In just a few hours, I'll be on my two week vacation! Gawd, why is it that the week before always seems to take a full month to pass? Every morning when our alarm has gone off at 5, Dan has sat up, yawned, and announced how many days we had left before vacation--the countdown! The problem is, these two weeks will fly by, as vacation days always do. August 20th marks my 27th year here, which seems incredible to me. In three more, I can officially retire, but whether or not I can afford to retire then is another story. Our house will be paid off next year, and since Brad got his teaching job, we're no longer responsible for paying his medical benefits, which were, as you can imagine, a very expensive monthly bill.

August 20th is also my dog Snapple's (aka Snap's) 10th birthday. I knew we had to have him when they told us that was his birth date. How could we not? Born on my postal anniversary date? He was meant to be mine.

I'm very nervous about these asshole terrorists and their latest attempt to kill us using liquid explosives. Thanks to them, I now have to worry about Brad and Ali traveling alone tomorrow to Las Vegas (a gift from Ali's parents for her 21st birthday; Ali's parents left for CA a couple of days ago and will meet them in Vegas). Brad has an insulin pump, and waited until today to get a special note from his doctor allowing it. Kids, they drive you crazy even when they become adults!

Dan and I are leaving a week from tomorrow, and had to get notes allowing my insulin syringes and insulin, plus all the drugs the two of us take for our diabetes plus all our other assorted ailments--high cholesterol, high blood pressure, etc. Growing older is a pain in the ass!

It amazes me what a gym rat I've turned into. I go every other day, exercise for at least an hour, swim, jump in the jacuzzi to ease the aches and pains, then go home feeling noble about doing such good things for my body. It does keep my blood sugars in far better control and allows me the occasional ice cream sundae (never mind that I'm eating far more ice cream than that), plus my body is beginning to look less plump. It's sad that it takes so much work, though. I see these skinny girls and want to strangle them all! Then again, few of them have the weighty boobs I do, and when they see me whip off my bra, I think they're wondering if mine are real or not. I feel like saying, "God-given, ladies!, just like those mosquito bites on your chests!"--but I don't want to be such a bitch.

I spoke to Dan a few moments ago. He asked if we lost power here. They did, for a full minute. We didn't. Someone must have knocked a power pole over on their side of the road.

Something is really wrong with me today; I feel like I've been bitten by a tsetse fly. Maybe I screwed up my medication this morning? I was too tired to even attempt a walk earlier, and about 12:45, I went into the deserted conference room, dropped my head to my arms and actually fell asleep! I woke up at 1:15, luckily, dazed, unsure of where I was, but imagine if I'd slept later than that? Someone from my office would surely have come searching for me. I was planning to stop at the gym, since it is a gym day, but I think I'm going to bypass it and just go home and take an immediate nap instead. I just hope I can safely navigate my drive home safely. Brad says he's going to Happy Hour at one of his bar hangouts (instead of joining Dan and me for dinner out, wahhhhh!), so I might as well take advantage of the not-having-to-make-dinner hours and get some apparently much-needed sleep. This, combined with the hunger for sweets and the crampiness, seems to underscore my belief that Aunt "Flo" is on her way. Shit.

Less than one hour until vacation!!

Love, Robin

All of life is a countdown to something.

As kids, we joyously count down to the end of school, then, less happily, to the beginning of school.

We count down the days to our graduations, wedding, due dates for our babies; everything in life is anticipation of a future event.

Right now, Dan and I are counting down to our current vacation. Two more workdays, and we're off work for two full weeks! Of course, the asshole pessimist in me is already counting down to the two weeks and two days when I'll be back at this desk, back at work, back to my old grind, because I know how very, very quickly vacation days pass, just as I know that weekends whisk by like lightning flashes.

Why do I do that to myself? Why can't I just enjoy my now? Or at least just take pleasure in knowing that in two days, I will have 15 glorious days away from work, including four in Las Vegas?

