back to the tent, but I was so ridiculously thirsty that I could not go back to sleep. So I started walking around the campsite to find a crew member to get some water. Of course the crew was asleep, and the grounds were so quiet. It was so strange to have 2700 people all around you, yet the only sound you hear is the cars going by the Triborough Bridge right above us. Yes, I can say that for one night, I slept under a bridge. So I headed towards the security guards who told me to check the kitchen tent which only had leftover sodas from dinner. Finally I headed into the medical triage tent and was able to find a box with bottles of water. I got back into the tent and had a hard time getting back to sleep since I was up in the night air. Finally I was asleep.

5AM -  My goodness was is windy. I thought we'd blow away. I was up and shivering. I was searching through my gear for my gloves but I didn't want to wake up my tent mate so instead I just put the sleeping bag over my head. Finally at 6 AM it was time to get up and start the day. So now I'm exhausted and have had two short and interrupted nights of sleep.
After packing my bag and taking down the tent, we finally headed off to breakfast, which was another disappointment. After tasting fake eggs, chicken fried steak and a very dry biscuit, I settled on coco puffs. (Avon's intentions were good with a nice choice of breakfast food, but the food wasn't very good.)

We stretched our legs and left amidst the cheers of the crew and volunteers. Starting off on day 2 was much more difficult than day 1, but we got the momentum up and went. The first bridge we crossed was a green walking bridge that I always saw from the FDR and wondered where it led. Now I know it leads to Randall's Island. We continued heading downtown through the streets of Manhattan along 1st Avenue. Just like day 1, we stopped every few miles to stretch, eat and hit the bathrooms. I felt like I was constantly hitting the bathrooms because I was drinking at least a bottle of Gatorade every few miles. I was so afraid of having one of my fainting spells so I kept hydrated and ate salty snacks. We continued on, crossing the Manhattan Bridge and then stopping for lunch. This was my favorite part of the weekend. Not because the lunch was so great. It was a soggy turkey sandwich that I didn't even finish. The big chocolate chip cookie was good. It was my favorite part of the weekend because we ate at a park in Brooklyn between the Manhattan Bridge and the Brooklyn Bridge. The sun was shining. It was the most perfect day. I laid down on the grass and just took in the sunshine and terrific view.

Getting up was tough, because I was relaxing for a good 30 minutes and my muscles were tightening. We encouraged each other, knowing that we were so close to finishing. All we had to do was cross over the Brooklyn Bride and get back to the seaport. I pulled myself off of the ground and continued on. We crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and admired the beautiful architecture. We found ourselves in lower Manhattan and were less than half a mile from the finish line. Finally it was in sight. We saw the two pink towers with all of our signatures on it and a crowd waiting to cheer us on. One walker said to me, "We all walked for different reasons, but we all walked for the same reason." We were on the other side, crying, hugging, laughing, and congratulating each other. We walked 26.2 miles, the length of a marathon.

I was so proud of myself for walking, but that's not even what this experience was about. It was about unity, sisterhood, support, raising money, sharing stories, breast cancer education, breast cancer research and finding a cure. I heard so many stories about loved ones lost, yet this wasn't a sad weekend at all. Just the opposite -  it was so uplifting. It was so refreshing. I couldn't believe the positive energy that surrounded me for two days. One person was nicer than the next. One person was more positive than the next. One person was more supportive than the next. The women who went through the hardest struggles were the first to lend an ear. As the walkers were crossing the finish line, they'd go back to cheer on the next walker. I couldn't get over how many survivors were walking 2 in my group alone. Our oldest walker was 76 years old.

The walk was amazing. It wasn't easy, but it was amazing. It really gave me an appreciation for the beautiful city of Manhattan. I crossed bridges. I visited parks. I walked along the water. I would have never thought to do those things on my own.

Finally it was time for the closing ceremony. The walkers marched in together chanting, singing, clapping, cheering. The crew marched in together. They were the ones who made the weekend possible. We heard more stories. We heard more statistics. Every 3 minutes a woman in the United States is diagnosed with breast cancer. That means that during my walk, 670 women were diagnosed. Every 14 minutes a woman dies from breast cancer. That means that during my walk, 145 women were lost to this disease.

