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Just Another Once-In-A-Lifetime Experience!
What constitutes a once-in-a-lifetime experience?
I’ve been going back and forth on this for a while now, with my mom.….
…….and debated on whether or not to bring my kids.
But realized, this would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience for them and me.
And my rather stubborn, 74-year old mother was not going to change her position anyway.
With or without me………………….
…………she was getting a tattoo!
Great job, Pepper -Thanks!
She – we, LOVE her first tat!
Not only did Pepper do a fantastic job on my mom’s tattoo. Everyone at Graceland was really nice to all of us. They let my kids sit on a couch close enough to be able to watch the process and they played Irish music in the shop while Pepper was inking Nana’s shamrock.
A little “shell-shocked”, they had no idea they were going to watch their Nana get a tattoo! Life is full of surprises!
When I asked my kids what was going through their minds while Nana was getting her tattoo, my daughter said:
I was thinking, ‘Oh great, now mom is going to want one, too!’
So maybe that will make for two “once-in-a-lifetime” experiences. We’ll see.
Have you ever taken somebody to get a tattoo?
Photo Credits: ©Karen Szczuka Teich & http://www.takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
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It’s Not That Easy Being Green
“It’s not that easy being green …but green’s the color of spring and green can be cool and friendly like and green can be big like an ocean or important like a mountain or tall like a tree.” ~ Kermit the Frog
So, it’s the first full week back to school and at the end of my work day on Friday, the Director and Fitness teacher ask me to take off my “office” hat so they can speak to me as a “parent”.
You know this can’t be good.
It’s about my 10-year old daughter of course and it seems there was an issue in her fitness class. There are 25 multi-aged children in this class on Mondays and Fridays and my little “lemon drop” happens to be the oldest. Many of the younger kids look up to her, literally. She is also the tallest kid in the school and would perhaps be, by any other standard expected to “set the example” maybe?
“Ahem.”
Okay. So, it seems my little “apple dumpling” is the only one, out of these 25 kids that said “no” and flat out refused to sign a goal oriented agreement that has the following requirements:
- Everyone feels safe and no one gets hurt.
- Everyone has an equal chance to enjoy each game.
- Everyone learns how to be a better team member.
- Everyone has fun.
Not unreasonable, in fact when queried, my little “butter-cup” said she had no problem with setting these goals as a group. She just didn’t understand why she had to sign her name to it.
Her argument:
“They know me, Mom.
I just don’t know why my ‘word’ isn’t good enough anymore.
If they don’t trust my word what difference does my signature make?
Either they trust me or they don’t.
Besides, it didn’t say ‘pacificly’ that it was for fitness only.
I am the biggest kid — in the entire school. What if I hurt another kid by accident?”
They know her, indeed. She was welcomed by this school well before she ever spent her first full day there as a student at the age of three. From the time she was about 9-months old, she would tag along on school trips to the farm, to pick apples, pumpkins and attend theater shows with her older brother’s class. When she finally got there, it was in this fine progressive, hands-on learning environment that she was truly encouraged to be herself, to think, to ask and to imagine. She was the child who wore a communion veil to class every day for the second half of second grade, even though she never made her communion. She’s the kid who never wears matching socks and when I tell her in the morning…
“You either brush your hair or wear a hat to school,”
…nine times out of ten, she chooses the hat.
This school nurtured her, told her in no uncertain terms that she had a voice and helped her to find it, so there was really no disrespect when she said “no.” Her response, in effect was a culmination of seven years of being taught the importance of being your own person.
That day, she was told that if she wasn’t going to sign the paper, she wouldn’t be able to participate in the fitness program. She would have to sit out, and she did. That’s the price isn’t it, of taking a stand or being different, not following the crowd, standing up for something you believe in, even if you’re the only who believes in it? There could be a consequence.
There could also be a compromise, which is why I love this school.
After a few discussions with her fitness teacher (who just happens to be a former student of this fine school) the two exchanged positions and she understood the need for all the kids in the class to know they were all on the same page. She agreed to verbally acknowledge the four points and she did not have to sign her name. A resolution born out of mutual respect.
Many of the younger kids look up to her. Literally. She is after all the tallest kid in the school and the oldest and would perhaps be, by any other standard expected to “set the example”…..
……and maybe, she did just that.
She is her own person and while it may not be that easy being who she is, she’s cool and friendly like, she’s big like an ocean, important like a mountain and tall like a tree.
You can visit her blog at I’m Thinking Happy! if you like.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Photo credit #1: Kermit
Photo credit #2: ©Karen Szczuka Teich & http://www.Takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
Video Credit #1 YouTube
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Foul! Parental Interference!
As I mentioned last week, I’m a newbie to the whole playing-of-football thing and while I’m truly grateful for the side-effects it seems to be having on my boy so far, I can’t help but question some of the misconduct I observed during play, by a few of the parents!
I was only slightly perturbed when at a recent scrimmage game I overheard one dad in the stands telling another dad that he has given his son carte blanche on what he eats,
“I took away the vegetables. I don’t care what he eats as long as he bulks up.”
I was completely unnerved however by the actions of a few of the moms at the same game.
Tell me, is it really common place in football for a mom in the bleachers to stand up and yell out to her boy that for every kid he “hits”, excuse me, every kid he “hits and takes down– CLOCKS!“, he will get $50 from his dad?