Last night was two-fer night at Sidekicks. They had tilapia, a fish Dan and I both had the other night at TGIFriday's, coated in something crispy, with added spicy heat, and it was absolutely delicious! I love going to that place, I really do. Brad went with Ali to see WICKED in the city, so he couldn't join us, and I must admit, it was nice just being alone with my husband for dinner. Both of us were totally exhausted, however, and conversation was kept to a minimum.

Although I've been having some trouble falling asleep recently, I know I dropped off quickly last night. I was just so very tired. Tonight I'm meeting Dan at the gym. Hope I can develop a second wind. I bet my thyroid's out of whack again. Here's a weird factoid: When I was exercising regularly, my thyroid was messed up, but once I stopped, it returned to normal. I don't even remember whether it was over or under active, but it was definitely screwy. I should get it tested again, now that I'm exercising regularly again. Leave it to me to be strange, right?

Nancy didn't come to work again today. I spoke with her on the phone this morning, and she sounded terrible. Her husband said she nearly fell while taking a shower. That sounds so frightening--but what's wrong with her? One doctor says it's fibromyalgia. Another thinks it's her heart. Her husband thinks they're all quacks. I just wish she'd find a competent doctor.

Because of our Vegas trip, I'm going to be missing the 40th DS anniversary fest. I remember how thrilled I was back in 1997, when I was going to my very first one--rooming with Frannie, meeting Dhorea,
getting together with all my new internet friends, seeing DS actors and actresses in person--but now, with all the letdowns and disappointments I've experienced since then, I don't even want to go to this one, which, it's rumored, might even be the very last. Part of me feels I'm making a big mistake, but most of me feels this is the right thing to do. Nancy K asked me to volunteer this year, which probably would have been fun, and given me a different perspective on the fest, but Dan felt it would be best if I avoided the whole affair, especially given the difficulty I'm having walking with the neuropathy alternately stinging my feet and rendering them numb.

He's probably right. Still, I can't help but feel a pang about not going, especially if this turns out to he the last DS fest.

I hope you have many joyous things to countdown to--and they're in the near future!


Love, Robin

Monday again. Feeling pretty mellow today. Am I just tired? I napped yesterday, but that's not unusual. It's become a regular event with me. I didn't nap Saturday, although I'm sure I could have. I just didn't let myself lie down.

Chief on my mind this weekend was the street fair in The Park, so I wasn't especially thrilled when we got home from breakfast and gym to have to stick around waiting for the rotorooter guy to show up. Dan had originally told me the sewer cleaners would be at the house between 1-3 Saturday, but then he told me they would arrive at noon and STAY, possibly, until three. Then I reminded him what he'd told me after he'd spoken to them on the phone when he made the appointment, and he wasn't sure exactly WHAT they'd said, or couldn't quite remember. Sigh! Arggghhhhh!

After we waited way past noon, I asked Dan to call and inquire when we might expect this schlemiel (but I doubt I used the latter word). They told us not until 3 or so. Restless, annoyed at wasting the perfect day, I decided to go to the street fair by myself, just for an hour, to scope out the offerings. Dan was nervous, worried about the guy showing up early, his having to deal with the dogs alone, blah, etc., but I went anyway.

What a gorgeous day! I walked quickly up and down the aisles, looking at the plethora of jewelry, crafts, clothing and other offerings. The street was packed with people, strollers, dogs, and I thoroughly enjoyed my freedom. I gathered a few freebies, including some nice homemade treats for my dogs from Bide-a-Wee, which was there with a couple of sweet puppies for adoption. I petted both friendly dogs, fervently hoping they would find loving owners before the weekend was out. I noted a booth featuring sun catcher stained glass items, deciding I'd return the next day and buy one or two for Sharon for her birthday next month. And of course, the Pickle People were there, a long line of salivating humans waiting to order from the huge barrels of heavenly smelling pickles! We would definitely on that line Sunday, I vowed! I purchased a Star of David for Ali for her birthday. It's only sterling silver, somewhat less grand metal than she's used to, but I hope she likes it.

As it turned out, when the rotorooter guy finally arrived, well after four PM, the snaking device ran quite smoothly from the house to the street, without encountering any clogs. The guy adjusted something inside our toilet which left it flushing a lot better, so it wasn't a complete waste. (heh heh, get the pun--waste!)