Breast cancer affects everyone. That's why I took this walk. My mother is a breast cancer survivor. One day I may be diagnosed with breast cancer. I don't want my future daughters and future nieces to ever have to hear the words "You've got breast cancer."

I share all of these personal thoughts with you because you've all supported me. You've supported me through donations, by giving me advice, by listening to me talk about my concerns, by helping me through my mother's ordeal. Although my walk is over, the battle with breast cancer is not. Because since you've begun reading this, another  woman was just diagnosed.

Thank you for your love and support.

I signed up for a VBAC and all I got was this lousy emergency c-section.

New Years Eve is supposed to be a day of fun and excitement, but for me it was misery.  I felt awful and I was exhausted, even more so than the average 31 week pregnant mama should feel.    This year it fell on a Saturday and during the day we threw a party for my parents who were celebrating their 40^th wedding anniversary the following week.  Despite my misery, I put on a happy face because I was throwing the party along with my brothers.  The party went off without a hitch so I decided to go home and take a nap before going out to dinner.  We already had Grandma lined up to babysit, and it’s so rare that I go out, especially with my big brother who lives out of town.  I was really looking forward to it…knowing that baby boy would be arriving in 2 months and my nights out would soon be non-existent. 

So I went out to an expensive dinner with my brothers and ordered a 40 dollar steak that I didn’t touch.  (Damn money wasted!)  My sister-in-law commented that I was turning white and I was in intense pain.  In my heart I knew that something was seriously wrong and I suggested we go home.  My husband was very worried because it is not like me to want to leave a rare night out.  I ended up calling my OB to wish him a Happy New Year and to tell him that I thought I was dying.  I gave him my list of symptoms and he told me that it’s very possible that the baby was turning (he had been transverse) and to rest and come into the office on Tuesday.  I had intense chills and pain and we talked about modifying my diet because I was probably going into a little bit of sugar shock.  The following day I felt better and when I looked in the mirror, the baby was definitely lower so I concluded that he must have turned down, which made me very happy. 

On Tuesday I went into the office and they checked all of my vitals.  My blood pressure (which is normally on the low side) was mildly elevated but within normal limits, there was no protein in my urine (which is what they check for to rule out pre-eclampsia) and I had a sono which showed that baby had turned down.  Yay – I was hopeful that I may get my VBAC , and we concluded that the pain was the baby turning.  I wasn’t dilated or effaced and they gave me a test called a fetal fibronectin test to determine if I was at risk for pre-term labor and it came back negative.  Since I had been feeling better and baby had turned down, I set up my next appointment for 2 weeks down the road.

Within another day or two I was back to being miserable.    I still had chills despite modifying my diet, I had intense pain and tenderness in the abdomen and couldn’t get comfortable or sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time.  My feet were double the size, and I started getting nosebleeds. With my first I became dehydrated which affected my amniotic fluid, so this time around I was very cognizant about drinking lots of water, but I was vomiting, had diarrhea, couldn’t eat and prayed that I would make it through the rest of the pregnancy.  With my next OB visit over a week away, I called to get in on Monday the 9^th and told them that I had to be seen.  I was so sleep deprived that I wrote down a list of all my symptoms because I was so uncomfortable and upset that I broke down into tears and couldn’t even talk the nurse.  They weighted me and I was down 4 pounds from the previous week and they checked my urine which was almost orange and had protein in it this time.  The nurse hooked me up to the blood pressure machine and got my reading and made a funny face.  She commented that the machine must be broken because my blood pressure reading was much too high and she would take it manually instead.  They put me on a non-stress test and baby was hardly moving.  The nurse practitioner called my OB who was already at the hospital said that I should skedaddle right over to labor and delivery.  Still not realizing the severity of the situation, I called my parents and hubby, swung by the preschool to pick up my son (knowing I would otherwise miss dismissal) and headed over to meet my OB.   I was very calm because I was not in labor, so I never for a moment thought that I would be delivering that day.  In my mind, I’d go and get IV fluids because I was very dehydrated, and my biggest fear is that I’d be put on bedrest. 

