Kids: They cost. A LOT.....

I had no idea how much these kids would end up costing me when I had them. Sure it was expensive to deliver them by C-section in the hospital. Insurance picked up the tab on that one. Thanks, Aetna! But these kids I have are bleeding me dry, one activity at a time. Allow me to sound like an old fart for a moment. When I was a kid, I was involved in NOTHING. I wasn't musically inclined (my school didn't have a band anyway), I wasn't athletically inclined, I had very few hobbies that required equipment. I read. I rode my bike. I wasn't a clothes horse, and when I turned 13, I started working.

I started as a set-up girl in a restaurant, and when I turned 14, I moved up to waitress. I always worked for my spending money. After my summer as a waitress, the restaurant where I worked burned to the ground (I grew up in Wildwood, the restaurant was on the Boardwalk, we called it Jewish lightning when a Boardwalk block burned down). For the next 4 summers I worked in an arcade on the Boardwalk where I made a little money, and met lots of cute boys. OH the cute boys! But I digress. I had a J O B. I don't ever remember nickel and diming my Mom for stuff.

Fast forward to today. These kids today. Two daughters. Two talented, athletic, musically gifted daughters. Oh my aching wallet.

Let's start with 14. Sax player. Sax lessons. We bought her a sax, reeds, nice neck strap, more reeds. She plays volleyball. She's on a team that travels. That's not cheap. Gas, snacks, dinner after her tournaments, sometimes hotel rooms. She plays basketball. She goes to basketball camp every summer. Thank goodness her grandparents pay for that. She also has ginormous feet. Did I mention those feet don't ever seem to stop growing? You know what's totally not fair? I went shopping for basketball shoes for her last year, and the biggest size I could find in women's was an 11. She needed a women's 11.5. So we had to go up to a men's size. And the men's basketball shoes were, no lie, $60 more expensive than the women's shoes were.

Moving on to 16. Trumpet player, trumpet lessons, sheet music, and now she tells me she needs a Harmon Mute. I don't know what that is but I have no doubt it's going to cost me more than a gallon of milk (or gas). She runs track and plays basketball. Thankfully her feet may have slowed down in the growth department because she has been in the same basketball shoes for 2 seasons (thank you baby Jesus). But she DOES need track spikes.

What?

Track spikes, mom.

Can we get them at the running store in town?

No, mom, not cross country spikes, track spikes are different. We can order them from Dick's.

But I have a gift certificate for the store in town.

I laugh at your gift certificates! BAH!!

Sunday we went shopping for prom gowns. HO-LEEEEE SHIT. Can I just tell you that I think my prom gown for my junior prom may have cost a total of $89? And that was INCLUDING alterations.  The first dress store we went to scared the pee out of me. I didn't see a single prom gown in that store for under $289. And I know that she'd have to have a few alterations done so we were definitely going over $300. Next store we found was a little more reasonably priced but not by much. We STILL ended up going over $300. We said 'yes' to the dress. And my wallet died a little more.

Next year will be 16's senior year and 14's freshman year in high school. And the band is going to Disney. So that'll be two in the band going to Disney. And my wallet will die a little more. Then 16 will be 18 and go away to college. And my savings will die a lot.

At this rate, hubby and I will be working until we turn 128. But our daughters will be well-rounded, responsible, beautiful adults. And hopefully, they will take care of us in our old age. Hopefully they'll wipe our drool, or our butts, and they'll thank us for making them the well-rounded, responsible, beautiful adults that they become. Money is overrated, right? Retirement is going to be boring and who wants to be bored, right?

Running and math don't mix.

I completed the Freedoms Run Marathon in record time!!! (for me)

My first marathon was the Marine Corps Marathon which I ran in 5:42:34. My average pace for that race was 13:03/mile. Pretty respectable for my first ever marathon.

My second marathon was the Disney Marathon and those of you who have been around awhile know that I ran the Goofy Challenge that year (Half Marathon Saturday, Full Marathon Sunday, lots of pain and suffering Monday) My time for that full marathon was something like 6:40 so that doesn't really count towards being a lickety split runner.  But I did kick ass during the half marathon with a time of 2:39:25 so I wasn't at all disappointed.

My finish time for the Freedoms Run was 5:40:22, a full 2 minutes and 12 seconds faster than my first full marathon. My average pace was 12:59/mile. I couldn't be happier about that than if Mike Rowe himself was waiting for me at the finish line to present me with my finisher's medal and a big wet sloppy kiss.

