It's been so long let's get reacquainted.

It seems to me that all blogs should start off with a "who am I?" entry. This one did ten years ago when I created it's inaugural post. Who I was then, a young(er) mother to one child, working part-time, looking for an outlet beyond the 'baby book' style blog I also kept, is not exactly who I am today. A decade manages to change people.

So who am I?

I am a mom. This time around, I'm a mom to two tweens - one about to start middle school as a 6th grader and the other 4th grade. I am a wife. I am a daughter. I am a sister.

I am a volunteer who does not often remember what the word "NO" feels like on my lips. I am a Girl Scout leader, a mentor and trainer for new GS volunteers, and I frequent many other Girl Scout committee meetings. I am on church committees. I am pitching in at various places because I was raised to understand that our purpose is to make the world better than we found it and the best way to do that is to volunteer your time and talents.

I am a writer who suffers from enough self-doubt in my words to approach pitching myself for freelance pieces. I procrastinate while I work up the courage. I've not had the courage in many years, despite having written for publication several times. I am an out of work marketer and public relations maven. I am job seeker whose perfect job would allow me to work at home or work part-time but who is willing to take what I find.

I am a child of the Jersey Shore who is raising her own children in her own hometown. I am seeing the places where I grew up, and the things I thought my children would grow up with, fighting to recover from Hurricane Sandy - cursing her destruction and marveling at the amazing people who have come from near and far to help us rebuild. I am feet on the ground and hands in mix to pick up the pieces. I am part of the solution.

I am a food allergy parent who understands that my primary task in this role is to empower my daughter to respect her allergies and to take charge of them. My job is not to construct a bubble around her, but to teach her to keep herself safe, to be confident and to above all else, not let her allergies get in the way of her happiness or contentment with life.

I am firm believer learning never ends and a child's education is a partnership between home and school. I am always looking for the learning opportunity in all things. How can we grow from this? What can we glean?

I'm a history buff, a political junky, a Yankee baseball and Giants football fan. I may be addicted to Starbucks, but only those drinks that don't taste like coffee. I am an avid reader who sometimes forgets to take the time to feed that passion. I am one who works best with music playing in the background because my brain tends to wander off aimlessly when it's not half listening to someone singing.

I am 40 and that no longer seems "old." Old is now what it's always been - people my parent's age. People my age? We're just getting started on the good stuff.

This is me. This is my blog.

The big comeback

When I signed off 5 years ago I left things a little open ended. It was nice having my own wall to throw stuff up against. It was fun having others actually read that stuff and leave a few words. As much as I knew I needed a break from blogging, I also knew that one day the words would build up inside again and I'd need to dust off my little slice of the web. That time has come. I can't promise I'll be consistent with frequency. I can't promise it will always be entertaining. It's just me, just like it's always been. Me and Me only and whatever it is that happened to crawl up into that itchy place of my brain and demand my fingers set it free. Are you ready to go along for the ride?

Perhaps it's time

When I began blogging 6 years ago it was a release. This virtual home was a place to come and let out whatever was pent up. I enjoyed it. I looked forward to it. I read blogs. I made new friends. I wrote regularly.

And then I began to write less.

And then less.

And now, if we're being truthful, this blog has become a more labor than love.

When I do come around to post something, it's done as a duty. Rarely do the words flow of their own accord. They come forced. I'm writing here because I "have to," which, really, makes the blog itself pointless. It's not fair to me...and it's not fair to you the reader.

So, what do we do now? Well, I think perhaps it's time to hang-up the keyboard - at least for a bit. I'm not going to take down these pages. I'm invested too much heart into them to just dump them all. I'm not going to say it's "forever" because it's nice to know I have an outlet when I need it.

I am saying I'm on indefinite hiatus. Perhaps as the calendar relaxes some or the urge to release the words building inside me finds no other place to erupt I'll come back. But the hanging and the lingering isn't fair to any of us - those that check in for new words and 'those' of us that feel guilty for not writing them.

