Unable to choose between two bracelets for me for Mother's Day, Dan bought both. He's such a sweetheart. Brad got me a gift certificate to the Cactus Spa. I'll probably get a massage there. Even better was what my son wrote in his card, about my encouraging him to become a teacher, and how much he loves teaching--and me. It didn't make me cry, but believe me, when I re-read it when I'm alone, I can guarantee you it will.

Raining again. Should we build an ark? I'm beginning to think it's time to do so. Yesterday, under a gray, forbidding sky, we celebrated Mother's Day. Brad tutored, and while Dan exercised at his gym, I shopped at National Wholesale Liquidators next door. I bought a bunch of crap, mostly, but some stuff we genuinely needed. Even though it was MY day, I still had mommy stuff to do, including food to buy to get us through the week. So I visited Wal-Mart as well as Met Food and NHL.

We met Brad at All American Burger around noon, pulling into the parking lot at exactly the same moment. Plenty of people were already there, ordering lunch. We ordered our burgers, fries, shakes, soda and onion rings, then grabbed a table and proceeded to stuff our faces with the delicious, unhealthy fare. I tossed some heavy carbs to the chunky birds who joined us, laughing as they fought over the bigger pieces of greasy, deadly food. I think the birds should sue.

I wanted the three of us to head over to Jones Beach for a game of mini golf and perhaps a quick boardwalk trek, but the sky was lowering and it was too chilly for my plan. Damn, this was the fifth year in a row the weather was crappy for Mother's Day. So I told my guys they still owe me a nice-weather walk and mini-golf excursion at the beach, and they agreed. Brad drove home. Dan took me to Wal-Mart for a quickie shopping trip for certain essentials.

We returned home, where I took a nap with Snapple and Bugsy. It was the perfect day for that, at least. Afterward, I went to Met Food to finish my necessary shopping and purchase meat, yogurt, cold cuts and whatever else I'd missed at the other two stores.

I always feel a sickening sense of "the weekend is WAY too short" on Sundays, knowing Monday is the following day and I have to set the alarm and return to work yet AGAIN. It drives me crazy.

Hope you had a nice weekend, whether you're a mother or not. I have so much to be thankful for in my role of mother this year. My son has made me very proud. He's soon to get his Masters as a Math teacher, and has secured an excellent job at a fantastic school. He's also a wonderful human being, with admirable qualities that my husband and I instilled in him either through nature or nurture.

We have been very blessed. I couldn't ask for more.

Love, Robin

Sunday is Mother's Day, and we will celebrate it in the traditional way--by having a sumptuous meal at All American Burger!

That's right! No artificially overpriced restaurant for this mom, just really terrible, diet-killing hamburgers, onion rings, french fries and shakes!

We've been doing this for the past several years. Dan thinks I'm crazy, but Brad is delighted that his mother is willing to forego a fancy restaurant meal in favor of a place where she can share her food with eagerly swarming birds who know how generous the patrons at All American Burger are. Ideally, I want to go to the beach afterward, walk the boardwalk, play mini-golf. It's pouring rain right now and seems destined to do so for much of the weekend. All I really want is just to spend some quality time with my little family. With Ali returning home for the summer Monday, I know that time, will, with Brad at least, be limited. Oh, they're more than willing to let us treat them to dinner, of course, but I don't really appreciate being regarded as little more than a meal ticket. I can't even feed them at home, either, since Ali is afraid of Bugsy and Snaps and that makes feeding her at our table something of a problem. When the weather improves and warms up, I can do a BBQ outdoors. That might work.

What a blah day. I just want to go home and watch my DVR'd shows, but I really have to bring my damaged car to Extreme Auto Body and show it to Jerry. We don't want to go through the insurance company, not for this accident. I know how it happened, and for the purposes of protecting the guilty and stupid, am letting it go at that.

Is Bob Capogrosso still amongst the living? Last I spoke to Rose, he was in ICU in an upstate hospital, and I haven't been able to reach her this entire week. Given that he's been battling lung and pancreatic cancer, topped with pneumonia that stayed his chemo, I'm guessing that the end was near, and he might be dead by now. I don't mean to sound cold about him, but he was a very unhappy man during all the years I knew him, a real mess of a human being. My greatest hope for him is that, whatever lies beyond this world, he finds some kind of happiness, or at least peace. He was the most UNpeaceful man I ever knew. I wish him that much.

Here's to sunshine.

To not feeling so sleepy.

To life without pain.

To weight loss without so much effort.

To you!

Love, Robin

For those of you who have mothers with whom you will celebrate Mother's Day this coming weekend, I envy you. I lost mine on February 4, 1983, two months before the birth of my son. That life is unfair goes without saying, but damn it, I'm saying it anyway.

Life is fucking unfair.

For those of you still searching for a gift for the moms in your life, I present a shameless plug:

A few years ago, I wrote a humor book titled LAUGH-OUT-LOUDS FOR MOMS. It was published as an e-book, by Writers Exchange E-Publishing, and is available for download for $3.00 in just about any format you can think of. I'm told it's a terrific book, loaded with wonderful illustrations by Caroline Christian, a talented young artist I recruited.