I had so much love and support that weekend, it was ridiculous. The morning started at 5:00 when I got up and dressed. My friend Susan was going to drive me to the shuttle bus to get to the starting line, but she feigned car trouble and instead told me she brought me another driver. Who should pop out from behind the car but my dear friend Jazzy Jen Powers, who came up from North Carolina just to cheer me on for my marathon. I cried when I finally realized who she was (in my defense, it was 5:30 a.m., pitch black outside and I was wearing sunglasses). She dropped me off at the shuttles with the promise of Pad Thai and wine that night, post-race. I can think of nothing better than good food and good friends to celebrate my victory.

The race started off with a little drizzle and about a mile in, it was a full on down-pour. It was during the second mile that I realized something. My washing machine is apparently not doing its job. The rinse cycle on my washer isn't getting all the detergent out of my clothes. How do I know this? Because I had, literally, a cuff of soap bubbles around each leg of my running capris from the downpour. I'm not kidding. I literally was leaving a trail of bubbles all over mile 2.

Luckily the rain eased up by mile 5, however, that's when I crossed the Potomac River and started running on the C&O Canal Towpath. The C&O that day resembled both Tough Mudder courses that I've run in the past. No lying, the towpath was nothing but 4" deep mud puddles as far as the eye can see. Normally, the towpath is one of my favorite places to run. Now, I don't care if I ever see it again. It was a muddy, slippery and dangerous mess.

At mile 15 I was able to get off the towpath and onto solid ground. That was the good news. The bad news is that at mile 15, the serious hills start, and they don't stop for another 6 miles. But more good news, my fake husband Joseph and one of my running sisters, Paula, met me at mile 15 and ran those hills with me. What a sweet blessed relief to be running with people I know and love, who were there to get me through the roughest part of the race!

My fake husband Joseph and I in the hills of Antietam Battlefield

We killed the hills of Antietam Battlefield and I was on track to PR this race after trying to do math in my head. Running and math don't mix. Just saying. Joseph left just before we left the Battlefield en route to Nutters for some ice cream while Paula and I trudged on. About 2 miles later, Paula had gotten her planned 8 miles in and she took her leave just as Joseph decided to join me again. Apparently, Nutters was closed, no ice cream for him, so what else could he do? He wanted me to PR and wanted to help make that happen.

It totally worked. I ran across that finish 2 minutes and 12 seconds faster than I did for my first full marathon. This time I was about 25 pounds heavier and 6 years older. And my family and friends were all waiting for me at that finish line. I cried as they ran the home stretch with me. PSA: running and crying are not possible at the same time, I ended up hyperventilating and nearly died.

Dear sweet baby Jesus can I stop running now??

My baby girl at the finish line, presenting me with a hug and my finishers medal

Me and the beautiful Jazzy Jen Powers who was with me at the start and the finish of my marathon

I could not have done this race without the love and support of my family, who I abandoned every Sunday from July through October for my long runs. Or Susan Reichel who biked alongside me through hill and dale, singing to me, threatening to hit me with her bike, making me coconut water concoctions that helped me survive the hot, treacherous hills of Maryland and West Virginia. Or Joseph Bertone and Paula Masters who got me through Antietam on a wet, cold October day. Or my running sister Lisa Kingsbury who is one of my biggest champions. If you sent a text, a call, a FB note, please know that your love and support meant the world to me.

The night I finished running, we did go for Pad Thai and wine, then spent the evening pretending to play cards but really gorged ourselves on more wine and chocolate (because my husband is amazing, he went to the store and bought all the chocolate he could find for us). And we laughed and talked well into the evening. It was an amazing weekend with wonderful friends and lots of pain. But all well worth it.

You can read about the events leading up to my full marathon here.

A Tale of Two Weeks...

Technically it's only one week. But this is a story of last week from two different perspectives: My eyes and teenage eyes.

Last Monday, I dropped 17 and 15 off at school where they were loading up three charter buses to haul 100+ marching band members plus dozens of chaperones down to Walt Disney World for Spring Break. I was not one of those chaperones. I wanted to be, but the cost was just too much, given the fact that I was sending two kids down already. A third ticket to ride would've meant that some lucky bill collector would be calling us some rude names. I opted not to go on this trip. Here's why I am fine with/hate that decision.

Teenage eyes: Absolutely and thoroughly excited at the chance to head to Orlando for a week of fun in the sun with friends. Getting to spend hours in the water park or the Magic Kingdom meeting characters, waiting on endless lines for minutes of fun.

