travelingwithhumor

This week my dear friend Mary Elizabeth (names have been changed to protect the guilty) had a fairly serious surgery. I won’t go into the details because it is her story to tell. I will just say that it struck fear in my heart. I’m not ready to lose another old friend (not that we are old mind – I am referencing the length of the friendship). She was in my prayers several times a day for the past few weeks. My mind wandered to her and her family more times than I care to admit.

The good news, she made it through the surgery with flying colors. Mary Katherine and I stalked her husband for two days for even the smallest of details. Finally on Wednesday she popped up in our always open private chat box with a smart-assed comment about something another person we all know had shared and we knew that our beautiful Mary Elizabeth was going to be just fine.

I am not a crier by nature but tears filled my eyes. She was back and sassier than ever. Filling us in on the details I think Mary Katherine and I realized how close we came to losing her. It was humbling, frightening and so many other adjectives I can’t possibly think of at the moment.

As typical with Mary Elizabeth she downplayed the seriousness of the actual event and played up the yumminess of the popsicle she’d just eaten (I believe foodgasm might have been used). Two days post surgery she was already talking about going home. She had all of her family whipping the house into shape in preparation for her return. All Mary Katherine and I could do was smile. We had our friend back. The funeral pact could be put to rest (hopefully for a long time).

Now you might think it odd we have such a thing (odd, morbid, tomato tomahto…). However, we each have definite ideas on how we want to leave this world. And while we love our families and significant others to bits, we’re not really sure that we trust them to honor our wishes. Thus, the funeral pact…

Mary Elizabeth, our quintessential southern belle, wants a big splashy funeral. She wants, and I quote, “to look just like a drag queen.” She wants her boobs high and on display. This day is about her and damn well she is going to look fantastic. I envision something like the “Sweet Potato Queens” gowns. Big hair, big boobs, lots of makeup. (If you haven’t read those books do yourself a favor they are spectacular – and I don’t just say that because the author is a friend. Mary Elizabeth is a benevolent queen so she will (most likely) let us pick our own colors (for our gowns) but hers will have to be the nicest. That’s what Mary Katherine and I have solemnly promised. To make sure whoever does her makeup and hair knows that MORE is MORE and it is good.

Mary Katherine has been the quietest about her funeral. She does want her boobs high on display. But more importantly, she wants to make sure her hair looks good. She is (I say blessed she says cursed) with gorgeous curly hair. I have promised to find whatever product Alex Kingston uses and use it on her hair so that it looks that good at her funeral. Beyond that, good booze, good food and good friends. Luckily Mary Elizabeth and I are excellent cooks so if we cater we can promise that. We also promise to keep all “Shit” cakes away (that’s an inside joke that I likely won’t ever explain but they get it.)

My funeral won’t be a funeral. I DO NOT WANT ONE. Not because I think I will live forever I simply don’t want one. I don’t want any maudlin music or even a church service (yes I am Catholic and quite devout), I just don’t care for funerals. I want a wake but a small one. I plan on being cremated. I want a few of my closest friends (Mary Elizabeth & Mary Katherine know who) to fly off to some fantastic location (Beach preferable – the Napali Coast comes to mind) and as the sun sets they are to crack the seal on a brand new bottle of Jameson’s, take a shot and scatter me to the four winds. Music is optional but it better be something upbeat (Baby Got Back or Anaconda comes to mind).

These are the promises we’ve made to one another. Perhaps we are morbid for having these conversations. I think it is more about old friends that have no boundaries. A bonus for being in on the funeral pact, if I go first whoever gets to my house and wipes my browser history clean gets my Coach purse collection. I hope they don’t kill me…

“It’s amazing the connections we make with people we have known for 30 plus years”

I typed this earlier today in a private chat. I won’t comment on who it was with (they know who they are). At first I had a moment of panic as I realized I typed 30 PLUS years. How is it feasibly possible that I am old enough to type this? Both ladies promptly forgave me for the horrible breach in etiquette of bringing up time. Because it’s what you do when you have known someone as long as we’ve known one another. You forgive each other most anything.

Then as I thought more I was perplexed. Why shouldn’t I type 30 plus years? I am damn proud of those 30 years. And I am even prouder of these two ladies.

