Results tagged "Health"

And when I lost them last week, it was suggested that they were misplaced on purpose — not in the sense that I couldn’t see, but instead a strategic move to procure a new pair. And what would have been so wrong about this? I’ve had the same pair for several years — crooked, scratched, bitten. And, not to mention, overworked. It doesn’t help that I leave them wherever — near food, on top of cumbersome piles, under magazines — maybe if I had a new pair, a SHINY brand new pair, I might take a little better care of them. I too am DESERVING.

This wasn’t the case, I didn’t lose them on purpose, but it was rather convenient that only a few days prior I received an invitation from my Eye Doctor to get my eyes checked. He missed me, apparently — and it had been 2 years. I have a bit of a phobia when it comes to anyone doing anything anywhere near my eyes and tend to spasm with fists of lead — kind of like The Incredible Hulk but instead of making me mad as a set off, just don’t touch my eyes. But I liked this Optometrist. He was calm, smelled good and even when coming close to that optic nerve that might launch my fists of death — I would instead melt into a puddle of silly giggles.

Obviously, for those of you that don’t know, my Eye Doctor is a rather attractive man, and although I am not one of those married (mind you) women that seek out attractive men to… well, whatever… I do allow myself to acknowledge and appreciate the FACTS that are right in front of me. Staring, oh so deep into my eyes.

But I digress…

My glasses took their exit on Thursday night. Feeling misused, under valued and tired of sitting on my face, they simply slipped away into the night as I wandered around in the dark. It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized they were MIA. A complete and total frenzy ensued until I was certain that I had actually become John Wayne  — my tortoise shell spectacles were really Natalie Wood, and this was the 1956 thriller The Searchers. Only so much more intense.

The situation escalated to the point where I enlisted the help of the 4-year old to help me find them. Pulling out every toy-power tool that he owns, strapping on his headlamp and turning over his stocked toy box was the first order of business. Clearly they had to have fallen into this box, and he wasn’t cleaning up until he found them. Obviously, asking for help was a mistake. I had spent most of Friday looking for my glasses — the ones that I wear for more than half of any given day. I was tired, I couldn’t see anything and there were toys EVERYWHERE. I picked up the phone and made the call—the appointment was on Saturday.

Arriving at the appointment early, I picked out a pair of new frames. These are the ones that are going to guide me through… perhaps for THE REST OF MY LIFE — the thought occurred to me as I stuck with tortoise shell but decided on a new shape. Something new… “RYAN” — a strange voice called from the optometry office — “11:30 am appointment for RYAN” — WHAT? Who was this skinny feeble man calling my name? WHERE WAS MY EYE DOCTOR? I had waited TWO years for this and WHERE WAS HE… I turned to inquire. “Yes, I have an appointment with Dr…..” The response was uncalled for, “He doesn’t work weekends. I’m Dr. Smell Fest.”

My head was about to spin off into another dimension. I brought this on myself by losing the glasses to begin with. Then there was the selfish ENTITLEMENT to a new pair. And NOW I have to trust my eyes to a complete stranger that I can only compare with Marty McFly. Yes McFly… ARE YOU IN THERE McFLY?!?! I felt ill and was about to run for the door when I noticed a small older woman at the reception desk crying. The nurse/receptionist was trying to calm her down and, being the only other person in the room, she turned to me with an explanation. The woman was crying because someone had anonymously come in earlier in the week and paid for her prescription– her $600 lenses in about 4 different pairs of glasses that she has to have reconfigured every few weeks because of the effects that her chemotherapy is having on her eyesight.

Naturally, I joined in and helped to console her as she worried about who she was going to thank and how she could find out who it was. Dr. Smelly Head had returned and asked if I was coming in. On my way into his office I made sure to grab hold of all of my ugliness while I welcomed in my conscious to beat the shit out of me. My awareness of the world had been lost — only to come at me with high speeds, throwing me right back into reality as I clamored for grace.

I returned home, and having ordered my new glasses, I was told I could expect them on Tuesday. I started to look for my old glasses again and eventually found them under the couch — drunk and partying with a toy bulldozer — those dirty little things. It’s good when life opens your eyes a little bit wider — especially when you’ve lost sight for a while.

UGH.