I did make some wonderful friends over the years. Some of you have my email address already. Others are welcome to it -- for such folk that want to keep in touch or at least get a heads-up if I reverse course on this decision, leave a comment here with your email (you should be able to put it in the designated field outside the comment itself...but do what works for you!)

For those that have stuck in there with me these years, thank you. Your words and your friendship are much appreciated.

It'd be peachy without you

I've learned something very important over the last 6 years.

I don't like other parents.

Ok, let me clarify. I have lots of wonderful friends that are parents - these parents I like. There are lots of other parents that I can readily identify with or feel at ease with - these parents I like.

It's the rest of them: the prima-donna-mom's that force their crying girls into the dance studio because "she will dance and she will like it!"; the parents that do all of their preschooler's 'child led' project without the child's input; the dads that coach little league like it's make or break for their son's future in MLB; the parents that decide the teacher is unreasonable because she didn't want 80 bottle of bubbles coming in for "Spring Fling"; the parents that are peeved the preschool is not "academic" enough; and the ones that wonder what in the world they'll do to amuse their children if they can't quickly find some sort of extracurricular activity - every day of the week. Yes. THESE are the parents that make me cranky.

Instead of launching the giant tirade loaded with specific examples that I had been winding up too, let me ask you this. When is it that our kids get to be kids? When do they get to just sit and play? When do they get to explore the world and learn by experience? When do they get to do the things *they* want to do and build the life they want - not the one you missed?

Yet it's even bigger than that, isn't it? Why do we remove the biggest teacher of all from our children's lives? What's wrong with learning by falling? We do a great disservice to our children when we hand them the world on a platter - when we make it 'easy.' I'm not suggesting strife. I'm saying we all need to learn to get knocked down again so we can figure out how it is one goes about getting back up. It's not an easy thing to watch your child go through, and yet it's a gift that we can give them. That chance to learn they ARE not perfect but they are resilient. It's the one that says they aren't good at everything, but they are great at the most important things:

- Being loved
- Giving love
- Having the courage to go out on that limb
- Having the fortitude to try again and again

The more I grow into these parenting britches, the more soap boxes I find calling me. At times it seems that there are just too many when in truth they are stepping stones to the same box.

This one:

Young minds are sponges - but they absorb best when they're allowed to expand through age appropriate leaning opportunities and in directions they're most interested in going.

You had your childhood. You ran that leg of the race. Your job now is not to carry your children on your back as they toe the starting line Your job is to be the cheerleader holding out the cup of water for them as they run their race.

Take me back to '84

Tonight I was 11 years old again.

As a child of the 80s it shouldn't be a surprise that I did my time as a Knight Rider groupie. I was 9 years old when "The Hoff" was cool and a black T-top convertible was THE car to pine for. From it's debut in 1982 to it's sign-off in 1986(yes I had to look those dates up) I watched faithfully. For my best friend and I, Knight Rider was the grade-school, and then junior high, equivalent to water cooler fodder.

Tonight the latest attempt to revive a little 80s flair took to the air. I watched. How could I not? I watched and I found myself glued - again. I'm not reviewing the made-for-TV-movie-pilot-in-disguise. I didn't watch it with an eye towards it's own merits. I watched it as the catalyst to take a trip down memory lane.

For a few hours tonight I was 11 again and it was 1984. The chill of a winter wind and rain storm meant nothing to my feet thanks to my beloved wigwam socks. My copy of Thriller was idle in my boom box - who can listen to the one-gloved wonder when "my" show is on, especially when, for a few hours anyway, he wasn't some freaky, bleached out middle-aged guy? My big poof 80s hair was doing it's big poof thing.

The moment it went off, 2008 came trickling back. Of course, I did manage to use my non-80s-esque Internet access to email the aforementioned best friend a little water cooler talk. While we're sipping our virtual beverages let me ask you - do you think KITT is any good at disipline? Can I get my mommy-car outfitted with that voice module?

Seriously though, now all I need is for Scarecrow and Mrs. King to make a comeback.