I’ve known these 2 particular ladies for 30 plus years but in the past two years we have become so much closer and I can’t imagine a day when I don’t chat with them in some form or fashion. These ladies make me laugh, inspire me, cry with me and keep me honest. They don’t hesitate to call me out on my shit and tell me when I am being a supreme bitch (although honestly, we take that as a compliment).

We don’t live near one another so our support is virtual. But somehow I am certain if I needed one or both of them they would move heaven and earth to get to me. I feel the same about them. We each come at life slightly differently. On paper our view points probably shouldn’t work. But somehow it does. It has created a magical connection that only took us 30 plus years to get to.

Today during our seemingly endless chat about everything and nothing we realized that we each fit one of the Steel Magnolias characters (I should mention we are southern so we identify better with that movie than Sex in the City). To protect the innocent I am changing names, our new names will be Mary Elizabeth, Mary Katherine and Mary Margaret. (Writer’s note – I am catholic and grew up with 11 different Mary somethings. I could have chosen Angie because we went to school with 8 Angie’s.)

In our little circle Mary Elizabeth is always M’Lynn. She is our rock. Mary Elizabeth is by far the kindest of the three and genuinely one of the most gracious people I know. She softens the two of us, makes us kinder, more compassionate. However, don’t let her kind, southern exterior fool you. She is fierce and will slap you into shape in a heartbeat if you dare place one toe out of line. She both frightens and thrills me. I am constantly in awe of how she keeps all of the balls in the air, even those she occasionally flings at a wayward child or friend to get them back on the straight and narrow.

Mary Katherine is equal parts Ouiser and Annelle. She constantly reminds me that getting back up is the strongest trait a person can have. The fact that she has done it with a smile, a quick wit and more grace than any single person should have is even more amazing. She is loyal, supportive and always ready to make you laugh – sometimes at her and sometimes at yourself. She calls it exactly like she sees it. I’ve no doubt she will be that old southern woman growing things she doesn’t eat in the dirt because that’s the way of the world. She has made me laugh when I’ve felt like crying more times that I can count. It is a rare gift which she has in abundance.

That makes me Mary Margaret. Mary Elizabeth & Mary Katherine will tell you that I am part Ouiser, part Truvy (really just the rack part) and part Clairee. I’m not sure it’s close to accurate (well the rack part is). What I do know is that I am truly honored to have these very special ladies as a part of my life. I know when I have some random off the wall thought, comment, idea, murderous moment they will be there. They will listen, perhaps laugh, most likely mock but never judge. They will pick me up when I am having my rare dark days. make me laugh at something truly inane (like when Mary Katherine was dive bombed by a bird today) and make me feel accepted.

We’ve known each other since middle school. I can’t honestly remember if we were all that close back then. I suspect like all teenagers those connections were tenuous based upon what boy we liked at the moment. However, somehow as adults they have become my touch points, my true north as it were.

Thank you seems too little to tell these wonderful women. The best I can hope for is another 30 plus years (Remind me one day to tell you about our funeral pacts). It’s the only way I can think to pay them back for all they have given me. In the immortal words of Clairee, “I love you more than my luggage.” Except in my case it would be my Coach purses.

My husband is not the most social creature on the planet. Oh he’s nice and polite and people love him. But left to his own devices he would watch a lot of baseball, football, basketball (do you see a theme developing here) and see a lot less of people. I am the social butterfly in our relationship. All of our friends were my friends that became his friends. In the 16 years we have been together not one set of our friends has started with him.

Now don’t get me wrong, he has friends, even a few friends that have nothing to do with me. It’s just they all date to kindergarten and often involve stories that start with eating paste. So often he smiles indulgently when I talk about this friend or that friend. He rarely questions how I meet people because I meet so many people for work. But every so often, usually when he hears a name too frequently, he will stop, give me “the look” and ask “How do you know this person?”

For years the answer was generally work or at a conference or through tennis or charities that I work with. Lately, however, the answer has been online. After the third or fourth time this happened he looked at me oddly and asked “So you haven’t actually met this person?” My answer was simple, not in person but I know them. Again, I got the look and a declaration, “Online friendships aren’t real.” He says this with all seriousness as if it is a pronouncement from on high.