As we drove I leisurely passed the ferry boats in port Jeff and as I passed the Frigate, Goofball saw the big ice cream cone and asked if we can stop for an ice cream.  I promised him that later today we would get him some when Mommy is done seeing the doctor. 

I was admitted and assumed that they would give me some IV fluids (which they did) and would monitor me for a bit or possibly keep me overnight.  By this time hubby had arrived.  The nurses started drawing blood.  Being a type A personality I had grabbed my phone list for my religious school class and started making calls to tell them that I was going to cancel the class for the night.  I called the first parent and we chatted and I told her that I was being monitored and will call her back later in the week to reschedule the class. 

My OB came to see me and said that based on my liver results they want to give me a c-section that night.  My jaw dropped and my husband and I exchanged scared looks.  I started to cry. My OB left the room and came back within a minute or two holding a paper, shaking his head, and he was accompanied by the anesthesiologist.  He was holding the results of my platelet count which was dangerously low – so low that the nurses began prepping me for a c-section right there and then.  I was in disbelief and immediately I felt like I had no control over my fate.  Knowing that my students would be waiting for me, I told the nurses that I needed 3 minutes to make a phone call.  I picked up the religious school roster and prayed that my supervisor would pick up the phone, which she did.  I starting rolling off a list of names and phone numbers to her and told her to cancel class, all while the nurse is standing there in disbelief saying “Can’t someone else make these calls for you?”

The next 10 minutes were a total blur.  They had the NICU nurse come to see me and tell me that she’ll be in the OR and taking the baby when he comes out.  They brought me forms to sign – still not sure what I signed – maybe a consent for surgery, or a consent to not sue if they kill me, or the deed to my house?  I was so scared that my baby wasn’t ready to come out and I just couldn’t understand why I couldn’t be monitored for the next few hours, days or weeks, but I was too hysterical crying to ask questions, and the nurses were too frantic running around to answer questions.   I was poked and prodded and my parents had just gotten there as they were prepping me.  They grabbed Goofball (whose only concern was whether or not he can have some ice cream) and I kissed hubby and they wheeled me out. 

I was off to the operating room without any warning and without my hubby.  I was knocked out and Baby Mush was born.  He arrived on my parents 40^th anniversary!  No one could top my gift to my parents – their 6^th grandchild! 

So natural. So un-natural for me.

August 1-7 is World Breastfeeding Week.  Today, I share my journey with you.



Breastfeeding is the hardest thing I have ever chosen to do.  The most natural act is just so...well...un-natural for me.

When my first was born, I was committed to nursing.  While still pregnant, I read books so that I was prepared.  I chose my pediatrician based on the fact that he works side by side with a full time lactation consultant right in his office.  I got myself an expensive pump, bottles that were shaped like the breast, and I was ready to go.

He came into the world on a Tuesday via c-section.  My amniotic fluids were very low and I had already had a round of IV fluids 3 days earlier.  My stubborn little Goofball was happy in his cozy home and had no plans of coming out anytime soon.  I wasn't dilated.  I wasn't effaced.  I hadn't dropped.  I was 40+ weeks and my OB felt that I couldn't be induced and so a planned c-section was our best bet.  A little disappointed that I wouldn't be able to nurse immediately after birth, I brushed it off and away we went to become parents.

Three hours later in my hospital room I took little Goofball and latched him on and felt an immediate magical connection.

During those early days at home, I slowly started to realize that something wasn't right.  Goofball would cry...and cry...and cry.  I'd nurse him, and he'd cry.  So I'd nurse him some more, and he'd cry some more.

We started going for weight checks every 48 hours and it was inevitable that he needed to be supplemented.  I started pumping during those few moments when he wasn't on the breast, but I soon was caught up in an exhausting cycle - breastfeed, bottle feed pumped milk, pump, wash bottles and pump parts.  Rest for all of about 42 seconds. Repeat.  I was defeated, but I kept going.

We continued our weight checks and monitored Goofball, who was also suffering from reflux and would seem to spit up everything I had given him.  He was put on reflux medication and we continued to monitor him.  I remember one particular visit when the lactation consultant commented that he looked hungry, and it's never good news when a lactation consultant whips out a bottle of formula...which of course he spit up.  So we offered soy formula...which he spit up.  He just wasn't gaining well at all, and he was labeled as a "failure to thrive."  We finally got the formula right - a partially digestible formula called Nutramigen which stunk to high heaven and cost more than my monthly car payment.  Lucky for us, our insurance paid for it.