Sports Cynic

I was never a baseball fan until I was about to turn 23.

When I talk about my 'fandom', I usually qualify which season drew me in by saying "I was hooked on the game in April!", lest someone thinks I threw myself at the first bandwagon rolling by.

It's true. I never really watched a baseball game until that year. However, I was dating someone (who I have since married) that practically eats, sleeps and breathes Yankee pinstripes. It was hard to ignore the sport with a baseball fanatic around.

One morning in April 1996 we sat on Bruce's cracked brown faux-leather couch and debated how to spend our day. His eyes got wild and big. He flew for the phone book, made a quick call and came back triumphant. "Let's drive to the Bronx and go to a Yankee game."

"Oh goody," I thought, while my mouth formed the sounds, "Ahhh, umm, k? Baseball, huh? I know nothing about baseball."

It sounds cliche, I'm sure, but it's a factual statement - when we walked out into the concrete cathedral to the sport I was in awe. There's something about the lush green grass and the climbing rows of stadium seating that gets your attention. I had a good time even though the Yankees lost. More seasoned fans were actually even more elated than I was - the team might have fallen short but that game was the best one Doc Gooden had pitched in his return that season. It gave them hope even though they couldn't guess what would lie ahead.

Days later I was on a plane headed out to a trade show. The coworker sitting next to me said, "Did you see Doc pitch? Isn't that great?"

I confessed my status as neophyte, adding that I had been at that game. Dennis took it upon himself to tutor me in baseball. From that day forward he'd send me emails and instant messages that went something like this: When you talk to your man tonight, say "I don't know about you, but I swear Boggs was safe in the 7th inning. That 6-3-4 double play with a hard slide coming down is tough to execute and I don't think they did it! Those umps are blind."

I, of course, dutifully repeated his lines, often adding in "At least that's what Dennis told me to say." Over time I didn't need his insights. I knew Doc Gooden's no hitter was a big deal. I knew Jeter was having a rookie-of-the-year caliber season. I knew it was worth staying up late and watching the World Series underdog surge to take the crown from Atlanta. I was hooked. I was a Yankee fan.

I still am.

Even in 'Roid era.

Of course, the events leading up to, through and beyond the Mitchell report have left their mark.

I am also a football fan, although not as glued to the set each week as some (read my husband) people are. I'm a Giants fan and I have been since childhood. I had no expectations for them this playoff season and so I'm not only elated to find them Super Bowl bound, I'm unbelievably shocked about it.

We were watching the game last night, as you might expect having read this far. I watched the offensive and defensive lines take their places for the first drive. I turned to my husband with a snarky smirk on my face and said:

"This line up brought to you by Balco."

And he laughed in return saying, "Yeah, no kidding."

It's sad, isn't it. An athlete in any sport can't excel, can't hone their skills or build their body without the shadow of doubt looming over them. A player can't hit a peak and then fall off the statistical cliff without a fan wondering if the guy's simply "Giambied" (as in Jason who earned multiple MVP awards while admittedly juiced and then, upon giving up the cheating aspect of his game, failed to break out of the mid-200 batting average range...which for you non-fans out there, is a bad range to be mired in.)

It's sad that each record set in the last decade or more is looked at with a question in the eye of the beholder. "Did he really win that many games because he's that good or because his trainer injected HGH? Can that guy really knock the cover off the ball that many times in a season...in a career...after 40? Is that rookie really that good? Is that superstar clean?"

It's sad that the greed and self-doubt of some cast a shadow on all.

It's not stopping me from watching, I admit it. It is stopping me from watching it with the same innocent awe at a person's raw talent.

By ear

When we graduated High School my best friend and I hit a stretch of nostalgia. We had this need to try to preserve or at least commemorate the relationships we had, or perhaps just document who we had been during those years of our lives. It was the time before email. Before digital photography. It was before easy access to video cameras that didn't require a shoulder to, well, shoulder some of the weight. It was before you could, gasp, burn your own CDs. Before scrapbooking skyrocketed to all it's glory. We were just "that" far north of the 80s.