At the time, I ignored him and went my merry way. However, as often happens with me, several days later my internal DVR rewound the question and I reflected on it. Are online friends real? Could he be right (perish the thought)? Are these connections I have made online somehow false? I put the thought away, filed in my mind under “conversations with myself for another day.”

For several weeks those questions stayed safely tucked in that internal file cabinet. Then one day while out for my morning run my brain, in it’s infinite wisdom, decided to have a conversation with itself. Today’s topic: are online friends real? This is sort of how it went:

What about all of those people you chat with on twitter? You know the ones you share inappropriate crushes with that your IRL friends wouldn’t quite understand. Are they friends?

Well those are twitter friends, it’s a public forum I don’t really know all that much about them. And I don’t put personal details on twitter. I don’t put the kidlet on there or the current legal spouse’s name. And that says something because CLSs name would go over big on twitter. So I guess they fall under the category acquaintances.

What about the ones you connected with on Facebook?

Well those are ones that are closer to the inner circle. I might like to go to dinner with those people if we lived in the same town, maybe have a drink or two, ok maybe 10.

Really, so what about the one’s you PM with or the ones who have your mobile number and you text with or even chat with?

Well maybe they are friend friends, so I guess they fall under a different category.

And what about those that you chat with everyday, all day?

Hey, whose side are you on anyway?

I’m your brain so I guess I’m on your side.

The conversation continued for a bit longer and here is where my brain and I ended. Online friendships are real. In an ever changing world that gets smaller even as I type this, the way we define friends and friendship is constantly evolving.

I am blessed to have people in my life that I have known since birth. Friends that I have made at every stage of my life. But lately, I am even more blessed to have made rewarding and enriching connections with people online. Those friendships started from a random tweet while at a play in London, from a mutual love of a certain dark haired actor (who shall remain nameless) to a love of running (OK not so much love for me but a necessity). But regardless of how they started, these friendships make me laugh out loud (daily most times), make me cry, make me think, make me feel every range of emotion known to man. We celebrate each other’s small victories, bust our metaphorical balls when we do something truly stupid, share our stories, encourage and lift each other up. How is that not friendship?

While I acknowledge the whimsical nature of online friendships, I am equally certain that one or two (maybe even three or four) of these ladies will be a part of my life for the rest of my life. I won’t call them out because they know who they are. Eventually I will meet them IRL. If I’m lucky they won’t be serial killers. If I’m really lucky they will be even more spectacular in person. Fingers crossed!

There are dates that stand out for each person. Universal dates that connect us as a people and personal dates that define us as a person. Some of those dates are good and some are irretrievably sad.

Generally these dates are parsed across a lifetime so the good ones far outweigh the bad. Across the 40 odd years that I have walked this planet I have been blessed to have more of the good dates than the bad. And as a general rule when those bad ones come around I have the memory of lovely days to banish those dark thoughts.Then August rolls around and no amount of good days can banish the bad thoughts.

August hasn’t always been a bad month. As a child, it was the month where I got to get new school supplies and then start all new classes with new teachers (yes I was that geek that liked school). Later in life it just became a neutral month. Then when I was 21 my favorite grandparent, my amazing grandfather, the man I worshiped and adored passed away unexpectedly. My anchor was gone.

He was my everything to me, more of a father in many ways than my own father. He was the person I ran to when my engagement fell apart five months earlier. I cried on his shoulder as he assured me that I would fall in love again. He was gone. I remember calling my best friend, Fred, and telling him. He dropped everything to drive me the 100 miles north to attend the funeral.

He stood by my side at the wake and the funeral. He watched me as I stoically greeted all of the friends, colleagues and family over the next few days. He covered for me when the afternoon of the wake I disappeared with my godfather and my grandfather’s other closest friends to the nearest bar to knock back shots of Jameson’s. He made sure that I didn’t slap the crap out of my two younger cousins who made complete asses of themselves at the wake, rosary, mass and grave side service.

After it was all over and we went back to the hotel, he held me as I finally broke down and all of the stress of the days prior brought me to my knees. He carefully put the pieces back together and kept my family at bay until I was ready to stand up and face them. It wasn’t the first time he put me back together and it wouldn’t be the last.