I have the flu. THE FLU. Influenza…(insert prescription medication commercial voice– I call her Linda) is commonly referred to as the flu, is an infectious disease caused by RNA viruses of the family Orthomyxoviridae (the influenza viruses), that affects birds and mammals. The most common symptoms of the disease are chills, fever, sore throat, muscle pains, severe headache, coughing, weakness/fatigue and general discomfort…. — Just in case you were wondering, and thank you Linda. I’ve been entertaining both Linda and the Flu since Tuesday — or at least that’s when they decided to tap me on the shoulder and notify me of their presence. Now, every time I get the chills, Linda monotonously chimes in “Chills or rigor is a shaking occurring during a high fever. It occurs because cytokines and prostaglandins are released as part of an immune response and increase the set point for body temperature in the hypothalamus. “Rigor” is sometimes considered a synonym for “chills”.” Because I needed to know.

And, I hear you. WHAT DO YOU MEAN? But, YES. I did get the flu shot — months ago. WE ALL DID. Even Allergy Boy was allowed to get one this year. We aren’t anti. In fact — WE LOVE to be vaccinated… HOWEVER, apparently the FLU is just like people and comes with many different faces, or as Linda calls them “Strains” (variants of plants, viruses or bacteria; or an inbred animal used for experimental purposes) and what people are vaccinated for is really just the BIG FLU. Not this little flu, of which I only have a mild touch of– making me cringe at what it must feel like to have the BIG FLU…. As I lay around freezing and sweating — every part of my body screaming “JUST TAKE ME NOW”, as I grab my own shoulders yelling “MAN UP!”. It’s a delicate dance and it really doesn’t help that Linda sits around here laughing and dropping bits of popcorn all over the house. The dog won’t eat popcorn.. so now I have to clean.

Add to this that the baby is teething. Which isn’t only a comedy of errors, but also a juxtaposition of fate SO UNFAIR that one can only sit at the edge of their seats in frozen horror. One must COMFORT the baby that won’t sleep because a pain larger than any adult human can stand is attacking her very being — but not too close, you have the FLU!…. I know you’re watching.

Shut it, Linda.

But the good news is that I’m on the “upside” of this little touch of flu… Now if we can just get that tooth to appear, maybe sleep will reenter our lives as well. AND Speaking of something that has absolutely NOTHING to do with the Flu, but could be relatable to teeth in some zoned out health starved mind, is that over the weekend we discovered FROZEN BASIL. Which, to say we discovered it is a bold and, albeit beautifully brandished lie — Because Not Martha told us about it first.

We freeze our own Basil at the end of each summer, so when I first saw the Dorot packages in the grocery store freezer I was overcome by the sillies and laughed my way through the shopping aisles like a mad person. Even the guy that talks to his pocket protector while he stocks the shelves looked at me like I was Dr. Evil. But by this time of the winter, nearing Spring, our Basil supply is gone and the scraps are rather freezer burnt, so we hang our heads and wait — over salting and turning to the dried out options. I had honestly forgotten about the freezer aisle incident until about a month or so ago when Not Martha was brave enough to try.

The end result of our throwing a few cubes into our sauce over the weekend was really, quite pleasant — AND it’s nice to know that there are a few little cubes of fresh love in the freezer should we need, you know… Basil. But I do recommend that you head on over to read Not Martha’s review, because– not only are her pictures filled with slightly more deliciousness, but Linda is worried that you’ve been here a while now — and who knows if I’m still contagious…. “The boundary between contagious and non-contagious infectious diseases is not perfectly drawn….”

This is my new boyfriend…

Yes. That’s right. Dr. Richard Ferber, I love you.

Because you see, SLEEP is something that I haven’t had very much of in the past OH, EIGHT AND A HALF MONTHS. That is until a few nights ago when Mr. Sal and I decided to go all hardcore and picked up RICHARD’S book “Solve Your Child’s Sleep Problems”. Shown below in ALL CAPS so that those that are SLEEP DEPRIVED can read the title.

This man is a genius. A gem. A MIRACLE WORKER. A mere four nights after starting his process of letting Josephine cry herself to sleep, we are in a routine of SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT. Yes, that’s right. We kicked it ROOT DOWN. Just when I was getting used to letting her RULE THE UNIVERSE.

But, as I think back over the past few nights, it wasn’t easy, and this man is made of pure stone. We had to put her in her bed, leave the room and listen to her cry. Sometimes the crying went on FOR HOURS. As we followed the book’s suggestions to go in every few minutes to try and comfort her, but NOT pick her up. Mentally this was excruciating, but it also hurt me physically — my neck, my back — to listen to her cry so hard. WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO ME?!?!? But then, it subsided. And each night as we persevered the crying grew shorter until at LONG-almost-nine-months-last, we put her in her bed and she didn’t cry. She just fell asleep.