The process of creating our shared memento was somewhat laborious but not difficult. We made tapes. Between our own collections and what we could gather at the library - a good decade before iTunes - we would spend hours in front of our parent's stereos carefully starting and stopping the source and destination tapes until we had a mix that captured the desired effect.

It's been years since I've listened to the results. I came across one during a garage sale purge last year - and as much as I wanted to take the walk down memory lane my inability to locate an actual tape player got in the way of my desire.

This morning, as usual, I woke up way too early as my husband moved around the room readying himself for work. This morning, not like usual, I couldn't drift back off to even an uneasy sleep. Instead I pulled a pillow over my head, reached a hand into the nightstand and pulled out my little Shuffle. Plugged neatly into a world of random music, I was at least able to wander around aimlessly in my own mind.

As the garage door closed behind his car leaving and I lay wide awake staring at the ceiling, it was clear that I had no hope of doing anything more than sitting in the dark listening to music that seemed like a good idea to preserve on this device. I crept down the dark hall way and flipped the computer on. The player moved from a ballad by Rascal Flatts to a heavy drum beat and loud rocking vocals of Bon Jovi from a time when big hair was best way to identify a rocker.

I waited for the PC to warm up and in the dark haven of my home, I danced around like it was the prom all over again. The music slid seamlessly to Jerry Lee Lewis and so did I. The pre-coffee blitz of energy left me happy to find my leather chair waiting for me. I slipped in and began typing as the music transitioned into a little Billy Joel and from there into Norah Jones.

Her music oozed over my ear drums like caramel dripping from a spoon dipped into in a sundae. It made me wonder what someone who came across my collection of songs on this MP3 player would surmise about me simply based on the eclectic collection it contained.

Last year someone sent me one of those "get to know you forwards" that asked one simple question "What's on your iPod play list?" It seemed frivolous at the time and, since most of my listening time is spent "Oh yeah! I remember this song. Hmm, didn't realize I had put it on" it also seemed nearly impossible. Now, though, I think I see the wisdom behind the question.

Music is expression. The music that calls you can be a window to who you are - what moves you, what calls to you and what sets your feet dancing and your voice singing (off key or clear as it may be). It's not that the lyrics speak for me, but they do speak something about me.

I'll leave it up to you to decide what it says. I've got some old Nelson song to bop around to now and perhaps after that a little Nickelback.

When downgrading is good

Three years ago we bought a Mommy-van. I hated it then. I never really got past that feeling.

It's not that it was a bad vehicle, well unless you get a flat. Have you ever priced replacement run-flat tires? Trust me, when you get three flats in 6 months you start to hate run-flat tires at a price of $250 per-tire. Tires that can't be patched. You start to realize that you'd much rather a slow leak and a $40 patch.

Things like stability control were nice; they're nicer if the sales guy bothers to forewarn you that loud screechy whistles and dings go off as soon as you hit an ice patch and stability control kicks in. The safety feature is really quite counterproductive when it causes you to slip into a panic attack the first (and only) time you trigger it.

All-Wheel-Drive was nice; unless gas costs a hair under $3 a gallon and you're considering selling a kidney to fill up your next tank. This also ignores the fact that you rarely encounter conditions requiring the extra wheel control. The raw truth is that you only moaned about not having AWD in a "LONG" vehicle because you were trying to talk your husband OUT of buying the damn thing to being with.

The extra space was nice except it meant you become the designated hauler of all things too big to fit into other family members sedans and pint-sized SUVs. The steering was nice until the little piece breaks off inside and you lose all semblance of power steering but the guy at the dealership service department tells you you're imagining things because it's all just peachy. A little digging finds out this is a common thing for the certain models of this brand. You get a new steering wheel but you're bitter.

Then one day your husband sends you an email as you're sitting at your part-time job stuffing lifesaver roles you paid to have your corporate logo and a snappy little message on into bubble wrap envelopes with a post-card you also designed. The email says "We've got a partner program through work and I can get a good deal on this vehicle."