Over the next eight years Fred and I would bounce back and forth in each other’s lives. We were briefly engaged, we were best friends and then we weren’t. I ran away in search of a new life and eventually met my husband and moved on. Fred and I stayed friends, best friends. I got married, had a kid and moved several times.

Fred worked hard, moved several times, dated a few people and eventually opened his own company. He moved back to New Orleans and made a life of his own. Throughout it all, we talked regularly, we emailed even more regularly and we still saw each other frequently.

Then my marriage hit a very rough patch. Call it the seven year itch come early or growing pains or two very different people who gave up, whatever it was it led to a separation and an eventual divorce. Once again Fred was there to pick up the pieces.

Suddenly the man who had been my best friend for all of my adult life was also the love of my life. I didn’t know how I had never seen it before. Why had I pushed so hard against this? It didn’t matter, it was here now and I planned on grabbing it with both hands.

Plans were made, furniture and clothes were moved, papers were drawn, schools were selected. We decided to take a vacation to the Keys to celebrate. We spent a glorious week in a private home on a private key. We had to take a boat to get to our island hideaway. If we didn’t want to see other people we didn’t. We swam in the ocean, talked, planned.

On August 23, 2005 we drove back to Miami and separated at the airport. I was off to Orlando on business and he was headed back to New Orleans. I remember laughing as he begged me to blow off my meetings and fly home to New Orleans with him. I kissed him reminding him  I would see him in five short days. I was supposed to fly back to Dallas on Friday and drive to New Orleans on Sunday. That was the plan, we had a plan.

Sunday morning, we talked and decided  I would delay my trip. His family (parents, brother, sister in law and nieces) was evacuating but he was going to stay. I argued with him and begged him to evacuate and come to Dallas or go north to my parents but he resisted.

August 29th rolled around and one of the largest storms ever to hit the Gulf of Mexico hit New Orleans. Every fail safe the city had failed. Storm surge hit the city devastating it. We were fortunate. Our home sustained minimal damage. I spoke with Fred on Wednesday and everything was OK. He was safe, the house, his parent’s house and his brother’s house were all fine.

He had no idea when he would be able to get out of the city or when we would be able to get into the city. Cell service was sketchy and we knew it would be hard to stay in touch. But I knew he was safe and it was all that mattered. I didn’t know it was the last time I would speak to him.

Eight days later his father called. No one had heard from Fred since the Wednesday I had spoken to him. They’d finally made it into the city and to the house. There wasn’t a happy ending to that day. No killer was ever found nor will they likely ever be. In the space of a single phone call my life was irrevocably changed.

For the second time in my life my touchstone was gone. I couldn’t cope, didn’t know how to move on. It took six months to put all of the pieces back together. There are things I still struggle with and things I still can’t face. Nine years later I enter August hopeful  this will be the year I make it through the month without a meltdown or some melancholic moment that drops me to my knees.

It doesn’t look like this year will be that year. Today it all hit me. Suddenly in the middle of a completely innocuous online conversation something random struck me the wrong way. I was shattered. I sat in my office crying, ugly, wracking sobs.

I had the sense of mind to close my office door so the kidlet wouldn’t hear my anguish. My husband (yes the same one from earlier in the story) came home and knew instantly what had happened. He’s been through this before so he knew what to do.

Half an hour later he had me smiling, then laughing. He got me fed and partially sedated and then he put me to bed with my laptop with strict orders to write about it. So here I am writing about it. I haven’t decided if I will actually hit the publish button. This might just be one of those I write, save and never publish.

The one piece of advice my husband gave me was to think about a few happy days to remember. I was free to languish in the grief but only if I could find five happy things to reflect on. So here goes,

• The day I met Fred (which was also in August). He was gorgeous and funny and took my breath away. I ended up going out with someone else I met just before I met him. But on that day a friendship started which helped shape who I am as an adult. He truly made me a better person.
• An ill advised midnight water skiing trip. I won’t say how much alcohol was involved but I am certain it’s proof angels watch out for stupid people.
• A ski trip to Tahoe where I dislocated my shoulder on the last run before we left. I spent the flight home high as a kite and Fred got to cut me out of my shirt in the middle of DFW.
• December 31, 1997 standing on the back of a riverboat in the middle of the Mississippi watching fireworks explode all around us as he asked me to marry him. It didn’t work out but it was a beautiful moment.
• Paris, May of 2005. Fred joined me on a trip and we had a lovely long weekend in the city of lights.