We continued to try, though.  I joined a breastfeeding support group. I took herbs to increase my supply.  I nursed and nursed and nursed.


As the weeks went on, Goofball nursed less and less.  I went back to work, and at around 8 months old he started pushing me away.  I was heartbroken.

Two years later, at the pediatric dentist I learned that Goofball had a cleft uvula.  Finally I had answers, but it was too late.

This time around, I told myself that I would not give up no matter what.  When I rubbed my expanding belly I would daydream about having a med-free VBAC (or maybe I'd get that epidural) and I would lay this newborn baby on my chest and nurse him within the first few moments of his life.  I had a plan...and what's that they say - that Man plans and God laughs?  I suppose that my plan was not meant to be.

At 32 weeks I dragged my exhausted ass to the doctor and told them that something was seriously wrong.  After a urine test, blood pressure test and non-stress test I was sent to the hospital, and before I knew it I was knocked out rushed to the operating room.  Within moments, little Mush was born.  Not only did I not get to nurse this baby right away... I didn't get to see him being born.  I didn't get to keep him in my room.  I didn't even get to touch him.

I requested a pump in my room and got to work.  I started pumping every 2 hours and it took me pumping fifteen times...yes I said fifteen times...before I saw one drop of milk.  Before that I had maybe 1 drop of colostrum that the nurse sucked up with a syringe and injected into the inside of baby's cheek.  In the meantime, Mush was getting high calorie formula put in a feeding tube down his nose so that the formula went directly into his stomach because he was too weak to suck.  After about 3 days of pumping I was pumping about an ounce per session and the nurses were able to ditch the high calorie formula and feed the baby my milk.

I continued the pumping and at about a week old, we tried to latch the baby onto the breast and we shared a magical moment.  He was nursing.  He nursed for about 2 minutes and then tuckered out from exhaustion.

During his stay in the NICU he gained strength and we were able to get him off of the feeding tube and onto a bottle with pumped milk.  At least once a day I would attempt to nurse him, and each time he would nurse for a little bit longer.  I was so proud of him, but we still had a long road ahead.

At 18 days old Mush came home and we were on a very strict regimen: Nurse, bottle, pump, clean, repeat.  We went for weight checks every 2 days.  I felt like Bill Murray in Groundhog's Day when he keeps reliving the same day over and over again which becomes his personal hell - it was deja vu, yet it was like a cruel joke.

Baby Mush had reflux and was spitting up my milk.  He wasn't gaining.  We put him on medication.  We put cereal in his bottle to weigh down the milk.  We brought him to a gastroenterologist to follow his progress.  We started supplementing with the high calorie formula.  After ten straight days he did not gain one ounce and again I heard the words "failure to thrive" and I felt like a failure.

Again I started taking herbs.  Again I started reading books.  Again I joined a support group.

I cried to my lactation consultant, and she hugged me and suggested that I go see someone else.  This was too big for her.

I found another lactation consultant and she diagnosed me with a low milk supply.  She had me watch videos about hand expression.  She had me change my nursing and pumping regimen.  She had me wear a bottle around my neck and tape tubes to my breasts to supplement.  She had me increase my herbs.  She had me read a book about low milk supply and in it the author talks about risk factors that may influence your supply.  Well I had six.  Six risk factors.  I was doomed from the start.

Everyone told me to quit.  Everyone gave me their blessing and told me not to be a martyr.  But I was hopeful.

I followed the advice of the new lactation consultant but there was no improvement, and after two weeks I went back to go see her.  She took one look at me and I bursted into tears.  I was exhausted, I was defeated, and I was broken.

She gave me a big hug, and a big smile, and she said three little words that changed everything: You are successful.

I was so confused.  How could I be successful when I am such a failure...when I can't feed and nourish and comfort my child the way I was designed to?