Mike joined us for the street fair Sunday, late, of course, but we were able to grab a handicapped spot, thank God for Dan's new sticker. We walked around, and I purchased two sun catchers for Sharon and one for myself. We bought a half gallon of pickles, ate lunch from the Thai place (that's where Mo used to have his restaurant, and neither Dan nor I was impressed with the food) and got some exercise. I did some quick food shopping at Met Food.

Knowing Dan and Mike would get on the computer for the afternoon, I decided a nap was definitely called for, so I called Bugsy and Snaps upstairs with me and we settled down until Doris called and roused me from sleep about 3:30. We ate at TGIFriday's. Great food. I had tilapia. Delicious. Did I mention that the scale at the gym said I lost 7 pounds? I haven't gotten that scale to budge in a very long time, so this is a reason to celebrate!

I'm going to the gym this afternoon, and while I'm tired, I'm really looking forward to it.

Hope you have something to look forward to, too, because that's what makes life worthwhile.

Love, Robin

PS - This morning, it was actually COLD! But I'm NOT complaining!

Today is cool, sunny, humidity-free and perfect. This is the kind of weather I could live with all year round. I don't want it to get any hotter or cooler than this, please, Whoever Is In Charge Of Such Stuff. Thank you!

I'm going to the gym after work. It's not going to help at the rate I'm undermining myself, diet-wise. Too much ice cream yesterday, half a bagel today, pasta the other night--I'm just not behaving myself. Yet, when I WAS behaving myself, to the letter, I still didn't lose weight! So it's frustrating. I thought it had something to do with peri-menopause, but Sharon lost 30+ pounds on Weight Watchers. Is it the insulin I'm shooting up with thwarting my efforts? The other diabetic or non-diabetic meds? I don't know, and it's so frustrating and unfair. It makes me feel, why not just chow down? What difference is it going to make? I could also say, why exercise?, but I don't believe that for a second. I KNOW exercise is good for me, and will continue to do that. I'll TRY to maintain my diet, but that's going to take willpower I'm not sure I possess right now.

Perhaps I'm PMSing? Ive been really weepy. And since my P seems to have a mind of its own these days, I have no idea when it's going to arrive, except for the mood swings and extreme hunger pangs for the wrong foods.

Oliver Stone's WORLD TRADE CENTER is out in theaters now. I'm not sure I should see it in this hyper-sensitive mood, afraid I'll cry so hard, I'll be asked to leave the theater. Normally, I'm one of those "silent criers." You know the type--except for the occasional choked-back sob, you have no idea we're crying. So many movies have left me in tears: TITANIC, BIRDMAN OF ALCATRAZ, TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, GONE WITH THE WIND, to name just a few. And you could almost always count on me to cry at the end of most LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE episodes. Seeing something as raw, real and close as WORLD TRADE CENTER might change my crying from silent to deadly.

NEWSDAY featured a story about Traer Scott, a dog rescuer and photographer who has taken pictures of shelter dogs to help facilitate their adoption. I look at these photos, at these gorgeous puppies and grown dogs, all hoping for a forever home instead of a
cold needle filled with death, and find myself beginning to cry. If I ever win a lot of money, I'm going buy a huge plot of land, open an animal shelter and see to it that as many dogs as possible get another chance at life.

Now I am crying. Excuse me while I get some paper towel to wipe my eyes. I hate myself for getting the weepies at work.

Tonight I'm doing something I really don't want to do because I'm being Ms. Nice Gal. A woman Dan used to work with is having a gourmet food party, along the lines of Tupperware, jewelry or candles, I guess--overpriced stuff to sample and which I'll feel obligated to buy so the hostess gets whatever she's supposed to get. I hate these parties, but almost always feel badly for the person throwing them, so I accept.

I've got to learn to say no, but I bet I never will.

Oh, and tomorrow we've got rotorooter guys coming to clean out the drain pipe. Hold me back from THAT thrill! I want to go to the street fair, damn it. They better be done with us quickly, but they insist it could take up to three hours. Blah. What a way to waste one's Saturday--and it's supposed to be perfect tomorrow, too!