Those are five memories of Fred that make me smile. Technically I have met the quota my husband set for me. But I’m a bit of a rule breaker so I have to add one more. I am blessed with an amazing husband who helped put the pieces back together. Each August when the pain overtakes me, he is strong enough to know it is not about him or our relationship. He picks up the pieces and helps me find my balance again. That is the best sort of happily ever after.

Goodbyes are never a good thing. Even in this day and age of rapid electronic communication, where there is really never a HARD goodbye when someone leaves, having your best friend move across the country simply SUCKS.

That’s what’s going on in my world this weekend. My dearest friend Carmen and her family are moving from Dallas to North Carolina. That’s 1,187 miles away, 17 hours in a car (assuming no one wants to eat or pee) or 3 hours in a plane (thank all that is holy there are direct flights).  It means that I can’t drive 10 minutes away and see her. It means that I won’t meet her for lunch every Tuesday to ogle the hot firemen. It means I won’t have a Saturday morning running buddy while our combined 5 kids gorge on donuts. It means when my husband is driving me crazy and I am contemplating killing him slowly in his sleep I won’t have an alibi that helps me get rid of the body.

Don’t get me wrong, I have other friends both near and far. But Carmen was the first friend I made when we moved to Dallas. My husband was still in Pennsylvania and traveling every week. I was left alone to find us a place to live, manage the move across country and start a new job where I was often traveling.

Enter Carmen, we were paired on a tennis court playing these two particularly vacuous bims that were playing well out of their depth. After what seemed like the 20th bad call they had made I finally lost my cool and made a delightfully salty comment under my breath as I was walking back to the baseline. I thought I had said it low enough that no one would hear it. Carmen, with ears that only mothers have, heard it and laughed out LOUD and for a very long time. We ended up losing that game (although not the match) because Carmen couldn’t quit laughing.

It was at that moment I knew we were going to be friends. I was right, 14 years later, we have been through more than any two people should probably go through. 14 years later she still makes me laugh harder than most anyone. We know all of each others stories, strengths, weaknesses, faults, flaws, frailties. We have picked each other up and patted each other on the back. We’ve celebrated highs and lows. She’s the sister I never had (and yes I have a sister) and never knew that I needed. Over the past 14 years here are a few of the things we have been through:

• The combined birth of 4 children and one miscarriage. My son and her third child were born 5 days apart. Because of issues with kidlet at birth the two boys actually went home on the same day.
• The almost break-up of my marriage and the death of the love of my life. She was there every step of the way. She made me laugh on days that all I wanted to do was climb under the nearest rock and disappear. She helped remind me that I am stronger than I think I am.
• The death of both of her parents, both tragically too early, and entirely too close together. I sang at both of their funerals and it ranks as one of the hardest things I have ever done. Helping her clean out their home and acknowledge that while her parents were gone, she wasn’t really alone in this world still brings tears to my eyes.
• More weight gained and loss than either of us will ever admit to. We will honestly tell each other when our asses are getting a bit too big, then we will suck it up and work out with the other one to get said asses back to acceptable levels.
• An unexpected late life pregnancy (it involved a husband that didn’t get the vasectomy he promised). I was in the delivery room with her although I resolutely refused to put on baby weight with her.
• All three of my sons surgeries three years ago. She sat in the waiting room with us and prayed and joked and just generally kept me from going insane. She made sure there were home cooked meals at the house while we were in the hospital. She kept all of our well-meaning friends and family at bay and updated people on kidlet’s status daily so that we could focus on him.
• Thirteen “tennis” weekends where we went away to “play” tennis for the weekend. Truth told, we only did that the first two years. The other 11 we checked into a spa hotel and spent the weekend either shopping, getting spa treatments, drinking or lounging by the pool – don’t tell our spouses.
• Thirteen Christmas parties, seven Christmas Eve open houses, more birthday parties than either of us care to count and enough wine to cover them all.
• 6 nannies, 2 au pairs, 5 dogs, 6 cats, a billion fish, 1 turtle, 4 hamsters and 1 ill-advised snake (that got loose in her house meaning I refused to visit until it was found)
• 11 club championships in tennis including one shortly after our 42nd birthdays where we trained zealously for 6 weeks in a Texas summer because two 20 year olds suggested we were too old to compete
• More rounds of golf than we could calculate and all of the necessary alcohol to go with that
• 9 kabillion soccer, baseball, basketball, pee wee football, swim meets/game/matches
• 4 christenings, 3 first communions and one memorable Easter when I dropped the F bomb, in church, VERY loudly.