I went home and sat down with the baby, the hubby, and my breastfeeding pillow.  I filled my little bottle with milk and I attached the tubes with surgical tape to my breasts and I started nursing.  And I cried my eyes out.  And I looked down at little Mush and I told him that I was sorry I failed him.  And I forgave myself for being a failure.  I took a very deep breath, and I closed my eyes, and I let it go.

I let it go.

And an amazing thing happened....

With each nursing session, Mush started to nurse a little longer.  He started to seem satisfied for a longer period.  And when I pumped, I saw a little increase.  And instead of dreading pumping, I started to take that time as "me" time, and I'd use it to close my eyes and decompress.  And the first buds of spring started to appear, I started to get out of the house a little.  And instead of pumping 8 times a day, I was able to pump 6 times...or 4 times...or even just twice.  And Mush started to sleep more.  And I had time to bake cookies or play Chutes and Ladders with Goofball.

Now my little Mush is over 12 pounds.  He is 6 months old and we are still trying to make it work.  He still gets supplemented, but I am in a much better place emotionally.  He's still not yet on the growth charts, but he is the happiest little guy and I am just loving him up.

Last week after a particularly exhausting day, I had just finished putting Goofball to bed when Mush started to fuss.  I grabbed my breastfeeding pillow, sat down on the couch and latched him on.  He started to nurse and as I watched him I stroked his little head and patted down his few little hairs.  For a quick moment in his sleepy milk-drunkeness, he stopped nursing, flashed a huge smile, and continued on.  I no longer felt like Bill Murray in Groundhog's Day.  It was my February 3rd.

To the babies that no one knew about

Five years ago today I got my first positive pregnancy test!  Nine months later my little Goofball was born!  Today I have him and his little baby brother, but there were two babies in between that I carried in my womb, but not in my arms.  Had I delivered either of those 2 babies, I wouldn't have my little Mush today.  While I wouldn't change things for the world, I still think of them often.



To my precious little baby who was growing in my womb,

I had just begun making plans for you, but you were gone too soon.

I had barely started daydreaming - would your room be pink or blue?

I still have the yellow onsie that I picked our just for you.

We hadn't even told everyone, we still had yet to say,

Big Brother was not even aware that you were on the way.

My belly had barely begun to swell, I did not yet have that glow,

You were my precious little secret that was growing down below.

You were very, very, real, even though you were very small,

You had a little heartbeat, but you would never cry or crawl.

I knew that something was very wrong when I saw the doctor's eyes,

Suddenly the tears of joy became sad and solemn cries.

They say that it's what's best, they say it was meant to be,

People say such stupid things when it's not their family.

And even though I'll never know just why you couldn't stay,

I will always be your Mommy and I still think of you each day.

Diary of a Wimpery Kid

Goofball loves his TV...a little too much....but since he is up with the roosters and I want to keep him quiet for the sake of our downstairs neighbors, I let him watch a bit too much in the morning. 

Well twice last week when it was time to get out and about, he had an all out fit when it came time to turn off his show.  Both times he ended up making us late for our appointments, and as a result he lost his TV privileges. 

This morning I had an appointment 40 minutes away and I was bringing both kids.  From there we would be out to lunch and then to a bounce house, so I had to pack for the day. I allowed myself plenty of time to get ready, gather baby bottles, water bottles, and snacks for the car.  Knowing that neither of us had eaten a substantial breakfast, I packed Goofball a bag of cheerios and myself a bag of crackers. 

I gave Goofball a warning that when his show ends, it will be time to turn off the TV and get dressed. 

Ten minutes later, at the close of his show, I hit the button on the remote and the TV goes off.

Tears.  Not just tears.  Buckets.

Dammit!  I don't have time for this!

I can't yell at this kid.  Yelling doesn't work for him.  Time outs don't work either.  Luckily his speech teacher has been working with him on verbalizing his feelings.

"Why are you crying, sweetie?"

"I am crying because I want to see another show.  I am crying because I don't want to get dressed."

Not today.  I can't handle dealing with this right now. 

I get Daddy on the phone and he calms him down and convinces him to get dressed.  I lay his clothes out and leave to get dressed myself.  When I return he is wearing his pants, but his underwear is still on the floor. 

"Silly goose - you forgot to put on your underwear."

Buckets.