My eyes: Watching the kids mill around the band room and seeing the chaperones come in with their suitcases, knowing that they'd get the opportunity to watch my children having the time of their lives.  The knot grows bigger and bigger in my stomach. It becomes pure torture for me to watch others loading up while I stand by on the sidelines, not a part of this experience.

Teenage eyes: Dear sweet baby Jesus are we there yet??

My eyes: Thank GOD I'm not on a charter bus driving 18 hours to Orlando, FL.

Teenage eyes: Excitement mounting as they all congregate backstage at the Magic Kingdom, dressing in their band uniforms, warming up, preparing to step off and march in the Main Street Electrical Parade. And after taking that parade by storm, getting to watch the amazing fireworks show afterwards.

My eyes: Looking at the clock, counting down the minutes until 9:45 p.m., which is step-off time for the band to begin the march down Main Street, performing in my favorite parade in Walt Disney World.  Getting chills just imagining how amazing this experience is for my girls, and getting sad that I can't be there to enjoy it, enjoy them, enjoy the experience first hand. Disney is our place, a place we'd go every year if we could afford it. I want to be there so badly that I'm physically aching inside. At 10:30 the first pictures are posted to Facebook and I break down in tears. Proud tears, yes, but also tears of self-pity and selfishness. I should've gone. I should've just said "to hell with fiscal responsibility, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I should be there dammit!" But knowing in my heart (and my bank account) that this week is NOT about me. It's TOTALLY about my girls, and their friends and the marching band. I should be ashamed for being so jealous of everyone there while I sit at my computer looking at videos of my girls and crying. I feel torn.

Teenage eyes: Dread at getting back on the charter buses at 10:00 at night knowing full well how long the trip home will be, and leaving what has been one of the most exciting times of their young lives.

My eyes: At least I can sleep in my own bed tonight and not on a charter bus for 18 hours.

My girls.

Teenage eyes: Oh God I've never been so happy to see this high school in my entire life. Thank GOD I'm off that charter bus and if I never see another charter bus again it'll be too soon. I just want to go home, shower and get into my own bed!

My eyes: Thank God my girls are home safe and sound and I can't wait to hear every detail about their week (well, the details they're willing to share with old Mom). I hope they want to sit and chat with me all day long!

So there's this band...

Maybe you've heard of them? They're the Jefferson High School Cougar Marching Band, and they are awesome. And I'm lucky enough this year to have not one but TWO daughters in this band. How cool is that??

17 is my senior trumpet player, and 14 is my alto sax player. 14's been ready to march in this band since she was, like, born. Seriously. Because this band is the best in the state of WV. One of the largest competing marching bands in WV, they were crowned State Champions last year in competition. Don't believe me? Watch this. Here's just a bit of background on this performance: it was POURING DOWN RAINING and they gave their best performance of the season at this competition. No lie, it was iffy as to whether or not they'd even go on because of the weather. There was a break in the storm and they marched onto the field proudly. They had just begun to perform when the skies opened up once again and drenched them. They marched through the gales and kicked some serious ass.

Storms of Africa

Video courtesy of Vox Domini Channel - Youtube.com

Ok, so those 4 people in the front with the umbrellas? That's us, me, hubby, 14 and her bestie Hannah Banana. Just for the record, at 5:22 that's 17's little solo. And yes, that's me screaming right afterwards. You can hear me screaming A LOT in this video. And at 9:35? That's the 'company front' and I swear to God I get chills every single time I watch it. You hear me scream doubly loud after the company front. Yes, I'm a goober but also a damn proud mom.

That's my girl!

My point (and yes, I am getting to it) is that this band continues to increase in size (145 when 17 was a freshman, currently 172) and there seems to be no end in sight. We always say it, every year, that it takes a village to move this band. We are required to have 1 chaperone for every 10 students on trips, we require 4 buses PLUS 2 trucks to move all the equipment. It's crazy. But we LOVE it and we wouldn't have it any other way. When it comes to marching bands, "SIZE MATTERS".

This year's show is Romeo and Juliet: Undead. I've seen some of the rehearsals and it sounds like it's going to be fantastic. Both my girls are so stoked about it. I, however, will not watch a single halftime performance, because I work in the concessions stand at every home football game. Lucky for me and for the rest of the dedicated parents who work every Friday night home game, we do get to see our kids perform at band competitions, like the one in that video. It's really special for us, because we are so unbelievably proud of these kids and the hard work they put in all year to perfect their show. 