“That could be an Xbox 360!” she said.
Or is it normal for a mom in the stands to threaten the loss of an activity to her son, if he doesn’t make a hit?
Some of these boys, like mine, are new to play and as expert as they may be when they watch the NFL, I suspect actually playing the game, is a tad bit different. You have to execute the rules you know so well by heart from watching. In this recent game, one newbie player from the other team had a tendency to put his hands up in the air, making it appear as though he was going to hit an opposing player, by way of fist.
You can probably guess how that played out; in a stock-pile tussle on the field ending with two boys crying and one parent spectator yelling out “Suck it up, man. Suck it up!” to his son.
I am all for NOT raising pansies. In fact, I happen to think parents in general coddle their kids a bit too much these days. Me included. I won’t let my girl go beyond our cul-de-sac without permission and when we move, I probably won’t let her go out at all. Meanwhile, when I was her age, I walked through town to go to school, meet a friend or to the movies, completely on my own.
The idea of yelling at an 11-year old to “suck it up!” after having just been punched and piled upon though, to me, seems a little extreme; among other things.
Worse was when one of our mom’s started screaming at one of our player’s dad because she mistook him for being a parent of an opposing player. Yes, for all the players and spectators to see and hear, this mother of one of our 10 to 12-year old boys, ripped this man to pieces from across the stands because he called out that the play was getting too rough. That prompted a screaming debate between actual opposing parents in the stands on whether or not kids who did not want to get “hit” (or hurt) should play at all.
I thought they were here to learn the rules and play the game. Am I wrong? Am I being naive?
Football is an aggressive sport and tackling is part of the game. They have gear, they’re protected. I get it. I think competition can be healthy and I consider myself a fairly competitive person. I like to win, just as much as the next gal. And if no one knew I was at the game beforehand, there was no mistaking my presence when my boy got the ball, broke through the center hole and shot down-field like a bullet for his first touchdown!
WooHoo!! THAT’S MY BOY!!
I am after all, his biggest fan.
These boys are 10, 11 and 12-years old. They don’t need to be encouraged by parents to exhibit barbaric behavior. They just need to be encouraged. Even at 12, our children watch closely what we do and say. The power of example is a strong one.
Every year when I register my kids for soccer, I’m handed a piece of literature entitled Parents Code of Conduct. I’m asked to read and sign it. The first time I read it, I thought to myself, “Really, is this necessary?” Perhaps it is. As I’ve never seen the same kind of behavior I witnessed at my first football game at any of the soccer games I’ve attended over the past seven years.
And while I must say, I was impressed by the way the coaches handled the boys on the field, I call, “FOUL! “on the way the parents’ behavior interfered with the game.
And to think, this was only a scrimmage.
Any advice on how to get through this from the not-so-newbies out there?
Photo credits: Google Images
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Summer Lessons From My Father (That’s Right – I Went There!)
Lesson #1.
When it’s 100° outside, QUICK — get in the kitchen and start baking!
Despite this past week’s sweltering heat, I gave a nod to my Dad and decided to spend one of those triple-digit temperature days baking. As a kid I used to think my dad was crazy because he would bake on the hottest of days. As an adult, I realize it’s only crazy, if you don’t have air-conditioning; which we never did.
I try real hard not to snack after 8pm and quite frankly it’s becoming increasingly difficult. Actually, it’s almost impossible since my daughter and I are obsessed with watching multiple cooking and baking shows in the evening. Yes, we’re foodies and we watch just about every food related program that comes on DirecTv including but not limited too, Chopped, Diners Drive-Ins and Dives, Tough Cookie with Crazy Susan, Ace of Cakes, Cake Boss and our favorite, Cupcake Wars. We’re also fans of The Little Couple, Say Yes to the Dress, Clean House and House Hunters. We’ve even watched Hoarding: Buried Alive twice but honestly, I just found it too disturbing.
We prefer the “sweeter” programs and nearly every night we torture ourselves watching them.
Believe it or not, I never heard of red velvet cake or its connection to the Waldorf-Astoria until recently and for some reason this summer it keeps coming up, especially on Cupcake Wars. Intrigued, I looked up several recipes on the internet, put together what I thought would work best, ramped up the A/C and decided to give it a go, this week, the hottest week of the summer, so far.
It reminded me of when I was a kid and how my Dad would bake on the hottest day of the year.
I’m not sure if it was me or my daughter who was the genius behind the thought but we decided to do a little red-velvet-ice-cream-cone-cupcake thing and at least give the illusion that we were eating something that would help cool us off!
Yowza…we were so excited!! They turned out AWESOME!!
When we were done, we figured if there was one person who’d appreciate our efforts on this sizzler of a summer day, it would be my Dad, so we decided to take some over to him to see what he thought.
We plated a few cones and were on our way……………………………………………………………….
Lesson #2.
When it’s 100° outside, be sure to shut every door and window in your home before turning on your biggest, loudest, most antiquated, metal-fan and when possible, place it backwards in your window. This way you are sure to suck any air that’s in the house, out of the house, making it just a hair more unbearable and uncomfortable than it ever should be.
Thankfully, because I have air-conditioning in my house, there’s no need for the gigantor window fan to make it worse.