Oh, for Pete's Sake.

"Why are you crying now?"

"I am crying because I forgot to put on my underwear!"

I talk him down and he pulls his pants off, which are now inside out.

Buckets.

"I am crying because my pants are broken!"

I fix the pants, lay them back down, and walk out again to finish getting myself ready.  I come back out a minute later and he's holding his shirt.  He takes one look at me.   Buckets!

"I am crying because I wanted to get dressed first!"

Holy Hell!  We are supposed to be getting in the car now!

I finish getting him dressed and convince him that he finished first because I haven't put my socks on yet.

More buckets.

"I am crying because the baby is looking at me."

Now he is sobbing....loudly.  This startles the baby who now joins in.

"I am crying because the baby is crying."

Oh, my God.  I can't handle this.  I scheduled this appointment 3 weeks ago.  We are going to be late.

"I am crying because I want some grapes."

"Okay, sweetie."  I grind my teeth and get him a bowl of grapes. 

Buckets.

"Not THOSE grapes!"

I am trying desperately not to lose my shit.  I sit him down and start putting on his sneakers.

"I am crying because I miss Daddy.  I miss him so much.  I missed him when we were in California."

Seriously?

"Our trip to California was a year ago. We just spent the whole weekend with Daddy for Father's Day."

More buckets.

"I didn't get a present for Father's Day!!!!"

Are you fucking kidding me?

Somehow I manage to get out of the house, only 26 minutes later than planned.  I call the doctor's office to tell them I'll be late and I put on some music and try to enjoy the ride.

Buckets.

"I don't like your music!"

At this point I am trying to ignore him and without even conversing with him I hand him the cheerios in an effort to shut him up.  I start munching on my crackers.

"What are you eating?"

"Crackers."

"I wish I had a cracker."

I reach back and hand him a cracker.

Silence.

And then....buckets.

"I am crying because I wish I had my own crackers!"

Oh, for fuck's sake!

I reach back and swipe the bag of cheerios out of his hand and replace it with the bag of crackers...the crackers that just last week he tasted and declared were "stinky."  It takes every ounce of energy to not pull the car over and beat him.  Instead I curse him out in my brain and eat his cheerios. 

Five minutes later he hands me the empty cracker bag. 

"Can I have my cheerios?"

"Sorry I ate your cheerios."

Buckets.

At this point I can't help but crack up.  What else can I do?

Buckets.

"I am crying because I am not a good listener." 

He knows that he blew it and he won't get a star on his star chart at bedtime and it will take him longer to earn the spaceship toy that he picked out. 

"I would be very happy if you can pull yourself together and start being a good listener now so Mommy can talk to the doctor."

Somehow during the duration of the car ride he managed to calm himself down and made it through my appointment with minimal tears. 

As we leave my appointment, I say a prayer that I can have some peace and quiet on the way home.

Ten minutes in, I look in my rear view mirror and that little angelic face is fast asleep.  I turn into the Starbucks drive through and get myself a frappucino and pull into a shady spot and pull out a book.

Heaven. 

I open up to my bookmarked page and start to read.  Just then the baby wakes up and starts screaming from the back seat.   In an instant my zen is taken away from me.  I get out, take him out of the carseat and bring him into the front seat.  I lift my shirt and latch him on and he happily nurses away.  My stiff back starts to slowly loosen up and I look down at my little Mush who reaches up his hand and touches my face.  From the back seat, I hear Goofball shift in his carseat.  I look in the rear view mirror and for a brief moment, he opens his eyes, catches my gaze, lets out a little "I love you," and closes his eyes again.  And I continue to sit in that shady spot nursing my baby, reflecting on our chaotic morning and thinking about how it all goes away in and instant...and I wipe away a tear.  I am so blessed.  And before I know it....I am crying...buckets.

I owe you an answer

Ten years ago today, you asked me to be your wife.  I remember that evening perfectly.  I came home and there was a red ribbon tied to the door.  I opened the door and there were flowers, candles and balloons all over the house, and the red ribbon led me on a path around the main floor, down the stairs and into my room where you were waiting for me.  You got down on one knee, held out a box with a stunning ring, and you asked me to spend eternity with you.  I was in awe, and I started to cry, and of course I responded, "Everything looks so pretty!  Wait here while I get my camera!"  I'm sorry that I never answered you.