You start to ponder. Well it's less space certainly. But truth is, we rarely use the space we've got in the Mommy-van. Hmmm, it's not one I see around very often does that mean something? Well, I see the Mommy-van (in the same color!) every other parking space which really sucks when you forget where you parked at a crowded mall.....and frankly, it did nothing to prevent the steering from breaking down no matter what the service manager thinks.

Well, it DOES get better mileage. It does NOT have run-flat tires (have I mentioned how much I loathe run-flat tires?) It is cute. Better yet, it's likely a lower monthly payment than we have today and will have for another two years with the existing Mommyvan.

We make an appointment with a dealer to go in Saturday for a test drive and a conversation. We find a better, closer dealer and head out Friday instead. The sales guy is nice. He's round and he smiles a lot. Logan plops his booster seat in the back of the vehicle for a test drive. Three tire rotations into the ride and Logan announces that we need to tell the man (who is sitting in the passenger seat) that we will buy this car. Mommy tells him we need to discuss it with Daddy. Megan makes herself at home in the cars and trucks displayed in the showroom. She thankfully never learns the horns work in those vehicles.

Daddy and the man head into the tiny little closet of an office to talk numbers. They emerge from time to time to run these figures by me. I sit in the corner of the show room entertaining too restless children with a TV hooked up to a cable system that hides children's programming on different channels than ours at home does, a few old beaten up books, a pint sized block table and one of those beaded maze things. We spend a LOT of time playing Simon says and "pretend you're a dog."

Hours later the four of us sit together waiting for the nice people in the back to spiff up our new set of wheels. We come home with a new "Mommy-mini-mini-van" and car payment that runs $50 less per month....plus better mileage (did I mention that), tires that won't run-flat but won't cost me an arm and a leg to replace and no warning systems that cause my heart to stop and my eyes to bulge out.

The kids love it. I'm finding it peppy and so much more fun than the "wreck my image" mommy-van. ;) I did hate that thing.

It does feature a third row of seating but no one with legs long enough to extend past the edge of the seat will fit in them comfortably. It's ok though because for the two or three times a year we actually drive more than four of us some place, the car seats will fit in the back row and the grown-ups will fit in the middle. The trunk is tiny - but since no one sits in the back row, the seats stay more or less permanently down and the cargo net holds grocery's in place.

I've got a moon-roof again. I so very much missed having the little rectangular spot of my roof open on a beautiful day - or at least the window exposed to let more light in. I have a 6-CD changer. I can load up *my* CDs and theirs without having to hunt them down at a traffic light and hope I can swap them out before the thing turns green.

My favorite feature? I have a remote starter. It's not quite necessary on a regular basis since, you know, I have a garage that sits just under my living room. It will come in handy when I leave the office and would like to get the A/C or heat running before I hit the drivers seat.

And if we're honest, I find a certain amount of glee in freaking out people in the parking lot by starting the car without a body sitting in it. :) I know. It's a bit mean. But frankly, it amuses me.

Late...again

Logan has spent this last year attending preschool three mornings a week. Each of those mornings had it's own routine - but not in a good way.

Each morning we'd start off great. Moving through paces on time and in good order. And then the final 5 minutes - let's just say it included a lot of me saying things like "Get down stairs NOW or [pick a toy] is in time out for the rest of the day! We're going to be late!"

It seems a lot of my life fits this 'last minute, running late" mode recently - and I can only blame some of that on the kids.

I began this post with the intent of telling you that the ground hog playing Moby Dick to my rendition of Ahab has been relocated several miles away to a park. Yet, it occurs to me that I'm a bit behind in even writing about "Peaho the beast" (name courtesy of Megan) and its lust for all things green in my yard.

Once I covered my victory over my tormentor, I was going to share some photos and/or commentary about the recent "no-kids-just-grown-ups" weekend. But, well, ahhh, I'm about 9 days late about writing something mushy-gushy about my 10th wedding annivesary and just slightly fewer days late in mentioning that we were even taking a trip to celebrate the occasion.