And, of course, those wiser and more experienced told us to do this from the beginning — and believe me, we TRIED to let her cry. But then she had Croup. And then she snuggled up all cute and cozy on the couch, sleeping peacefully, which according to Dr. Ferber was only creating BAD HABITS — so, something needed to be done. Not to mention, there’s something so much more official about having a book tell you what to do… Having it actually work, however, is a little hard to believe.  So, thank you Dr. Ferber. Thank you for being real. Direct. And for helping us cross “Get Jo to sleep in her own bed” off of our 2012 list of accomplishments. Now that we are getting some sleep, we may just be able to tackle windsurfing.

In other news, the Steve Jobs doll is off the market. That’s right. OFF. And, no. I’m not going to stop leading you off to other places on the internet where I have voiced my opinion. Get over it.

It’s not like we didn’t expect to get sick. I mean, every other person that we know told us that as soon as Will started school — WATCH OUT, he was sure to get sick. Right? It’s not like we think we’re ABOVE it… I mean, not really. And so we knew. We washed hands…. glopped on the sanitizer, took our vitamins. But still, it’s been an entire MONTH, and there is no way that anyone could have been prepared for the onslaught that we are just now recovering from. cough.

[ear infection. COUGH. sneezing. COUGH. COUGH. fever. COUGH. HACK. chills. COUGH COUGH COUGH. runny noses. cover your mouth. COUGH COUGH COUGH. germs. medicine. don't pick your nose. doctor's offices. COUGH COUGH COUGH. tissues. blankets. inhalers. NEBULIZER. humidifier. COUGH COUGH COUGH. expectant. chest compression. z-pack. steroids. STEAM. suppressant. COUGH COUGH..... CROUP!!?!?!?!]

You couldn’t even come near us we were so disgusting…. I spent several nights just walking around my house coughing — unable to talk, breathe, eat. It was like someone took my head off, twisted all my airpipes and vocal cords around and then laughed really hard while they attempted to sew it back on. I can’t even go into how hard it is to take care of yourself when both of the kids are sick… Will, who starts vibrating after ten minutes of not being able to go outside — I actually heard myself say “You stay on that couch or I’m (cough cough) going to (cough) TIE YOU TO IT (hack cough hack)!!”… as I swiftly turned around to see who was behind me because there is no way that I just SAID THAT. (cough). Jo woke up one night with the brilliant ability to mimic a barking seal — and while we ran around in circles while taking hot showers with her and consulting every book/website/pediatrician/nairobianwitchdoctor while holding her until she feel asleep quietly, we came to one glaring conclusion. Parenting sucks. And oh yeah, we hate croup.

We annoyed everyone. Mr. Sal, for one, who happened to NOT GET SICK, has yet to sleep this month. The cashiers at our various haunts were pretty much hiding under counter tops attempting to avoid us and I swear I even saw our pediatrician gag when we walked in for our second visit IN THREE DAYS. Even our evening grazers glared at us with their evil glowing eyes, from 5 feet outside our backdoor…. cough.

But, as things pass (since they usually do) we are almost through it. cough. My swollen glands are more like jellybeans than golf balls, a detail that I know you needed, and both Will and Josephine have become shields to the elements with all of the meds they’ve taken. A beacon of health we may not be, but as we head into our first snowstorm in OCTOBER, we seem to be on the road to wellness. cough.

In other news… if you’re wondering where everyone went on the internet, stop right there and put that crazy down because, YES. They are all over here, at Will’s Kitchen. That’s right! Our mini-marketing campaign has begun to pay off — with mini ads now strategically placed over at Sprocket Ink and Mini Munchers as well as a lovely mention by Enjoy Life Foods on Facebook… It also really didn’t hurt that we made donuts.

You can stop drooling now.

I’m sitting here at my desk being all uppity because my son has food allergies.

RIGHT?

Because I know everything. AND, I’m not being sarcastic… AT ALL. Not here – Not there… Not anywhere… Okay, a little too much Cat in the Hat, but you know what I mean. By the way, I am being totally sarcastic…Because some people just don’t get it.

