Happy Birthday to My Pookie-Boo!

Sixteen years ago today, my one and only daughter came into the world. Seven pounds, one and three-quarter ounces, nineteen inches long. Now she's as tall as me and proudly sports her new driver's learning permit to anyone who would like to see it!

Over the years, she has answered to a variety of nicknames imposed by various family members; Baboo, Pookie-Bear, Pookie...and of course as she segued into those oh so fun teen years, Teenzilla.

She is my biggest love, and she is my biggest challenge at times.

She was my unexpected surprise and proves to me every day that motherhood is tougher than any "real" job I've ever had.

So happy birthday, my Pookie-Bear. I'll have to come up with a new nickname for your 50th birthday!

Resolutions

Most people start their resolutions for a new year on the actual start of the new year. I think there may be a better way to make things stick; resolve to be a better human being twenty-five days into the new year.
It took me a few weeks, but today I finally started my quest to be a better person, or at least, a healthier person. And if I manage to drop a few pounds in the process, even better!
I have a new plan for a stronger, better Tamara!
I used to try and squeeze in exercise after work, but taking a nap, grocery shopping, or other family-related obligations always seemed to get in the way of my good intentions. I have to be at work by six a.m. and after studying my list of excuses, it finally dawned on me that in order to get fit, I'd have to start exercising before work.
I quit my old gym which opens at 5:30a.m. and joined a 24-hour facility up the street.
Last night, I packed my gym bag with my work clothes, went to bed in my workout clothes, and when the alarm went off at 3a.m., I was out the door and in the car within four minutes!
Less than two hours later, I'd finished my cardio and strength training, taken a shower and dressed, stopped for coffee and made it to work early enough to goof around on the computer and read the newspaper from front to back. Yes, I know...who actually reads a newspaper anymore?
I think my family is taking bets as to how long I'll be able to maintain this new ultra-early health campaign. But I plan on being twenty pounds lighter by June 1st and I will make them eat those wagers!

Permitted

Yesterday I took my almost sixteen year old daughter to the MVA to get her learner's permit to operate a motor vehicle. She started driver's training school last week and we have to tally some actual driving hours to pass the fourteen week course ( I say 'we' because she's not allowed behind the wheel without a licensed adult family member).

A couple of things I'd like to note:
Maybe it's me, but I am completely floored by the fact that a teenager, or any potential new driver for that matter, can be handed a driving permit without actually having spent any time in the driver's seat. My memory is fuzzy, but I think when I went through driver's ed a thousand years ago, you had to complete the entire driver's training course before you earned your permit. Times have changed, apparently!
Also, in order to get the permit, my daughter had to bring, along with her birth certificate and social security card, her school attendance record. MVA officials told me it had to be in a sealed envelope with the school seal stamped on front. Fine, no problem. I certainly understood their concern about kids tampering with the paperwork in order to get a permit. However...

The clerk behind the counter took the envelope from my daughter and immediately eyed it suspiciously.
"I'm going to have to find two of my superiors to confirm this envelope hasn't been opened," she said. "I'll be right back."
Mom, I did not open that envelope," said my daughter, sensing my presumed guilty before being found innocent stance on anyone under the age of twenty. "It's been in my backpack for a week."
This explained its less than stellar appearance.
Fortunately, the Motor Vehicle Gestapo deemed the envelope untouched and my daughter breezed through the vision and written exams, and walked out the door with her new driver's permit in hand.
And now the fun begins...