Those are just the highlights. They don’t begin to cover all of the little things that fall in between. The 27 texts a day. The inside jokes that probably aren’t that funny but can dissolve both of us to giggles. The shared quirks that we were certain no one else had until we met each other.

It is a lifetime shared in the space of 14 years. She is the keeper of all of my secrets. Oh, others know a lot about me. A few have known me vastly longer. But she knows everything about me. She’s read the book I’ve been working on for ages and actively pushes me to finally finish it. She held my hand as I had a miscarriage for a child I didn’t even know I wanted and prayed as they rushed me into surgery. She’s been my rock for so long that I don’t know where she ends and I begin. I can’t imagine not having her a short drive away.

I know we will stay friends (we already have our next “tennis” weekend booked). We will adjust to the distance and will learn to work a bit harder to stay close. Hopefully, we will appreciate our friendship all the more for it. But I can’t help but think that a small piece of my soul will be in that Suburban as she pulls away on Monday.

When I was a teenager my great grandmother told me to pick my friends wisely. Her reasoning was simple, women generally outlive men. Spouses come and go but good girl friends are with you forever. At that point in her life she had buried three husbands and her dearest friend was the woman she met the first day my great grandfather brought her home from WWI. I remember thinking that I had probably just been given the best advice I would ever receive (although she later gave me some excellent advice about sex – but that’s a story for a different day). The last 14 years have proven her advice true. I either chose very wisely or fate decided to help me out. Either way I am eternally grateful to dead grandmothers, fate and two of the worst boob jobs I have ever seen. They all conspired to bring me the best friend I have ever had.

I have resisted the pervasive push to post daily reasons why I am thankful. It’s not because I’m not thankful, I am very thankful. However, I don’t feel like it needs to be broadcast to everyone.

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite family. It was a quiet holiday that meant the coming together of family. Family that didn’t always like one another but always loved one another. These were big, boisterous events that you went into with great excitement but eventually at some point you were mildly sick of these people.

However, once dinner hit the table and your favorite uncle said grace, “Bless us oh Lord, for these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord, Amen” while our deaf, great grandfather screamed in the background, “Dear Lord,” everything was forgiven. My cousins and I surrounded the kids table openly and loudly wondering what we had to do to make it to the adults table and all secretly thankful that we were at the kids table.

There was no reason to expound the reasons that we were thankful. All we had to do was look around the room at three and eventually four generations and we knew why we were thankful, words weren’t needed.

Those boisterous events don’t happen anymore. We are all far flung and have our own lives. And, a small part of me misses those moments. I don’t like that my own son doesn’t get to experience that familial sense. My husband and I have created our own traditions and we cherish and protect them fiercely. However, a small part of me wouldn’t mind one last chance to sit crowded around that table and have one last meal.