If you asked me today, I'd have to say, "hmmm....well, maybe."  


Do I feel like marrying someone who has a hatred of tomatoes?  I'll pick them out of your salad if you pick the blue m&m's out of my candy bowl.


Do I feel like marrying someone who loves video games?  I'll let you play World of Warcraft, as long as I can get my turn at Dr. Mario!


Do I feel like marrying someone who wears slippers shaped like pint glasses?  I suppose they would go with my pigtails and frog socks.  


Maybe I didn't answer you because you already knew the answer.  If you asked me to marry you today, of course my answer would be, "Hells yeah!"

Make War, Not Love: Breastfeeding in Uniform

The war against breastfeeding continues:

Don't breastfeed in public.
Okay, you can breastfeed in public, just don't breastfeed your toddler.
And today's hot topic in breastfeeding: Don't breastfeed in a military uniform.

Today's topic was inspired by this picture:

This picture has been roaming around the Internet.  I saw it on facebook (because that is where I get all my news from these days) and it instantly caught my eye.  When I see this picture, my first thought is "God Bless America!"  Here we have two moms who proudly serve our country, smiling lovingly at their babies and giving them the best nourishment that one can give.

My aggravation with today's current debate is not about breastfeeding in public - it's about your baby's right to eat in public.  Just as you have a right to eat a cheeseburger, an apple or an eggroll in public, a baby has a right to eat in public too.  If you want to breastfeed in public, I support you.  If you want to give your baby formula in public, go for it.  If you want to give your baby diet coke in public, why not?  I give my baby breastmilk, formula...heck - last week he was crying so much I gave him a shot of tequila (mixed in kool aid of course!)

Why is this picture stirring up such passionate controversy?  According to an article on Yahoo, the military thinks it is disrespectful to nurse while wearing your uniform.  To me it is a complete contradiction.  We encourage our soldiers to be emotionally, mentally and physically strong, yet giving your baby the best possible food to make him big and strong is frowned upon when in uniform.

This argument that nursing in uniform is a disgrace to our country is well...disgraceful.  Just because a woman is in uniform does not mean that she does not take her job seriously...it means that she takes her profession as a military officer very seriously, and well as her position as a mother.  Nurse in a uniform.  Nurse in pajamas.  Nurse in a toga for all I care.

Today the military came back to state that their issue is not with the act of breastfeeding itself, but with the women who posed for the photos.  According to the  National Guard, it's a violation of regulations to use the uniform to promote a cause.  


So when in uniform, we can support war, but not breastfeeding?  Shame on your, military! I do not support this ideology!

A letter to my son's preschool teachers

Dear Preschool Teachers,


You know that preschool is my specialty.
You know that I am a teacher myself.
You know that I have experienced preschool in several schools in several different capacities.
You also know that this is my first time experiencing preschool as a Mommy.


You know my child well.  You know all the kids well, as any teacher should.  You know my child is funny, creative, talented and energetic.  You also know that he is difficult, stubborn and loud...but instead of trying to change him, you embraced him, and for that I am eternally grateful.


You know that my kid marches to the beat of his own drum...but instead of making him feel like he is different, you gave him a baton and let him lead the parade.


You know that my kid loves to tell stories...but instead of telling him to quiet down, you handed him the mike and let him work the crowd.


You know my kid has tactile sensitivity...but instead of forcing him to paint his feet, you let his friend step in and taught him a lesson about teamwork.


You know my kid has a hard time with other kids...but instead of letting him play alone, you took him by the hand and showed him the way.


You know my kid so well.


Did you know that at the Thanksgiving table, when asked what he was thankful for. he replied, "My teachers!"


Did you know that he beams with pride when he waters the bean that he planted in the cup?  Just like his confidence and love of learning, it blooms more each day.


Did you know that when he learns something new in school, we are at the library later that day taking out every book on that subject?  


Did you know that I will miss our chats?  You never rushed me when I needed to talk or vent about his progress.  You want him to be as successful as I want him to be.