They're going to Disney!!

So why do I work in concessions instead of sitting in the stands watching? Because marching band ain't cheap, my friends. No sir. Band fees, instrument maintenance, band camp (no American Pie jokes please), and this year, "We're going to Disney World!" That's right, every 4 years, the band does one major trip, and how excited am I that it falls on a year when BOTH my girls are in the band? I'm freaking tickled. Seriously. But like I said, it ain't cheap. And by working in the concessions stand, we get a small percentage of the evening's profit, so we work to offset the cost of things. This year I'm thinking of taking a part-time job, but sadly, the only skills I have are blogging and wrapping up hot dogs. Any and all donations are accepted.

Know anyone hiring a hot dog wrapping blogger?

Throwback Thursday! Let's get miserable!

Here's a memory I wish I could forget on this foggy Throwback Thursday morning. It was March of 1999. I was pregnant with 14, and 16 was just about 18 months old. Like knuckleheads, we thought it would be awesome to take our adorable 18 month old to Disney World! What a great idea! And root canal with no novocaine! And labor with no drugs!! And lighting ourselves on fire! All fantastic ideas!

The trip itself was actually fun. I'm not sure exactly how much of the trip 16 remembers, but there's one part of the trip that I will never forget. Like, ever.

The day we were to fly back home to New Jersey was a beautiful Florida morning. Bright and warm and sunny. It would've been a wonderful day to spend in any number of the Disney parks. Or Sea World. Or Universal. Instead, we spent the day in hell.

Our flight was due to depart at 10:00 a.m. So like good little travelers, we arrived at the airport 2 hours early. We had called the airline that morning (here's a hint: our airline rhymed with FEAR-IT) and they confirmed that our flight was, indeed, on time. GREAT NEWS! We'll be home by lunch time! Or so we thought. Upon checking in at 8:00 a.m. the desk agent informed us that the flight was still on time. Yay us! We checked our luggage, went through security with no problems and headed to our gate to wait for our on-time plane! What could possibly go wrong?

At 9:30 a.m., an announcement came over the speakers that all passengers on Fear-It Flight 666 should report to the gate attendant at the desk. We all wandered over and were told that apparently, our plane, (which was due to arrive from Atlantic City after it left Detroit) had not yet taken off from Detroit. Wait, what? Our plane was originating in Detroit, then heading to Atlantic City to pick up Disney World bound Atlantic City folks and was bringing them to Orlando by 9:30 a.m., and then taking us home at 10 a.m. Are you with me so far? Good. Well, the black box on that plane was not functioning properly. So it never took off from Detroit. And they didn't have another plane in the back. Who doesn't have a spare plane on hand for just such emergencies? Seriously.

We asked how long the delay would be and were told "possibly an hour". Maybe it was going to take them an hour to find a spare plane. Or a spare black box. Who knows. The point is, we expected that we were going to be delayed for an hour.

2 hours later, still no plane. At 11:45, they told us that it shouldn't be too much longer. To me, that means that maybe by 12:30, 1:00 at the latest, there would be a plane there to take me, my husband and my 18 month old child, who had not yet had her afternoon nap, back to New Jersey. I could not have been more wrong.

At 1:00 p.m., I was getting more and more aggravated. Remember when I mentioned that it was a beautiful, warm, sunny Florida day? One that could've been spent in an amusement park. Instead, we spent it inside the Orlando International Airport, trying to amuse an 18 month old cranky child. There are only so many games of Patty-Cake, I-Spy and Find Something Yellow that you can play before you're ready to see just how fast TSA agents can respond to terroristic threats.

Every hour that went by, they told us "it shouldn't be too much longer". Fucking liars. They should all be ashamed. Their pants should've all caught on fire.

By 3:00, the 18 month old was so cranky she was physically slapping me from sheer exhaustion. Truly, a slap-happy child, but she refused to try to sleep. At 4:00, they gave us all vouchers for food. We found a pizza place and stuffed our faces with $14 worth of pizza and sodas. At 5:00, I was looking for something flammable to light myself on fire.

At 6:00, new folks started showing up. It turns out there was another flight leaving for Philly at 7:30. Awesome! It totally made sense for them to let US, the 10:00 a.m. flight passengers get on the 7:30 p.m. flight back home, right? WRONG. We watched in horror as those 7:30 p.m. flight passengers were allowed to walk onto that plane while we sat with our noses pressed against the glass. FEAR-IT Airlines policy is: "Why piss off 2 plane-loads of people when you can just doubly piss off one plane-load?" It's a great marketing strategy. I don't understand why more companies don't use it.