At Dad’s house however, we couldn’t stay too long. It was literally 100° degrees outside and with no A/C and all the windows and doors shut, it was probably close to 112° inside. At least the attic fan was off for our visit. Mom says it’s so loud, she goes crazy when it’s on. Dad says, it’s “physics”; draw the hot air out and …. I don’t understand it but when my 10-year old daughter questioned the logic of it and started to argue the point with him, well, I knew it was time for us to go.
Dad really enjoyed our cupcakes though. We put a cherry on his!
Lesson #3.
Freeze an orange and then slice it (or try to anyway). It’s better than sherbert!
Not really but it’s an option. As an adult, I choose to buy the sherbert.
Oh, and there’s also these lessons I’ve learned from my Dad:
#4. Whether your a toilet-cleaner or the CEO of a big company, take pride in what you do and do it well.
#5. You can do anything, if you put your mind to it.
#6. “Book-smart” has nothing on “common-sense”. Use the resources that you have.
#7. There are some things in life, that are better left unsaid.
Thanks, Dad.
Photo Credits #1, #2, #3 #4: © Karen Szczuka Teich & http://www.TakingTheWorldOnWithASmile.com
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The Boy Who Lives…On
If you haven’t heard of Harry Potter, you must live under a rock. If you have but haven’t read the books, what are you waiting for? If you’ve read the books and didn’t
likelove them, I may have to re-think our acquaintance.
I’ve read all seven Harry Potter books, to myself, to my kids and then re-read some of them to myself, again. I immediately fell in love with the wide-eyed, innocent boy who spoke to snakes and had no idea he was special. I was equally drawn to the large and hairy, Hagrid who charmed me with his sincerity and devout loyalty to the Headmaster and to Harry. Then of course, there is the Headmaster; wise, beautiful and fiercely powerful, Albus Dumbledore. I don’t know how anyone could not love him. From the Weasley family to Dobby the house elf, the secondary characters are just as endearing and as important to the whole story.
My favorite character however is the Half-Blood Prince himself, Severus Snape. I was overcome with emotion when I realized I’d misjudged him. I hadn’t trusted my instincts and instead, I judged him. Lily was kind to Snape. She befriended him and forever, he loved her.
Kindness, is incredibly powerful.
Now, when I think of Snape, the image of a silver doe comes to mind and I could easily cry.
In her books, J.K. Rowling explores the power of love on multiple levels; how to love, who you love, what you do for love, what happens when you love.
For the past seven years, I’ve been getting lost in the friendships and the adventure, first in the words, then on the screen, submerging myself in the details surrounding this boy’s life. Watching him grow and learn through lessons of life and love. While the books don’t lack in humor, as a mom, I totally appreciate J.K. Rowling’s lack of fluff. Things don’t always go right and right doesn’t always win out. Things don’t come easy to Harry. They don’t come easy to most people. That, is life. And even though we overcome our struggles, our successes are often short lived, lasting only long enough for us to realize we are strong enough to overcome them.
J.K. Rowling also repeats the real-life-fact (over and over again) that things are not always what they seem, not with friends, family or strangers, reminding me again, to try not to judge people, their lives or actions but instead, to continue to strive to be true to myself.
Regardless of your age and despite the fact that the story takes place in a world of fantasy, everyone can relate on some level to some of the emotions these characters experience. Life is unpredictable and even painful. Sometimes things just don’t make sense but there is another side, a better side and when you fight for what you believe in, eventually, you get there. Perseverance.
You may love and you may lose people you love in the meantime but no matter what, you go on because life and love are worth it.
It’s so healthy to get excited about something and this weekend, boy was I excited! Not only did I LOVE the movie but I LOVE spending time with my kids too, so it was truly a win – win for me. Thanks to this gender-generation, transcending phenomenon, I had a date with my 10-year old daughter as well as my twelve-year old son who frankly, would otherwise, rather spend time with just about anyone else but me – but because we all share this common bond, this love for all things Harry Potter, any obstacles that would normally keep us at odds or apart, magically vanished for nearly three, whole hours and together we shared the experience of watching Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, at midnight!
Harry Potter, the movie epic has come to an end on the screen anyway but is it over? Hardly. In my lifetime, I can’t recall a phenomenon such as the Harry Potter series and how its appeal really has transcended genders and generations. Harry has already proven to have the same kind of staying power as the likes of Dorothy, Alice and even, Scrooge. J.K. Rowling’s story of “the boy who lived“, has earned its rightful place among the Classics. Harry Potter will live on and be read, over and over and over again, for generations to come.
Thank you, J.K. Rowling.
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Crazy For Cannolis
After researching several recipes, I chose what I liked best from each and then threw in my own secret ingredient!
As a first generation AMERICAN with parents who emigrated from Germany and Ireland, I ate lots of sauerkraut and Irish soda bread as a kid. I suppose it’s only natural then, that as an adult, I would want to learn how to make Cannolis.
Let me connect the European dots for you. My best friend’s Dad was from Italy. Once a year he would take us to New York City to the San Gennaro Feast in the historic Little Italy. The smells alone were enough to make a young girl giddy. Her mom used to make mostacciolis during the week and her grandmother would nurse a sauce all-day-long on a Sunday. Mid-afternoon she’d come out of her kitchen, wipe her hands on her apron and wave us inside for a serving of spaghetti and sauce with Italian bread. Heaven.