Check it out here:

http://www.writers-exchange.com/product_info.php?manufacturers_id=177&products_id=320&WEEpublishing=75ff1f9b75f292c1abfe44ee46e30b11

If you've been reading my blog and enjoy my writing, perhaps you'll want to purchase my e-book for someone you love--or only like.

If you're a mom, buy it for yourself. It's only three bucks, and you deserve some belly laughs at such a cheap price!

Happy Mother's day to all!

Love, Robin

My son had two job offers last week, and he agonized over what to do about them. One district offered him a leave replacement position, the other a tenure-track job. Dan and I urged him to accept the latter, even though the school district was in a less prestigious area than the former. We cited the practical aspects of that choice, but I know Brad too well, and I could see he preferred to remain with the school at which he'd been interning. I understood his desire to stay in his comfort zone; he loved the seventh and eighth grade children, the staff, the administration. Yet he had been passed over for the tenure track job there for a less-deserving Adelphi classmate.

Brad did something I doubt I'd ever have the nerve to do--he told the school offering him a leave replacement position about the permanent position he'd been offered at the other school, essentially saying, "You want to keep me, match it."

To my amazement, Brad came home Friday with a tenure-track job offer from the school where he most desired to work. I don't know how they created a permanent position where supposedly there was none, but they did. Brad's gamble paid off; he starts as a tenure track teacher in the fall at the school where he desperately wanted to teach.

Dan and I are so proud of our son, not just because he was offered two jobs shortly after beginning his job hunt, but because he was willing to take a risk of potentially losing BOTH offers--and secured what he wanted. He will be making more money than either Dan or me, but that's what we ultimately want for our kids, right?

When Brad lay beside me in my bed (something he NEVER does anymore) and confessed to me the other night that this decision was making him sick, I grew alarmed. "Then you have to make a decision and not look back," I said. He wished he'd only had one offer, instead of two to choose from, and I reminded him that he should be proud both schools wanted him. He has perfect grades and is already an excellent teacher.

Friday morning, the deadline day for signing with one school or the other, Brad came downstairs and confessed he'd slept poorly (as did I) and still hadn't made up his mind which school to choose. Flippantly, I took a coin from the table, settled it on my thumb and tossed it into the air. "Heads, school #1; tails, school #2," I said. The toss came up #1, the school Brad most wanted. I grinned. "There you go," I said, and left for work.

I agonized about Brad all morning. When he called and told me his choice, but that he hadn't actually signed anything with anyone, I grew concerned. He'd already turned down #2 without signing anything with #1? I feared he'd made a terrible mistake, and called to tell him so. What if their written offer didn't match their verbal promise?

I was dozing in the lounge chair when Brad came come later that afternoon. He'd asked that his contract be brought to him instead of mailing it. They complied, and he brought it home for Dan and me to read, cynical parents that we are. We trust no one, and believe most people are out to screw us. The contract had all the right words, the verbal promise had been kept, and I felt relief streaming through me for the first time in days. Wow!

Congratulations, Brad, for intelligence, cunning, and most of all, courage of your convictions. You know you're worth a tenure track job, and forced the school where you most wanted to teach to acknowledge that. I'm not sure where that came from, but I'm thrilled that YOU forced them to realize that they just couldn't lose you to another school.

BRAVO!!

Love, Robin

Locally, a 10 year old boy, searching for a ball his mother had taken from him to stop his playing with it in the house, found instead his police officer-father's gun. He shot himself in the eye. The bullet exited the back of his head, leaving him brain dead. They took him off life support after donating his organs so others will live or their quality of life will improve.

At least some good is coming from this sad situation.

I cannot imagine the horror these parents are feeling. My heart goes out to them, not just for their grief, but what must be unimaginable guilt. "If only I hadn't taken his ball from him." "If only I hadn't left my gun where he could find it." The lamentation won't change anything, but the guilt will haunt them for the rest of their lives. If their marriage survives, it will be a miracle. Each will blame the other, of course, and their love will have to be very strong indeed to forgive, if they ever can.

As parents, when something terrible happens to our child, we blame ourselves, no matter what the circumstances. In June, 1991, my son was hit by a car when he was seven years old. He ran backwards to catch a fly ball during a game of baseball. Our 18 year old next-door neighbor hit him with her car, sending him to the hospital for four weeks and into a body cast for six more. By November, after hours of agonizing physical therapy, he was fine, but it was a terrible time for Dan, Brad and me. He could just as easily been killed that day. Thank God he wasn't. It truly was an accident, but that didn't stop my insane feelings of hatred when the girl who'd struck my son was running around in a bikini, clearly enjoying her summer, while my son was stuck in heavy plaster from July through August.

Dan and I blamed ourselves, too. What if we'd been outside instead of inside that day? We had warned him about not straying into the street; it was our fault for not being there to make sure he listened to us! Coulda, shoulda, woulda. Blame is nothing but negative hindsight and does no one any good. Yet we seem to need to place it somewhere, because if no one is to blame, Fate is truly in charge of our lives and we have no control whatsoever!

That is truly a scary thought, one I don't wish to dwell on.

I feel so sorry for that little boy's parents. I hope they glean some comfort in knowing that his donated organs will help others and, in some healing way, keep their child alive.

Love, Robin