Call Me Crazy

Sixteen years ago this month, I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She was a follically challenged little creature for the first several months of her life, and I had to resort to adorning her tiny head with those soft, elastic headbands so people would stop saying what an adorable baby boy...despite the fact that she was usually dressed in pinks and flowers! Baby girl eventually sprouted hair... lots and lots of thick chesnut colored hair that I now find clogging the shower drain.
But for the most part, she's a great kid and I'm planning a little something special to mark her sixteen years on earth.
She really doesn't want a party. My darling wants to spare me that expense because she'd rather I spend my hard earned money on buying her a Blackberry. Isn't she sweet?
"You don't need a Blackberry," I said. "People with real jobs like lawyers, accountants, and doctors need Blackberries."
"I am the only person at school without a Blackberry," she said. "You suck all the fun out of my life!"
Ouch. That left a bit of a sting, but I have a hard shell and have since recovered. I guess I'm tired of all the technology that has infiltrated one teenage girl's life.
So we compromised with a much healthier alternative. She wants to get in shape for summer, but isn't quite sure how to do it on her own. Instead of a Blackberry, her father and I are purchasing several sessions with a personal trainer, just a few sessions to get her on track to the point where she can devise her own workouts, without injuring herself in the process.
Still, it is her sixteenth birthday and some kind of celebration should take place to acknowledge the milestone.
So like the "creeper" my child has often accused me of being, I went through her list of Facebook friends, found twenty of her closest buddies, and we will surprise her with a scavenger hunt and dinner at her favorite shopping mall!
I know what you're thinking...dinner for twenty teenage girls!? If all twenty plan on attending, we'll eat on the cheap with pizza. Less than ten, I'll be happy to spring for a meal that includes cloth napkins and real silverware!

You're Killing my Mojo

When my mother was in her early fifties, she finally made it to Europe. It was a voyage she'd been waiting for her whole life. She was woman filled with wanderlust, but sadly, saddled with three children, failing kidneys, and a husband who could only afford to take her on one trip of a lifetime. But she was grateful for her 17 day adventure, even if it didn' t take her to every country she'd dreamed of exploring.
I only mention this because my mom was the poster child for the glass half full mentality of happy people. Her doctors always said she lived as long as she did (far exceeding their expectations) because of her positive mental outlook on life. She was truly a living example of mind over matter.
My dad, a wonderful , loving guy, was eventually dealt his own crappy medical kick in the ass and decided he wanted to check out asap. There was no holding his head high and laughing death in the face. He wanted to check out and check out fast. The doctors predicted he would live no longer than five years after their diagnosis of a horrible neurological disorder, and he died within exactly that time frame. He was not a good patient, but he was a great father. I'm just happy he's now at peace.
I'm rambling, I know, but I'm only remembering two very important people in my life, who loved each other depsite being polar opposites, and because of certain people currently in my life who I have termed Joy Killers. Debbie Downers. Dream Suckers. I think you get the idea.
In a nutshell, if you're feeling happy or relatively good about life, they will be more than happy to drop by and be the needle that pops your balloon. I don't think their intent is meanness, they can't help themselves. It's part of their genetic makeup.
You can even point this debilitating trait out to them and they will deny, deny, deny.
I'll keep my glass half-filled, no matter how hard they try to drain it.

Keeping it Simple for 2010

Three simple goals are on my list this year: Get enough sleep, moderate exercise, and staying the hell away from any self-help guru who has the answers to my problems. This is the year I stop the insanity(with apologies to Susan Powter, who by the way has disappeared off the radar screen, but maybe that's a good thing). This is the year I stop reading memoirs from tortured women who had the sheer good luck of having a publisher send them on a multi-nation journey of self discovery. This is the year I kiss Oprah goodbye. This is the year I never again spend my hard earned money on another stupid diet book.
I am done, done, DONE!
There isn't a freaking face or body lotion that will ever make me look like America's top model. I can run my ass off and I still won't be a size six again...or a ten, for that matter. But I can be a relatively healthy size 12, and that's okay, too.
I no longer have a desire to make friends or influence people (sorry, Mr. Carnegie) and now that I think about it, I don't think that was ever my goal. You don't like me...who the hell cares!
Your kid is on the honor roll? Big whoop. My kid could open a bottle of wine by the time she was ten (relax, she never drank any, just served mommy and daddy a glass with dinner).
I'm done with real housewives, the Kardashians, and any other group of idiots who decide to tell all on reality t.v. The Soup, with Mr. McHale, is pretty entertaining and its main goal is to make fun of stupid talk and reality shows, so I'll probably still watch it. But everything else...done, finito.
And with that, I'm taking my sagging, middle-aged butt off to bed. Sweet dreams

So Here We Go...Again, Sort Of...