I grew up loving and yearning for what was on the other side of the fence, Italian food.
My love for all foods Italian may also (in a twisted sort of way) have something to do with the fact that when I was very young, we rented a second-floor apartment in a house owned by an Italian family who had three boys: La John-o, La JoJ-o and La Carl-o. We were often invited down to their basement to share a meal that always included home-made pasta, bread and wine.
Go ahead, turn me on my side, coax a little girl inside, close the lid and roll away!
I have a very strong and clear memory of the two younger boys coaxing me into a wine barrel one day, closing the lid and rolling me around their front lawn, just for fun.The smell of wine inside the barrel was so pungent, it too resurfaces every time the memory does. In addition to the obvious trauma that would accompany such an event, I truly believe this is why I don’t like confined spaces. It was also probably the first time I ever got “tipsy”. I think I was five.
Back to making Cannolis.
This holiday weekend I’m spending a few days Upstate New York with my daughter. I always try to have a few activities in mind for my kids when we come here and ever since they could stand on a stool and hold a measuring cup, my children and I have been creating in the kitchen together. I love doing things with my kids and the kitchen is a wonderful, natural classroom that provides a great opportunity to bond, learn and teach. We’ve made everything from soups to nuts, — including pasta, cakes, cookies and this weekend, Cannolis!
The ingredients.
Just check out the visual above for a clear view of what you’ll need. I guess if I was Italian, I’d know where to buy fresh ricotta but I’m not, so I settled for Sorrento brand from the supermarket. I didn’t need the granulated sugar or farm fresh eggs but they seemed to complete the photo so I left them in. And yes, those are boxed (store-bought) Cannoli shells you see in my picture. They were the only ones my grocer carries. I’m Crazy for Cannolis that’s true but I also know, what I don’t know and what my limitations are! Making the shells from scratch was not an option, this time.
Here’s my I’m-Not-Italian But Here’s My Very Delicious Cannoli Filling Recipe:
2 lbs. ricotta cheese
1 1/2 cups confectionery sugar
1/4 cup half ‘n half
4 tsp. vanilla
1-2 tsp. cinnamon (more if you love cinnamon like us – more cinnamon will result in a darker filling complexion)
Semi-sweet chocolate morsels (enough to make you happy)
1-2 tbs. honey (my secret ingredient that’s no longer a secret)
Drain the ricotta of any excess moisture. Mix ricotta, confectionery sugar, half ‘n half, vanilla, cinnamon and honey together until smooth. Fold in chocolate chips. Chill and fill the shells using a pastry bag or small spoon shortly before serving. Sprinkle with powdered sugar. Makes about a dozen Cannolis.
Yummy! Not bad for a first try.
It’s that easy! Have a safe and happy holiday and most of all, enjoy!
Photo Credit #1: ©Karen Szczuka Teich
Photo Credit #2: Google Images
Photo Credit #3: ©Karen Szczuka Teich
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Billboard Baby
“Yard sale! Yard sale! Come check out the yard sale!”
Forget the PennySaver. Who needs the classifieds in the newspaper?
Why even bother to advertise on Craig’s List when you can have this??
That’s right, for the price of a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich on a croissant, this willing and able 10-year old will happily take your idea, event or function on the road! She comes complete with borrowed wings, a friend’s home-made shield, soccer shoes, red knee-high soccer socks, a Tinkerbell birthday hat and her very own pink-wheeled scooter!
Let this Billboard Baby loose in your neighborhood and customers will be clambering at your door, yard sale or lemonade stand. Satisfaction guaranteed!
But wait! Don’t just let these pictures alone convince you…. here is an actual client testimonial:
“No one came to our yard sale for HOURS. Finally, we agreed to give Hannah’s approach a try. It was amazing! A miracle! She literally stopped traffic! As soon as Hannah hit the pavement, customers started coming out of the woodwork (or at least their homes, to see what all the commotion was) and over to our yard sale. I’ll never have another yard sale — without her!” ~ Karen Szczuka Teich
Okay, so while everything at my Everything Must Go yard sale eventually went, unfortunately, most of it went to the Goodwill. Not exactly the money-maker I had hoped it would be, despite the literally months of planning and preparation. Who knew the biggest flea market venue in the county was holding their annual “public” yard sale the same day I was having my little “private” one? Apparently everyone. Except me of course.
Oh well, I guess we never would have discovered Hannah’s new knack for advertising if our sale was such a success in the first place, right? It’s all in the way you choose to look at things and honestly, watching Hannah scooter through the neighborhood while hollering her heart out about our “sale” was worth every idle hour!
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again (mostly to remind myself),
It’s not what happens but what you do– how you deal with — what happens, that really matters.
It may not have been a profitable day but it was a great day, nonetheless.
Photo credits: © Karen Szczuka Teich.
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Message in the Attic
Somehow I let myself slip into the delusion that life would get easier as I got older. Maybe older, is meant for the over 60 crowd, in which case, I still have a little while to go. As for this mid-forties mom and for reasons I can’t begin to fathom, life just seems to be extraordinarily difficult right now and I find myself in the position of having to “let go”… of a lot.