Alas, that really isn’t possible. So, now I am creating my own tradition. I have a virtual table where I get to invite anyone that I want to sit with me and be thankful.  My table is full of friends, both new and old. Each of these individuals enriches my life in their own way. Some do it daily and some less frequently but equally as importantly. So, without further ado, here is who is invited to my virtual thanksgiving table and why:

• Katrina Pruitt-Andrews – She would be at the head of the table. She is the sister of my heart. She makes me laugh out loud regularly. When I am blue, annoyed or pick an adjective, she is the person I call who never fails to make me feel better. She gets added bonus points for being part of my rapture team and going to a play in London with me so that I didn’t make a complete idiot of myself as I had my fangirl moment (oh yeah, she took the picture). I wish she lived closer so that we could have real holidays together.
• Amy Jagenow – My other “Sister”. She is one of the few people who have a sicker sense of humor than I do. From random texts that make me laugh at the oddities of every day life (running serpentine patterns to avoid the alligators in order to not run by the haunted house still makes me laugh) to wandering phone calls where we talk about everything and nothing, she is my person. Plus, she shares my love of great purses and is going to be my roommate when we run away from home to live in London for the rest of our lives. It will be very the “L Word” without the L because we both think we would giggle too much.
• Sharon Fulton – I know this amazing woman from work. Four times a year for four years she corralled me and a colleague while hosting a webinar. Through that and a love for PF Changs, she became a permanent part of my life. We don’t work together anymore but she is never far from my thoughts. Plus, once you take someone to the doc in a box for an illness we shall never talk about it again, you can’t not be friends.
• Mindy Swann Carlos – This would the other person with a weirder sense of humor than me. She makes me laugh out loud almost every single day. She is my daily reminder to not take like so seriously. Life tried to knock her down and she got back up, kicked life in the balls and said you will not defeat me. There is something pretty special about that.
• Addie Boone – Finally, an actual family member makes the cut. She is an awesome woman who has made an amazing life for her and her family.  She is an inspiration and I love her with all my heart. Plus, she is the one family member that understands why I don’t really hang around with my family much anymore.
• Jennifer Bennett – Another family member makes the cut. Jenny has grown into an amazingly compassionate woman. She is funny and irreverent and has the best ability to laugh at herself. I wish she lived closer so I could spend more time with the woman she has become.
• Jennifer Spillers-Barton – I can’t possibly say enough nice things about this fantastic woman. She is my oldest and dearest friend. I can go years without speaking with her (and it has happened) and we can connect and it’s like I saw her yesterday. I can’t remember a time in life that I didn’t know her. We will be those two old broads in the nursing home drinking whisky and pinching the asses of the hot orderlies. I look forward to that. My secret wish is that Parker and LizClaire fall in love and get married so that we can be tied together even more deeply.
• Andrew Robinson – My soul mate, other husband, fellow musical/Christmas music, madrigal devotee. He gives without a doubt the best hugs of any person on the planet. He embraces you with his fully body and soul. I smile merely thinking about it.
• Jordi Gallego – The brother I never knew I wanted. We can talk about anything. If you doubt it, you should have seen the shocked faces of the people on the Tube as he told me about his return from Colombia.
• Jerry & Vickie Stowers – Or as I think of them mom & dad. They are two of the kindest people on the planet. Spending time with them is more like hanging out with friends than parents. Plus they are pretty spectacular grandparents and they are fun to travel with which from me is the highest compliment I can pay.
• Ricky & Micki Smith – Honorary uncle and aunt. Ricky is hands down one of the funniest people I know and Micki is possible the sweetest person I know. We aren’t related by blood but that doesn’t matter, they are family.
• Liz & David Garland and their adorable son Gabriel – The only people in the world I have ever set up. It took me the better part of a year and I still had to trick them (Thank God one of Liz’s nieces had that first communion). I knew they were opposite sides of a coin that belonged together. I don’t get to see them much anymore but every time I do it can’t last long enough.
• Ida Knapp – She is the dazzling woman that gave Liz her life’s blood. She is lovely and gracious and one of my absolute favorite people on the planet. When I gained Liz as a friend I also gained her mother. I really came out for the best in that equation.
• Jenny Sokoloski – A brand new friend who makes me laugh so regularly that it should be illegal. She has been reading a piece I am writing and providing helpful insight even if she doesn’t really like where it’s going. She is a tiny, sassy, sparkly cucumber with a twisted dark side that surprises me all the time. She helps me with plot points. I hope she will still like me when Laura ends up with Jack.
• Barry White – I saved the best for last at this table. My amazing husband who makes me a better person on a regular basis. He is an amazing father, husband, friend and person. He puts up with all of my craziness and loves me anyway. Plus he likes everything I cook and will more than likely have been the guinea pig for all items on the table.