It all started a few weeks ago when I came to the realization that if I want Will’s Kitchen to actually achieve anything in the world of food allergy awareness, that I was going to have to get off my tuckus and actually tell someone about the website. I know. Because apparently, if you don’t tell people about it, they simply WON’T KNOW. And yes. Apparently I just used the word tuckus.

So I did what any marketing trained mind would do. I turned to Mr. Sal and told him I needed an operating budget of no less than 20K to hit the ground running…. Bombarding him after a hard day’s work, with charts and graphs and media calendars combined with returns and percentages of success. He was suspect when I excused myself from the dinner table to change into business-wear and sexy heels — because that’s when you know you mean business…It may have worked better if had gone the extra mile and showered… but then again, I don’t think he enjoyed snarfing that first martini sip when he heard the bottom line, so no water wasted. Perhaps I should have waited until sip number six.What?

At any rate, my attempts to achieve my first major investor failed. Shocking, I know. So off I went a-packin out into the wild, wild wonders of the interweb with my anti-food allergy flag held high in an attempt to achieve a grass-roots, gorilla campaign. A few stops later, I found myself with a mini ad campaign on Mini Munchers, as well as a guest recipe post. Wandering around I also found gobs of other useful contacts — like-minded people that are just asking for food allergies to be acknowledged and taken seriously, which then led to engaging correspondence about awareness and the right way to reach the food weary audience. One such response came from the lovely ladies at The Mouthy Housewives — whom I join today in answering a very important question regarding peanut/nut-free policies at schools — a topic that I deal with on an almost daily basis with Will and his new preschool. It was a great opportunity to be able to voice my suggestions to the Mom that wrote in as well as the general public AND, interesting to see the debate so far…

One Mom suggests putting all allergy kids on their own island in their own classroom! BEAUTIFUL. Allergy kids and Lepers having so much in common****….

So, once you’ve gathered yourself after rolling on the floor laughing at the ‘OMG someone SAID THAT insanity’ over the above statement, click on over to read some of the more intelligent thoughts that are being thrown out — share and enjoy — in all seriousness, because YOU KNOW that I’m taking every word TO HEART while I muddle around in a pool of sarcasm.

****This is a joke. Despite it’s lack of grace….

As I walked into the office, I immediately felt hives creeping up my neck. Were we crazy? Obviously this doctor didn’t have the first clue about the modern world… The piles of outdated magazines caked with dust and strewn around the ramshackle 1950′s decor. The faint scent of mildew entered our noses as we took the clip board from the 200 year old receptionist that looked at us over her bifocals with annoyance and doubt that we were indeed old enough to care for the three year old and infant in tow. You know, 35-40 being the new 15-20, we were obviously checking in to meet the doctor due in part to our own stupidity… but didn’t she know the levels of our desperation? We called them, obviously…. and they relied on filing cabinets and clip boards, not computers and other fangdangled tricks of technology. But did we need to be met with the sketchiness of HR Puff-n-Stuff meets Land of the Lost all because we wanted a third opinion?

And as she held out her skeletal pointer finger in an attempt to direct Will to the toys of antiquity, I tried to think of an analogy to express our ever growing frustrations over Will’s food allergies. Unfortunately, my attempts were immediately sidelined when the definition of eccentric walked out of his office to invite us in.

Large portraits of family pets and a coffee table encasing a Floridian sea shell collection found us speechless and grasping to understand our surroundings as he turned to us to initiate the conversation.

Why were we there?
Grasp.
Because….

The wood paneling of his office walls screamed with anticipation as I realized that the heels on my shoes had become entangled in the orange shag. Really?

Because… we want another opinion.
Grasp.

The room was hot as I gazed over his desk to a self-portrait of the doctor in a civil war reenactment uniform. Long-gone were my dreams of forward thinking, as OH – I think the hives had reached my face. I found my voice and explained our situation — reeling off the script that I had repeated to a list of other allergists and pediatricians. We want our son to have a flu shot and his egg allergy is preventing this. We don’t completely believe his test results from his other allergists. And, after almost 4 years of living with several food allergies  — we aren’t sure that he would ever have a severe reaction considering the number of times he has already been exposed. We want a cure. We don’t want to be scared anymore. We want world peace — perfection, and while he’s at it — we want him to tell us EVERYTHING WE WANT TO HEAR. Because this food allergy thing SUCKS. And here we ARE — uncomfortable, and… SWEATING in an office with a man that we would only avoid eye contact with in any other given situation. PLEASE. TELL US. MAKE IT ALL OKAY.