Coincidentally, while recently rummaging around in my attic again (looking for more things to sell) I stumbled upon an old, yellowed-out piece of paper at the bottom of a box labeled “Childhood”. I’ve no idea where it came from or how I got it but of this I am certain, it’s mine and it feels like an appropriate time to share it.
Without credit of an author and in an old, bold, script type face, this is what was written on it:
Let go……..
to “let go” does not mean to stop caring, it means I can’t do it for someone else.
to “let go” is not to cut myself off, it’s the realization I can’t control another.
to “let go” is not to enable, but to allow learning from natural consequences.
to “let go” is to admit powerlessness, which means the outcome is not in my hands.
to “let go” is not to try to change or blame another, it’s to make the most of myself.
to “let go” is not to care for, but to care about.
to “let go” is not to fix but to be supportive.
to “let go” is not to judge, but to allow another to be a human being.
to “let go” is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes but to allow others to affect their destinies.
to “let go” is not to be protective, it’s to permit another to face reality.
to “let go” is not to deny, but to accept.
to “let go” is not to nag, scold or argue, but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.
to “let go” is not to adjust everything to my desires but to take each day as it comes, and cherish myself in it.
to “let go” is not to criticize and regulate anybody but to try to become what I dream I can be.
to “let go” is not to regret the past, but to grow and live for the future.
to “let go” is to fear less, and love more.
Sometimes I can get so bogged down by the details of “the issue at hand” that I just can’t see the obvious. Lucky for me, I believe in receiving signs, messages and answers from the universe (or whatever higher power has it’s hand in our fates) and I believe they can come in many forms and places. This time, it was in the quiet of a warm, stuffy attic and it was clear; certain circumstances are just out of my control and I need to let go.
Photo Credits #1 & #2: Google Images
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A Wet Haven
Think back to when you were a kid in grammar school. What would it have been like for you, if you were able to throw a bucket of water over your “favorite” teacher’s head without fear of retribution? What if, once a year, you were allowed, encouraged even to get the principal or head of school soaken wet?
My girl soaks her math/science/this is how you build a rocket, teacher!
And what if, even after you left that school, you were still allowed to come back at the end of the year and take part in a wild and wet, water-splash-out of students vs. teachers and parents?
My boy gets to come back and relive this thrill even after being gone for two years!
Six years ago, I began working at the small progressive school my kids attended so I could be near them and see firsthand, what it was all about and why my kids barely got any homework. Coming from a catholic grammar school and an all girl catholic high school, I was a little skeptical of the progressive education that I’d signed on to for them. I ended up getting an education for myself, on what it means for a child to be in an environment that nurtures their curiosity and fosters the development of a life-long love of learning. For eight years my son went to the Randolph School. He left after 5th grade. My daughter is finishing up 4th grade. Next year will be her last. I’m already feeling sad.
The curriculum at Randolph School is project based. Several months are devoted to one study at a time, such as birds, Native Americans and human flight. Math, English, Social Studies and Science all get incorporated into the study using a hands on learning approach. These kids are out and about, seeing, doing, building and loving what they’re learning. They’ve done some pretty awesome things too, like making paper and cooking an annual ThanksGiving meal with 
vegetables they planted and harvested themselves. They’ve tapped maple trees, collected sap and boiled it down to make their own syrup for a pancake lunch. They’ve been schooled on tracking people and animals, building shelters in the wilderness and trebuchets in the back field. They know how to use the resources they have to solve a problem. Each child builds a rocket and launches it every year and each year ends with an adventure day which usually involves a hike along the Hudson river or in this year’s case, a walk across the Hudson River on the newly opened, Walkway Over the Hudson. After the adventure there’s an all-school barbecue. After the barbecue, the older kids, students in kindergarten through 5th grade, get to camp-out behind the school with parents and teachers. Tents are pitched at the bottom of the same hill the kids and teachers, sled down during the winter. A bon fire is made, songs are sung, stories are told, s’mores are eaten.
Somewhere in-between the end of the adventure and the beginning of the barbecue, a twenty-plus-year-old tradition lives on. It began when two teachers who overheard a plot being hatched by two students to bring water guns to the camp-out, staged a surprise counter-attack, fully equipped with their own loaded water-guns and behold, a no holds back, teacher-parent-student water splash-out filled with 100% pure fun was born!
A wet haven for kids of all ages! Splash-Out June 2011
It’s tough being a kid. Society is drenched with all kinds of peer pressures and technological enticements. Finding a place in early childhood where children are free to be themselves, free of some of these stresses just long enough to give them a solid footing is a blessing.
So much of parenting is like playing pin the tail on the donkey. Without foresight, you point yourself in what you hope is the right direction and move forward, praying that you hit the target. Sometimes, you get lucky and hit it dead center. Other times, you veer way off to the left or the right and have to go back and try again.
Sending my children to a school that encourages kids to be kids was a “hitting the target dead center” move — a blessing.
The result, is that they love to learn, they always will and I am very grateful.
What do you love about your child’s school?