When I started my blog, several months ago, it was an endeavor meant for only me. It was place where I could sort my thoughts and try to accomplish a bit of writing on a regular basis. Only one close friend was allowed access to it because I wanted some kind of feedback, but was hesitant to let the whole world in on it.
"That's the whole point of a blog," said my friend. "You write it, people read it."
"But most bloggers seem to have a reason or a point," I countered. "My blog seems to ramble about aimlessly."
"You'll figure it out," she said.
And that, in a nutshell, is the story of my life. I'm still trying to figure it all out, even at the age of fifty.
On a whim, I decided to see if any of the Powers That Be at Vibrant Nation had any interest in what I had to say. What's the worst that could happen, I figured? They'd send me a polite email thanking me for my participation in VN but there was no immediate need for any new bloggage (by the way, I have no idea if that's even a real word, just humor me).
As it turns out, they were interested and now I need to get busy!

Near Death And Other Strange Experiences

It's been more than a week since my last post. I was in Detroit, visiting family. It should have been fun but honestly, from start to finish (and through no fault of any specific relative) it truly sucked.
Let's start off by saying that I had not been sick one day in 2009 and then my immune system finally cracked on Christmas eve. First the voice started going and I figured it was the typical start to an ordinary cold. I had the chills but no fever so I sucked it up and went through the Christmas festivities at my mother-in-law's house, even though all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and drift into a blissful coma. That would have been nice.
The day after Christmas, fully minus a voice, I boarded a plane with my daughter for what we both thought would be a short, uneventful flight to Motown. However, thanks to some crackpot who flew out of Amsterdam to Detroit on Christmas, life as an airline passenger took yet another crazy turn. Our flight was supposed to leave Baltimore at 7:55p.m. and land at 9:45. There was some delay with our plane in Tampa and we ended leaving at 11:15. By the time we landed, retrieved luggage, got the rental car and arrived at my brother's house it was almost three in the morning. This was not an added bonus to my physical well-being.
It quickly turned into Tamara's multi-colored mucus tour featuring a strep and sinus infection, and not one, but two, antibiotics and a variety of other pills, ear drops, and eye drops. By mid-week, my family was only semi-kidding when they referred to me as Typhoid Mary.
The good news is that I'm a quasi-germaphobe and thanks to regular hand-washing and keeping my distance from everyone, not one family member was infected (okay, one niece had a 24 viral mishap, but I'm certain it had nothing to do with me).
I'll spare you the boring details but most of the week was spent with me wrapped in a blanket, watching t.v. I did manage to venture out a few times once the drugs kicked in, and met up with old friends from high school and college. New Year's Eve, however, all I could manage was a festive evening on the couch, with my brother's German Shepard puppy by my side.
We left Detroit yesterday afternoon, and yes, the extra security presence was in full swing. TSA workers even stopped passengers who were standing in line ready to board our plane to do a double check to see if their I.D.'s matched their boarding passes.
But that wasn't even close to being the scary part of the voyage. It was a fairly uneventful flight, until it was time to land. We were making our initial descent and then we were heading back up in the air! The pilot came on the intercom to inform us we were in the midst of a wind shear warning and we'd have to take another angle into the airport. It was more than just bumpy, it was nausea inducing. I was in the aisle seat, my daughter by the window, and an elderly woman stuck in the middle between us. The old lady, looking like she was ready to poop herself, kept asking me what was happening.
"They're dealing with some very windy conditions and probably have to wait till they're cleared for landing," I said. "I'm sure everything's fine. This is pretty routine."
Really? Was it? How the hell would I have known. The last thing I needed, though, was an hysterical lady getting my child upset. When I peered over, however, the child was sleeping.
Obviously, we landed safely. We all clapped and cheered once the pilot had us on the ground.
Next year, I'm going someplace warm for the holidays...and I'll be driving.