And, that’s my virtual Thanksgiving table. I think it will be a fantastic dinner party. There will be no children’s table at this feast but I couldn’t bear the thought of not having them all close. I promise lots of booze, amazing food and I know that at least three people at the table will hear “Dear Lord” in their heads as someone says the blessing. That is something to be truly thankful for this holiday season.

Almost four years ago, our lives were changed forever. One minute I was rushing around last minute packing for an international trip, the next the airline was calling to say my flight was cancelled. Now, we had a full weekend to do whatever we wanted. I ran to get us breakfast at the local donut shop. As I was setting the table, my husband called our son down.

Like all little boys, he jumped those last two steps. He landed pretty hard took two more steps and then collapsed. I heard my husband call his name several times and each time was slightly more panicked. I rounded the corner from the kitchen to find my son on the floor having a seizure. We promptly called 911 and waited desperately anxious for the paramedics to arrive.

By the time they arrived, he was back to normal. But, off to the children’s hospital we went. In the ER, we were taken back pretty quickly. He was given a CT scan and admitted. As scary as all of that was, the thing that stood out, for me, was my husband freaking out at the cafeteria worker who was trying to take the dinner order for our son. My normally calm and collected husband was going bat guano crazy. Generally I am the one who gets wound. But, on this day, at this moment, it was him. I had to intervene and calm the ruffled feathers.

Since we knew we were spending the night, I ran home to get a few things for the little guy and the big guy. Since we didn’t know how long we would be in the hospital we had already started dividing shifts – husband had the night shift, I would take the day shift.

Luckily, we didn’t need to make the adjustments. We went home the next day with a diagnosis of epilepsy. This started our journey into epilepsy. We have been through multiple medicines, a kiddo who had to wear a hockey helmet to school daily, more trips to the ER than I care to count, a tethered spinal cord surgery and 2 major brain surgeries.

The kiddo still needs twice daily medication and will likely need it for the rest of his life. However, we are the lucky ones. Our son can control his seizures via medication. Many others can’t. So, in honor of this, I am turning my page purple. The only way we can create awareness is to talk about.

Someone I love more than life itself has epilepsy. I wear purple for him.

This week, Time Magazine released an issue with a tag line, “Are you Mom Enough?”  I don’t think I can express enough how insulted I am by this. 

First, the picture was a bit revolting.  Now, let me say, I have nothing against breast feeding.  I breast fed my little cupcake.  However, I don’t want to explain to my now 10 year old, while standing in line at the grocery, why that toddler is attached to that woman’s breast.

It is the right of every woman to breastfeed.  I don’t judge those who do or don’t.  But, that stance on the cover is not about breastfeeding, it is about making a statement.  It is about creating a provocative response to sell magazines. 

So, if the picture wasn’t enough to wind me up (and yes, it really was), then the question “Are you Mom Enough?”  Well, the answer is definitively, YES, I AM.  And, I damn skippy don’t need Time Magazine asking me if I am.

Every mother out there has at one time or another felt inadequate.  We have all felt certain that we were screwing up our kids.  So, I don’t need a magazine reminding me about my guilt.  And, that they would do it the week of Mother’s Day is even more astoundingly stupid.  Do they plan to publish a magazine the week of Father’s Day asking men, “Are you Dad Enough?”

You can bet your sweet ass cheeks they won’t.  But, it is okay to do that to women!  Now, I haven’t read this article and honestly, I have no intention of reading it or any other issue of Time Magazine ever again.  But, not only is is an unnecessarily provocative article, it is poorly timed.

The world is an awfully judgy place.  And, trust me, moms are super judgy.  So, why put something out there that gives moms more ways to abuse other moms.  At the end of the day, we are all just trying to make it.  We are working hard to make sure that we raise smart, independent little people that don’t grow up to be serial killers.  Do we really need Time Magazine asking us if we are ENOUGH.  I don’t think we do.  So, I plan on getting a little TIME back in my life by not reading this magazine. 

And, I encourage all of those mothers out there who are doing their best, and not taking their kids to the tanning bed (yeah that was a bit judgy), to sit back this weekend, relax and not read TIME.