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Let Freedom Reign
I’m a first generation American. My parents emigrated from Europe. At times, it was a little screwy growing up in our house. My parents were strict and unfamiliar with the school systems and how they worked. We never watched football or baseball although we often went to see Pele play soccer in his hay-day. They didn’t abide by American traditions. Santa came to our house after dinner, on the eve of December 24th. Hamburgers were made with large chunks of onion incorporated into the meat and the finished product was always draped in a homemade mustard sauce. There was no bun and ketchup just wasn’t allowed. Saurkraut was always a side dish.We went to more Oktober-fests than we did street fairs and instead of hot pants, my sister, brother and I had our very own pair of lederhosen. My parents came to this country to make a better life for themselves and they did.
It’s befitting then, that their son should grow up to serve in our Armed Forces. My brother spent over ten years in the Air Force. He lived in Germany, was deployed to Saudi Arabia and Bahrain and served in the Gulf War. I will always be proud of his service to our country. To serve in the military is probably one of the most honorable professions any American could have for any amount of time and it is right that we should pay our respects in some way, to the millions of men and women who gave the ultimate sacrifice for our freedoms, even if it’s just a private thought in between barbecues, picnics and reunions this Memorial Day.
The will of the people is the only legitimate foundation of any government, and to protect its free expression should be our first object. ~ Thomas Jefferson
Freedom is such a big word. Used in just about any context, it packs a lot of weight and thought behind it. Whether it’s from a bad habit, an unfulfilling job or a relationship that has become too constrictive, people will seek liberation. The desire is innate. For America, defending it’s freedoms is paramount, it’s people will go to any lengths to preserve them. And although we may not all agree on how to protect our precious freedoms, there’s no doubt, regardless of our politics, that our right to choose, to vote and to express ourselves are critical to the core of the foundation this nation was built upon. Our freedom is the most important attribute of this country, making it equally important I believe, to honor and thank the millions of men and women who actively continue to put themselves in harms way and devote their time to the cause of safe guarding the freedoms we enjoy. For me, it’s important that my children appreciate them as well. I try to be an example to that end. Whenever I see a person in uniform, I try to find an opportunity to say,
Thank you for your service.
It’s not much but it’s genuine and it’s a start. I’ve never been met with anything but a smile or a respectful nod when I’ve said that and I’ve never been sorry I’ve said it either. So, if it moves you, speak up and thank a service person the next time you see one.
Be safe and enjoy your Memorial Day!
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The Power of Three
To me, there’s no sweeter sound than that of a child’s laughter. It’s comfort food to my ears and fills my heart with a strong sense that something is “right” in this world. When it’s a giggling girl, it’s a little piece of heaven, add two BFFs and it’s an all-out party. That’s what it seemed like anyway when my 10-year old daughter had her two gal pals over for a play date this week. Ten is such a joyous age. It’s the pre, pre-tween-age of self-discovery, where everything is new again and funny.
After a brief stint of one-on-one-on-one basketball, there was the discovery of a blue bird’s egg on the front lawn and the nest that was knocked from a bush. They huddled around it with great concern trying to figure out what happened and what they could do to save it. They played on the over-sized swing-set that dominates a good chunk of our backyard and seems to get less and less attention as the years go by. I was happy to hear the boards creak again as they ran across the wooden bridge linking one tower to the other. Then they did what girls often do and tried on clothes for the next hour. My girl is a bit taller than the other two and has grown two sizes this year alone. One by one, they came out of their giggles to model their outfits. I was checking my Facebook on the kitchen computer as they cat-walked the runway for me.
A friend had posted the now infamous pictures of President Obama and his national security team as they were briefed about the demise of Bin Laden. I wondered what (if anything) three girls in the fourth grade would think about the removal of prominent government officials, who just happen to be women, from a government issued photograph in two news articles that recently circulated in Brooklyn, New York.
Without going into the detail behind the original photograph, I asked them to look at both pictures and tell me what they thought of them.
They immediately recognized that they were the same picture but that the two women who were in the first photo, were missing from the second and they wanted to know, why? In very simple terms I explained that it was a cultural decision.
“But it’s not true. They were there!”
10-year old girls believe in the truth.
“Isn’t that what they call sex…um, sex-ist?”
10-year old girls are smart and a force to be reckoned with.
“I don’t agree with it and I do find it very offensive but it’s their culture.”
10-year old girls are tolerant.
“That’s just wrong. I’m a Jew and that’s not my kind of Jew. I don’t like it.
Let’s go play.”
10-year old girls speak their mind and really do just want to have fun.
And they should.
I take great comfort in their play and all that it encompassed in just one afternoon. From their savvy athletic skills in basketball, their great display of compassion for the unborn bird and it’s home and their fantastic, imaginative adventure on the play structure, to their sophisticated sense of fashion on the runway of my kitchen, the promise of strength in these little women is evident. And while one may be able to “faux-toshop” them out of a picture someday, I don’t think for one second, they will ever be out of the game.
They are powerful indeed and in a tough spot, this power of three. It’s the end of the school year and they are very much aware that one of the points that keeps this triangle in flow, will not be coming back next year. With a class size of ten, losing one makes a big difference, especially when they’ve been together since they’re two. It’s difficult for them and I’ve been thinking a lot about how to help them honor their growth, celebrate their friendship of eight years and acknowledge their parting of the ways as a natural part of life, albeit a sad one.
Sometimes we need to say, “goodbye” to the people we love in order to become all that we can be.
Life after-all is a series of “hellos” and “goodbyes“, some lasting longer than others, some merely preparation for when we meet again.