It's not worth the time it'd take to explain why the sometimes vaguely referenced wedding from hell was causing me heartburn again. Let me ask you this though - have you ever known a bride to turn down a bridal shower? Not just turn it down, but get down right NASTY about it? I didn't think so. I may need to investigate all-natural calming remedies before the big day.

I'm sure there are other things too. Things I can't even begin to muster much semblence of memory for. And yet, perhaps that's the answer - you know, to the question of "why am I so far behind and out of the loop lately?" Let's put it this way, although I actually do multi-task quite well, I'm not the best juggler. I've been doing a lot of juggling of late. I'm doing it right now as we speak. I *should* be in bed resting up for the "quite early but it's for a reason" birthday party for Logan tomorrow...but I'm not. I'm writing this rambling incoherent monologue and then I'm going to return a few work related emails, jot a few notes to friends looking for playdates next week that I've not replied to in days and then maybe, just, maybe, I'll wander down to bed -- thankful that the brand new central air unit is finally in and working.

Happy Mother's Day, Birthday and while we're at it Annivesary

May is a busy month in this house. First there's Mother's Day (which, I must say Logan is doing his very best to make very special). Then there's my birthday (a week from Wednesday) and then on the very last day is our wedding anniversary (10 years this year!) Usually there's a lot of smaller gifts on each occasion that I tend to order online myself or specifiy on a list that the guys stick to religiously. This year, however, the big guy decided to venture off on his own and do something special.

And special it is.

Knowing my passion for taking oodles of photos and my downright lust for the digital SLRs, he went and bought me one! I am like a kid on Christmas with my new Nikon D80. Anyone have any tips to share with me about it?

Now clearly, one can not comment on a new toy that takes pictures without sharing a picture! This one was one of the first I took with the camera (and admittedly run through the graphics program to brighten and sharpen a tad.)

What did we do wrong?

A month ago, give or take couple of weeks, I had plans to meet up at a local coffee house with a friend. I arrived, approached the "hostess for the moment" and asked if anyone was waiting for anyone else to show up.

"Not yet," she said, "But you can look." So look I did. I did not find my friend. The "hostess for the moment" decided she'd sit me nonetheless so I could wait in comfort. There are two rooms to this joint. She sat me in the backroom across from the night's local musician -- a guy on guitar who did not sing.

I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I gave up. I grabbed my stuff and left my complimentary glass of water and two menus on the table. I scanned the other room quickly as I made my way to the door. Outside I called home, "Did S happen to call, by the way?" I asked Bruce. No, no messages, no calls. I headed home.

I got around the corner when my mobile phone rang. "S just called. She's sitting at the place wondering if you're there. I told her you had just called and left." Umm, ok. The car did a u-turn and I hurried back. Too late, she had left.

We managed to hook up on the phone shortly after - laughing at the confusion. When she had arrived the "hostess at THAT moment" knew of no one waiting and sat her down at a table in the front room (aka, not the one I was in) so she could see people come in the front door. Except you can't really see the door well from those tables. Clearly the two of us lack highly attuned observation skills since neither of us noticed the other when I passed from back room to front door -- despite the fact we were both there.

We laughed it off and planned for another attempt at getting together. Except work/life got in the way of that one and we had to postpone.

Tonight we tried again. Margaritas with some food on the side at Chili's. Lots of catching up and chatter. Our few and far between get togethers tend to last quite some time. We ate. We talked. We ran out of food, plunked our money on the table with the check and talked some more. The waitress never came to get the money (perhaps her ploy to get ALL the change as a tip? Not that we actually had enough down to warrant getting money back but she did not know that.)

The restaurant was nearing "empty" save for the staff and a few tables of late diners. We continued to chat, completely oblivious of the hour.

I heard them before I saw them -- employees. One was yelling about "getting out of here" with a colorful expletive or two tossed in for good measure. His co-worker chided him "Customers!" And I thought perhaps the cranky boy was simply mad that the small lot of us hadn't gone home yet, while his buddy was reminding him not to curse about the customers when they were sitting right there.