Love, Robin

Last night was two-fer Tuesday at Sidekicks, and Dan, Brad and I went together. Upon entering, I found myself face to face with Jean, the very best babysitter I ever had for Brad.

Backtracking: 1983 - It was very hard for me, a newly-minted mother, to leave my little baby boy in the hands of a stranger when my maternity leave was over and I had to return to work. I put it off as long as I could. Brad's pediatrician even gave me a note stating my son required breast milk and it was, obviously, necessary for me, his milk supplier, to remain home, too. I got a couple of extra months out of that.

By the time I had run out of excuses, Brad was five months old. We hired Rita, a woman who lived around the corner and was mother of five (mostly-grown) kids of her own. She seemed perfect, but over the next three and a half years, I began having my doubts. She had an illegal nursery in her home, and perhaps she took on too many kids, but one incident that comes to mind is when Brad came home from swimming in her pool with horrible welts on his shoulders caused by sunburn. I pointed them out to her and requested, as calmly as possible, that she made sure he kept his t-shirt on when he swam. She was contrite, but the incident bothered me.

Brad seemed very happy there, however, and became close friends with Brian and Lauren, the two same-age kids who started with Rita around the same time he did. So I squelched my doubts. Her ex-cop husband was arrested for blackmailing some guy, which was rather startling, but no one seemed more stunned than Rita herself, who said, "We have no money problems here!" I knew that to be true; if I multiplied what we were paying her weekly times the number of kids she had there, she was making a huge amount of money, all cash, too!

Brad had a long stint at the Saint Boniface Day Care Center, and did quite well there, despite being diagnosed with diabetes at the time. They made it their personal business to keep his blood sugar in good control, and I was very grateful to them. They also told me, at a conference, that Brad was a highly gifted child. I beamed, taking all the credit. I'd spent all the time working on various games and puzzles that I'd created; why the hell not?

On June 9, 1990, Brad, playing baseball with a bunch of other kids, was struck by a car on our block, right next door to our house, by our 18-year-old next door neighbor. Seven years old, he was forced to bypass day camp and spend the entire summer stuck in a hospital bed for four weeks, then in a body cast for six. It was a brutally hoy summer, and he was the saddest little boy, except when he was able to play video games. We made sure he was brought his favorite Mario Bros. game every morning after breakfast while in the hospital, and bought him a handheld Game-Boy to keep him occupied all other times.

Once we got him home, we knew we needed a special babysitter. Jean had watched him after school, but this--an immobile child in a body cast requiring a bedpan until he learned to maneuver himself on crutches--was asking a lot. A cool, capable, good-humored woman I would have nominated for president, Jean was more than up to the task. What I loved about her was that she didn't just make Brad feel at ease, she made ME feel the same, and I was a fucking basket case, as you can imagine. We had to leave Brad there for extended days; I couldn't lift him in that heavy body cast, so we had to wait until Dan got out of work to do so. We paid Jean quite a bit extra, but felt she was worth every cent.

Present day - It was Jean we ran into at Sidekicks last night. I'd seen her around, which, given that she lived in my town, wasn't unusual, but it was the first time she'd seen Brad in many years. I turned and tossed out my arms. "Jean, presenting Brad, the brand-new teacher!" I said. Her eyes opened wide. "My God," she said, "I haven't seen you in so long--you're so tall!" I left her in animated conversation with Dan and Brad while I went to give our name to the maitre'd. When I returned, I said, "He's turned out damn well, didn't he, Jean?" "Yeah," she agreed, nodding, "we did a great job, Mom." I smiled blissfully. She always managed to make me feel terrific. I also believe that Jean contributed something very special to the amazing young man Brad is today. WE did do a great job!

Mike Piazza, a former catcher for the Mets and huge fan (and my) favorite, returned to Shea Stadium last night in a San Diego Padres uniform. He elicited a standing ovation when he came up to the plate, and I suspect his striking out had more to do with the grateful tears in his eyes than anything else. Ah, Mike, you may live and work in San Diego, but you will ALWAYS be a Met--and a New Yorker--to me!

Love, Robin