And then he did. That is to say, he agreed to a few of our demands while acting out weird and undoctorly movie quotes that made us laugh uncomfortably. He suggested that Will might not really be allergic in the terms of your typically defined allergy. That although his blood might scream severe, his reaction may be quite the opposite. In short, he told us almost the opposite of everything we’ve ever been told about Will’s allergies AND he suggested some proactive steps… like giving him the allergens directly, allowing the flu vaccination in a controlled environment and, instead of hovering over him in a “no, you can’t have that” kind of way… being more open and suggestive that he might try more things. And for about forty minutes we felt euphoric. As if the must in the air was really a choice herb emanating from a giant bong connected to the office humidifier. We were encouraged to breathe deeply while Mr. Sal and I held hands and danced rings around Dr. Eccentric. His sea shell collection came to life — floating around us as if they were still alive in the deep blue ocean. It wasn’t until we walked out of the office that we, as parents, actually glanced at each other as if we’d just met Jesus — but not so sure it was really him or just some weirdo asking us to buy real estate in heaven. Because, there really isn’t anything scarier than having someone tell you exactly what you want to hear.

Because I thought I made myself clear about keeping things uncomplicated.

While I sit here loving almost every second of my life — insisting that we need to have “quiet time” after lunch everyday, when really — all I want is a few seconds to clear my head… which doesn’t feel filled with very much to begin with… That is unless you think that deciding between orange, grape or cherry popsicles is NOT worthy of a United Nations Summit. Wouldn’t it be way more of a release to just grab some drum sticks and start whaling on the furniture for a while? I mean, who the hell says QUIET TIME anyway? Me? Do I SAY QUIET TIME? Those words actually left my mouth — floating around out there like some complete weirdo that also says things like CRAFTING. And if you say crafting, please don’t take offense. This is all on me — I haven’t taken a shower that lasted longer than 2 minutes in days AND I just suggested QUIET TIME.

Years ago, wasn’t it more fun when I stressed out over clients not paying me on time (or not at all)? Because, leaving that behind and instead watching my three year old take matters into his own hands by peeing on the tree in the backyard kinda feels juxtaposed. Or when the two month old hums quietly in her sleep but still refuses to poop everyday. Is that not a matter to consider rather alarming? While the IRS breathed down my neck over missed employee taxes and bone-headed business partners went sour… Is it not comparable to praying that he won’t have long-term, post traumatic stress disorder because he happened to catch a movie trailer for the Green Lantern on channel 11?

And, while it may sound like I’ve entered into some descending level of DARK, on the contrary, I have to say that things are rather light. Laughing away the days and seriously not crying over spilled soy milk  — much less cleaning it up. It doesn’t really help that I put all of this pressure on myself, especially when I’m the only one with the expectations… Telling me to relax will only make me question and obsess over why I’m not laying back. Because I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but did it really have to be this hard?

I took this picture the day before Josephine was born. I remember thinking that I was all wrong about this baby coming earlier than predicted… I even muttered that she was right on for the target date — May 23rd. A few short hours later I was in labor… a few even shorter minutes later, she was here. Now she’s gurgling in a baby “soother” next to me while I type.

Since then, things have become more and more clear despite the rather chaotic scene that surrounds me. But when I say “clear” I have to admit that I’m focused almost entirely on the smallest of small…. Like details that I missed or couldn’t grasp in a pregnancy haze. For example, we had been talking for weeks about finally adding the missing leaf to our kitchen table — so as to allow dining comfort for our growing family and the host of guests that have already been penciled in for the upcoming months. And I know — this is way beyond boring. I mean WHY am I blogging about this? Who cares — and more importantly — WHY ARE YOU READING THIS? But the point isn’t about how small the universe becomes when there is an infant in the room… it’s about how much bigger all of the small things seem to be. While we tried and tried to pull apart the table so as to accommodate the missing leaf, our frustrations grew and grew. Why hadn’t we ever attempted this before? We paid for a big table — were we EVER going to get to use it? The whole thing was beginning to feel like a ShamWOW! commercial when suddenly, whilst I was dozing off for a few minutes in the wee hours, I remembered the latches underneath the table. Unhook them and let the growth begin. In our haste and impatience we had cursed the table to no end when really — all we had to do was look underneath. Life, my friends, should never be so difficult.