Did you know that I haven't told him that school is ending?  I can't bear to see his tears and I am not ready to accept it myself.


Did you know that you will be missed dearly?  And while I don't want my boys to grow up too fast, I look forward to three years from now, when my teeny tiny baby goes off to his first day of preschool.  I'll turn to him and say, "Do you know how lucky you are?"  

All we are sayin, is give geek a chance!

So just this morning as the first beams of sunlight were coming through my window, I opened up my eyes, stretched my arms, and rolled over to face my husband.  He ran his fingers through my hair, looked into my eyes, kissed me gently on the forehead, and said those five magic words that every woman wants to hear:  “Happy Geek Pride Day, Sweetie.” 

You see, Valentine’s Day is nice and all, and his Mommy trained him well enough to know that he must not come home without roses and chocolate, but nothing gets my baby all excited like Geek Pride Day.

Yep, the gays and the pagans get their pride days, why not reserve a day for our geeks as well?  Be proud and get your geek on!  Let’s celebrate all of the sci fi weirdos who are not ashamed to dawn their flashing futurama belt buckles!

In case you are wondering what to do to mark this special occasion and keep your geek happy, I have compiled a list of geek-related items and have taken the time to rate them for you, so you know what is essential and what is total crap.  The rating scale is as follows.

Jar Jar: stupid, worthless or annoying

R2D2: useful

Jabba the Hutt: slimy or creepy

Yoda: Smart

So here are some things you might find in a geek household:

Canned Unicorn Meat

Rating: Jar Jar

While I realize the novelty of this item, I also realize that we live in harsh economic times.  I have no problem with killing little innocent unicorns and eating their meat, I mean, we all have to survive and we can all enjoy the delicacy, but the problem is that …brace yourselves…unicorns are fictional.  So if you are expecting real unicorn meat, you’ll be disappointed because it’s nothing more than a plush unicorn in pieces with fake blood splatter and plush toys can really screw up your sauté pan.  So if you are craving unicorn, I suggest you instead run to Waldbaums and get yourself some pork chops and just pretend it’s unicorn, which I hear actually kinda tastes like fictional chicken.

Murder Shower Curtain

Rating: Jabba the Hutt

I’m a little torn on this one.  I think it’s totally appropriate but only under the following conditions:  It must go in your guest bathroom and guests with heart conditions must be forewarned before entering.  This is not the guest bathroom you allow your future mother-in-law to use, because let’s face it gentlemen… if you have a future mother-in-law that means that you have actually taken time out of your World of Warcraft adventures to go and get yourself a woman and you don’t want to mess up what may be your only opportunity to settle down with someone who is willing to spend the rest of her life washing your Battlestar Gallactica boxer shorts. 

Polluted Toxic Waste Glasses

Rating: Yoda

We actually have a set.  These are our juice glasses.  I like them because they actually have a use.  I’m not a big fan of knick knacks that serve no purpose and just sit on a shelf and collect dust (cough cough – stuffed monty python attack rabbit – cough cough), however these are kinda fun.  Just be warned that they are made from a very thin glass and can probably shatter easily, especially if you are using them to make a toast and clink them together.  Hazaa!

Darth Vader Bank

Rating: R2D2

Pretty darn cool bank, if I do say so myself.  You need a place to put your pennies when saving up for that newest version of Mass Effect 2 anyway, so why not save in style?  This bank is so cool that I bought it for my brother and his wife as a wedding present.  (The gravy boat was already purchased from their registry.) 

Glow in the dark Star Trek Wall Decals

Rating: Jar Jar

Now I consider myself pretty open minded about what we keep in our home (I mean most people have their wedding picture in their bedroom but I have a framed Starship Enterprise), however there comes a time when you have to draw the line.  Nuff said.

Star Trek Dress

Rating: Yoda

Ladies – this one is made for you.  Forget the lace bustier.   Just throw this dress on with a pair of fishnets and your man will go wild.  You’re welcome.  (Hope you’re not reading this, Mom.) 

Wonder  Woman Lingerie

Rating: Yoda

Ladies – see above.  (Sorry again, Mom.)

So there you go.  Happy Shopping for the geek that you love.  May the force be with you all, and may you all live long and prosper!