But that wasn't it.

One of the black shirted young men came to our table, speaking to us and the table near us, "We have to get out, there's a fire in the back."

Well ok then, why didn't you say so.

"Fire in the back", to me, meant "grease fire that we're going to squirt with the extinguisher but we need you to leave lest you want to sue us later for the trauma of being in a burning building." I had thought I might have smelled something burning but hey, sometimes that happens at an eatery. When we got outside, however, there was noticeable smoke coming from the edifice itself and the smell to go with it. S and I got in our respective cars -- parked near enough to the building to want to move out of the fire trucks way. Perhaps out of "flames' way" for that matter.

To get out of the parking lot, one must drive around the side and out the back into the larger lot of a shopping complex. That's when I saw our "grease fire" was so much more. I'm talking "big shooting flames out the back door" fire. Holy crap!

I stopped a moment in a parking spot in the main lot - a feasibly safe distance from the event. I could hear the sirens screeching in the distance already on their way. I saw my friend pull around the and drive past me with a wave goodnight. We were both safe. The trucks were on their way. We headed home. Safe. Sound. Unscathed.

Yet I have to wonder, is there a reason we've having so much trouble having dinner out together? I mean really. I might develop a complex if our luck continues.

So this is what a workaholic feels like. . .

I'm tired.

And yet I'm wired.

Last week I got a call. There I was innocently trying to get some lunch at my most favorite supermarket in the entire world (hey, if you were where I was you'd understand the obession) and my mobile phone starts ringing. Although when it first rang I did not hear it. I climb in the van and turn in the direction to return to the office where sane people work.

The phone rings again. This time I hear it.

It's the old office. They have been desperately trying to track me down. They need help. Fast.

And so I, in the interest of generating some extra cash for a 10th annivsary weekend away in late spring, heard them out. Then I accepted the very labor intensive job within it's unbelievably short deadline.

Let me first say that even now, nearly 5 months to the day of bidding bossman adieu, I still tense up when I hear his voice. Is that warped or what?

But on to the good stuff. I work sporadically over the weekend. I work at the real job today, come home to a snowball fight with the remaining vestiages of the itty-bitty snowfall we got last night, watch brainless TV and then settle back in to working for oldplace. I finished just a short-time ago. Still flush with the heaps of thanks and praise from bossman. I know it's a fleeting thing - it always is - and yet it never stops to make me gloat a little when he's laying it on thick.

Soon I will settle to sleep. I will confirm there are no edits needed from me tomorrow and then I will produce the nice invoice that will subsidize my trip to a truly romantic little getaway an hour from here. And then I will be thankful that this is not my norm - this workaholic stuff sucks.

Shameless Plug

So there's this bloggity friend of mine that had a pretty neat idea. First, let me say, that outside of this pretty neat idea, Nicole of Sitting Still is one of those bloggers that make you thankful you took the time to poke around sites beyond your 'inner circle.' Seriously, if it was possible to hold a coffee and/or drinks mom-a-thon across the world wide web, she's the sort of person I'd want to include. I know we'd have a great time.

So anyway, she has this great idea - a political blog. But not just a political blog, mind you, a political blog centering around the voices of an important voting block: The Soccer Mom. Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. That mini-van driving, carpooling, thinking-all-the-same block of voters either side of an election likes to woo. Except we don't all think alike (and some of us don't even have mini-vans.)

This blog, The Soccer Mom Vote, gathers many different voices from this demographic in one place. Each day a different team member waxes poetically (or debates fervently, depending on your view) on the political or social issue of her chosing. And who is that wearing Jersey #2 (and therefore posting on the 2nd of each month)? Why it's me.

First post goes up tomorrow. It's nothing earth shattering. I'm sure neither political party will be quaking in their boots in the aftermath. But it's a start.

If you're blog hopping around, come and say hi. You don't even have to wait until tomorrow. Go say hi to some of the other roster members now. Great stuff showing up there already.