Since this post is entirely about and for ME, I have taken the initiative to BOLD the important aspects. That way you can speed read, grasp the skinny and shimmy on out… At least that’s how I’d do it.

It amazes me.
I was amazed, and still — I remain as such.

The speed at which things can get totally blown out of proportion. Uncontrollable speed. With flames shooting out of the sides of things… Like people’s heads. Or when a seemingly important but not critical, situation is looked at from another perspective, and all hell breaks loose. Kind of like Trump for President, or… entering my house with a freshly baked batch of butter filled chocolate chip cookies…. That you expect me to share…  And while I am torn about whether or not to share this very personal experience with the internet, I’m just sitting here — not lifting a finger… Because that’s what I was told to do. Absolutely nothing.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to not do anything? Especially typing with my tongue — not very effective. So far, I haven’t done anything since last Wednesday around 11am. That was when I pulled my car into the Southampton Hospital Valet and threw my keys at the poor unsuspecting parking lot attendant. If only I had taken a second to acknowledge his smile… knelt down, perhaps, to smell the lovely flowers along the pathway to PATIENT ADMITTANCE. Which, I know, sounds more like some screwball confessional than anything else — but it is accurate in terms of signing yourself up for the unknown… patiently (of course).

But there I was. I had a strange pain in my right side — and being 34 weeks pregnant (give or take) my doctor didn’t hesitate to send me off to the hospital for monitoring. It would have all worked itself out eventually, had I found the ability to control my nerves, but no. No — instead I complained when the pain increased. I squirmed. And worse — I cried when the “call nurse” button on the thingamajig didn’t work and my cell phone had no service. I was, in effect, an infant — by all standard definitions… And yet, they insisted that I stay. They insisted there was something serious going on.. They introduced me to a surgeon who LOVES to cut people open. LOVES IT. He loves it so much, in fact — that he was ready to dive right in without one of those silly CAT Scans to prove that I needed my Appendix out. Medical Technology — WHO NEEDS IT?!? But no. As he went off to sharpen his knife collection, another doctor agreed to a second opinion and had me transferred to another hospital where they stand firm behind JUST THE FACTS MAN. A theory that sometimes gets lost out here in the Hamptons… you know — facts being so REAL and all.

But it WAS REAL.
AND — it was REALLY HAPPENING.
As I laid there, bouncing around in the ambulance being transferred to Stonybrook University Hospital — where ALL of the surgeons and doctors are between the ages of 18 and 25… AND where I finally found solace in the almost apologetic confirmation that NO. I did not need surgery…. AND, with the crowned jewel on top — The baby is ABSOLUTELY FINE.

But still, they wouldn’t let me leave. Because — the pain was still there and according to every 18-25 year old medical professional, House M.D. is the end all of medical mysteries… as in — there is NO SUCH THING. I actually had one late night doctor, who seemed to fancy my humor, tell me that he wasn’t letting me leave until he had this ENIGMA figured out. The enigma, of course, being me — wrapped up in a riddle, fashioned as a bleach smelling gurney. I would have laughed him right out of triage, but by then they had me all tickled pink with morphine. Those sneaky bastards. I guess I should have thanked The FOX Network for giving us this new breed of NEVER SAY NEVER die-hard docs due to HOUSE, but instead I sought my immediate exit.

And so, here I am, home since Thursday evening and starting an official countdown. My due date is in May… bets are being placed that I don’t make it through this week, although I’m not so sure about that. I am still feeling the weirdness on my right side, but with every test known to man telling me that nothing is wrong, I’m just wading around in the shallow end. I am going in for nonstop follow-ups and doctor appointments… none of which involve House OR surgeons that love surgery… And as I mentioned earlier, I have been cut-off on doing anything that involves, well, anything until we see the end of this. “This” being something that we have been looking forward to for a very looooong nine months… Excited is an understatement, as I sit here jumping on the inside. Until then, my posts will become somewhat less and less — although I will be in touch with the final outcome, of course.

AND — whew, enough already, right!
Fam and Friends — Thank you for your comfort… you have no idea.
Mr. Sal — That chair looked damn uncomfortable and yet you managed to stay in it. There are no words…

The time has come!

My sister Annie and her longtime love, Rob, are getting married on Sunday. So — let’s all think fun, lovely thoughts about romance and bright lights in the city… About family and looovvvee and all things happy matrimony… This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Please raise your glasses… To Annie and Rob…