Finally after being told all. day. long. that it shouldn't be too much longer before we were allowed to take off, a mere 12 hours later than our original flight was schedule to leave, we were allowed to board a plane at 10:00 p.m. My 18 month old was tired, my 35 year old husband was cranky, and my 32 year old self was ready to stab someone in the eye with a pen. A pencil would do. Or a crayon. I wasn't picky.

On the flight, they handed out pens and paper and allowed us all to write a letter to the management of FEAR-IT airlines, describing our plight. I'm guessing the flight crew used those letters to wipe their dirty asses. We were told that they were going to give us all a $100 credit towards a future FEAR-IT airlines flight. As if I would EVER fly that airline again. If it was the last airline on the planet and I had to get somewhere, I'd put a saddle on my dog and ride him before I'd ever get on a FEAR-IT plane again.

Oh, and one last little nugget. To add insult to an already hellaceous, horrific nightmare of a day, my 18 month old threw up all over herself as soon as she was buckled into her car seat for the 10 minute drive home. Put that in your #tbt pipe and smoke it.

Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens....

Blah blah blah, these are a few of my favorite things.

Dumbass under my bed

I don't do a real good Julie Andrews impression. As a matter of fact, when I was in either 7th or 8th grade, our high school was putting on the play The Sound of Music and was looking for elementary kids to audition. My friend Sue (who could sing circles around me) convinced me to try out for the play as one of the Von Trapp kids. I don't remember if Sue made it but I certainly did not. I bombed my audition when my voice cracked as I tried to hit the high notes. Instead of it sounding beautiful and melodious when I sang Do Re Mi, it sounded more like DON'T, You're Raping My Ears. Suffice it to say, that was the beginning and the end of my career in the theater.

Anyway, I'm digressing from the point of today's post (and I really DO have a point, I just usually take forever getting around to it). I want to tell you about some of MY favorite things, and they don't include raindrops OR whiskers. Whiskey, maybe, but not whiskers.

In no particular order, I present to you, some of my favorite things:

Watching my kids perform. Doesn't matter if they are playing volleyball, basketball, track or music. One of my very favorite things is seeing them use their talents. When they were younger and played soccer, nothing would give me greater pleasure than seeing them dribble the ball up the field, pass it back and forth with their teammates and then take that shot and watch the ball whiz past the goalie. More recently, I love watching them stand on the foul line and take a free throw that is the go-ahead shot in the game. And don't even get me started on seeing them perform music with their respective bands. Since I am not even remotely athletically or musically inclined it just makes me so proud that they HAVE talent and USE that talent.

14, my volleyball star
Photo courtesy of Brian Englebright

16, my hurdling hero
Photo courtesy of Rollie Jacobs

Baking on a hot beach, on a lounge chair with my feet in the ocean. Seriously, it's awesome and something I wish I could do more of, but sadly, when you live 4 hours from the closest ocean, it's a little difficult. When I lived in Ocean City, NJ I didn't do this NEARLY as much as I should have. Another thing that just melts my butter is tubing along on a lazy river with friends or family. Last summer, I tubed the Potomac with some amazing friends for about 4 hours. We relaxed, drank, laughed and had a blast.

Spending time with this crew, doing things together, or just sitting and watching TV when we're all in the same room. I bitch and moan about them but I love them to bits and love spending time with them. Things are going to be mighty different next year when 16 becomes 17 and graduates from High School. Totally not ready for that, so I will enjoy the time we have between now and then. 

My crew in Disney from 2012

This guy. This picture.

Me, carrying Mike Rowe, wanting to never put him down.

These three. They never fail to bring a smile to my face on a daily basis. If they didn't shed so damn much, life would be close to perfect.

My Henry

My Cosmo

My Dumbass

And I'm just saying, when the dog bites or the bee stings, I'm not just feeling sad, I'm pretty freaking pissed off. Remembering my favorite things when my skin is hanging open from a dog bite doesn't help me not feel so bad. When a bee stings me, thinking about kitties and bright copper kettles does NOTHING to ease my pain. And those silver white winters that I thought would NEVER melt into springs??? You can keep that white shit, Julie. Keep it right over there in Vienna where it belongs. Give me 90 degree temps and a hot beach with a cool drink. THAT'S what I need to make me feel better.