So, if it’s up to me, for now, I think I’ll just let them play as much as they can or want to, together.
Photo Credit # 1 & #2: ©Karen Szczuka Teich & http://www.takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
Photo Credit #3 & #4: Yahoo! News The Cutline
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Better Late Than Never
I was slightly preoccupied last week, what with having to break into my house and all. 
I didn’t get a chance to really acknowledge Mother’s Day or the millions of moms out there that make their children feel as special as my mom still makes me feel, even at 46-years of age. Maybe it’s because she used to tell me that all the time when I was growing up.
“You’re special you know.”
I believed her too, ’cause well, she’s my mom and everything your mom tells you is true. It wasn’t until well into my adulthood that I learned she used to tell my brother and sister the same thing. I wasn’t upset. I was glad they grew up feeling the same way; special.
When I had my son twelve years ago, I was ill prepared. After all, what did I know about how to take care of a baby, let alone a boy? Enter, Nana. My mom only lives 20-minutes away but after Noah’s birth, she slept at my house for two weeks anyway. When she left, I cried, even though I knew I was going to see her the very next day. She had just retired from the bank. How lucky, for me! For the next two-and-a-half years, we went from Fishkill to Redhook and everywhere in-between, in search of the best places for lunch and the best playgrounds for my boy to explore in. Precious, happy times.
When Hannah was born, my mom was in the delivery room. They share a unique, unbreakable bond and have been partners in crime ever since. Nana is the first person Hannah calls when she’s sick.
“Can you come and watch me today?”
“Of course, love.”
is the reply, 99.9% of the time, no matter what she has planned that day.
Selfless. She never makes you feel like it’s a bother or an imposition. She operates from the purest point of unconditional love. A gift she gives freely, a quality I strive to emulate.
She’s an awesome babysitter for sure but truth be told, day or evening, the chances of you coming home to find her asleep and your child wide-awake, “shh-shing” you as you come through the door, are more than high.
“”How long has Nana been asleep for?”
is usually my first question.
Nana is famous for accidentally, “letting the cat out of the bag”, realizing it in the moment and immediately trying to take it back. For example, she once left a message on my answering machine that went something like this…..
“Hi love, I guess you’re not home. Okay, well, I’ll see you at the surprise party on Saturday. (pause) Oh, wait! I didn’t mean that! (pause) I don’t know what I’m talking about, there is no party. I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Bye. It’s mom.”
One of my favorite things about Nana is how much she loves to laugh. Seriously, my kids and I purposefully try to make her laugh because once you get her going, it’s very contagious and really hard for her to stop. If you take her to a funny movie, be prepared for all eyes to be on you, when she literally doubles over in laughter. Take her to any other kind of movie and chances are, all eyes will still be on you when she starts snoring after she’s fallen asleep.
For a time, mom had a German Shepard named Schatzie who was abandoned on a highway, 
picked up by my brother and left at mom’s house for an extended “weekend”, that lasted several years. People often joked about how she must have given birth to Schatzie because she treated her like she was her fourth child. People also joked about how Schatzie used to “walk” my mom, rather than vice-versa. Schatzie was huge, carefully eye-ing anyone who approached my mom or came too close to her; often trapping me in my car while barking ferociously, when I’d come to visit.
They loved each other dearly.
Nana’s 74 now and while she’s adamant about NOT having a face book page, she does read my “block” faithfully, when she can get to it, that is. Even though she subscribes to it, for some reason, she can never “open” it from her computer. I finally told her,
“Mom, just google my name and it will come up.”
So, the other day she went to Google and typed in: “google Karen Szczuka…” Guess what? It came up.
I was able to visit my mom for a while on Mother’s Day and it occurred to me, as it often does, just what a blessing it is to have her around. I don’t take her for granted. I’m grateful. I love that my kids love her and I love that she loves them as much as she loves me. She makes them feel just as special. I know this to be true and I guess that’s because she’s so special.
She’s kind and thoughtful and she’s my mom.
She’s been a wonderful power of example in so many ways, I suppose it’s better late than never that I say,
“Thanks for being my mom, Mom! I love you.”
I hope you and the millions of moms out there who make their kids feel special, had a very Happy Mother’s Day!
Please, tell me something special about your mom.
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The Mother of All Ironies
There’s no doubt life is hard and riddled with uncertainty and while I really do try to “take the world on with a smile”, sometimes it takes everything I’ve got.
I live at the beginning of a cul-de-sac, the first of nine homes that make a horseshoe. A few weeks ago my neighbor who lives two houses down on the left came to our door and asked me to step outside for a private conversation. She recently discovered that someone had been trying to break into her house — again. She also informed me that the alarm went off in the home of the family that lives directly across from her the same week. The police responded but found nothing.
Honestly, I can’t say I was surprised. I’ve had a feeling for a while now that something was weird in the neighborhood–again.
My neighbor was visibly upset when delivering this news. Who wouldn’t be? It’s unsettling to say the least, especially, if it’s happened before. If you’ve read my posts: My Edward, Life’s Terms – Not Mine or Everything Must Go, Including Me!, you know that my home was burglarized a year ago this past winter at least eight times that we know of.
She too was repeatedly burglarized during that time and sandwiched in-between our two homes, lives the 21-year old perpetrator.
Similar to the over $10,500 worth of items taken from my house, nearly $13,000 worth of jewelry and cash went missing from her house. Unfortunately, the two detectives assigned to her case were unable to connect the dots to my case and closed hers. Interestingly enough, these are the same two detectives that were convinced my then newly turned 11-year old son was the culprit.
I at least, receive monthly restitution checks from this bad boy living next door. And, in addition to the 6-month house arrest sentence he served (silly really) there is also an order of protection against him for each member of my family, for 5 years. Not that this is remotely comforting, the boy violates this order every day, simply by living next door. Indeed, we share grass.
The story of our burglaries from start to capture and arrest is undoubtedly a fascinating one that I hope to put on paper one day but for now, I’m simply mind–boggled by the twisted sense of humor the universe seems to have and its reluctance to let me, let this craziness go!
Tell me, what do you think the universe is trying to say when I come home with my children after a late dinner out, only to find that my house key, when inserted into the front door lock, goes round and round in an endless loop, prohibiting our entry? This being the new lock we had installed just over a year ago, after break-in number five and the first sign of a violent act in our home.
Seriously, how many times has your dead-bolt failed and what are the chances of something like this, happening to us?
Unfortunately, it was 10:00 pm on a Saturday night and although the locksmith has a 24-hour emergency number, that “mailbox” was full.
The good news is that for the most part, our house is now like Fort Knox. The bad news is that after an hour of brainstorming, trying a variety of things including the unsuccessful removal of a window air-conditioner and a desperate plea from my 10-year old daughter……
“Mom, please, it’s cold out, can’t we knock on their door and ask BBQ to help us?”
…we were literally forced to use one of the same methods my neighbor used, to break into our house.
BBQ is the pet name my kids and I have affectionately given the convicted felon living next door. The first B stands for BAD the second B is the first letter of his first name and the Q is the first letter of his last name, hence, B-B-Q. It’s an attempt to interject levity into an otherwise somber situation. It’s similar to our use of the endearing term we have for the police, which is “po- po“, as in,
“Hannah, the “po-po” are here to see you again.”
(See 1-9-1-4 for clarification of that reference.)
Anyway, I’ve purposefully tried to defuse the fear my kids have had of BBQ with humor and emphasize instead, just how pathetic he was to steal such things as tooth-fairy, birthday and Halloween money from children. It’s a coping skill. My kids get it. I’m sorry that they have to.
Clearly by the way, BBQ had to have heard us (through his open windows) last Saturday night, walking around our house in the dark, trying to break-in.
Is this not bizarre? Truly, for me, this was the mother of all ironies.
We broke in, by cutting the screen door to the porch with the house key that was no longer of use to us. We slipped a few fingers through the tear and unhinged the latch. Once inside the porch, we removed a screen to an unlocked window. I was elected and with the help of my two kids, climbed through.
It’s befitting that on Mother’s Day I would express how proud I am of the way my kids handled themselves; without panicking and working together to come up with a solution. They’re thinkers and have learned how to appreciate the power of humor in a tight spot. My daughter giggled her way through taking pictures, while my son took great delight in pushing my leg through the window.
For us, the situation was surreal. We laughed our hearts out.
Don’t get me wrong, even though we laughed, smiling about this really is difficult and it’s taking everything I’ve got, NOT to rationalize why I’d like to see the boy next door receive a good old fashioned “butt-kick’n”.
But I won’t go there, here.
Back to the universe. Within a three-week time period, we received news of new robbery attempts, our new dead-bolt went, non-functional and we were forced to break-into our own home.
For me, the message is clear: It’s time to leave.
And to that end, the wheels (and there are many of them) are all in motion. Slow motion perhaps but in motion none the less. In the meantime, I am grateful for how resilient my children continue to be while the universe continues to play with uncertainty.
To all the other grateful and proud moms out there, Happy Mother’s Day!
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Spring Break: Blizzards, Blossoms And A Belly-Busting Belch!
Sometimes, life has a way of throwing you a curve ball (or snow ball) when you least expect it.
I left a mini-blizzard behind in 
Buffalo, NY after visiting for a few days, right before heading out to meet my children in Washington, D.C. to see the blossoms for Spring Break last Monday. Yes, that would be April 18th and yes, I said blizzard, as in snow. A good friend of mine who lives in Buffalo text-ed me while I waited for my plane to be de-iced, and I quote:
“Even the locals are dumbfounded!”
It felt like winter was literally smacking me in the rear as I flew from it.
Luckily, I was sitting in the first row and had no checked baggage. We arrived in Boston 12-minutes before my connecting flight to D.C. was due to take off. I was the first one standing behind the stewardess when she lifted the plane door to the gateway. I was off!
Think O.J. Simpson, running through the airport years ago wearing a three-piece suit and carrying a brief case while hawking Hertz rental cars. That was me, strategically racing through the airport looking ahead, planning my next maneuver so as not to knock into or over, anyone. Only I’m a 5-foot tall, Caucasian female who was wearing 3-inch heeled boots and instead of a brief case, I had my computer in my backpack and a rolling carry-on to deal with. I sailed through just as they were shutting the cabin door. I was out of breath for the next 20-minutes, but I made it!
I’ve always wanted to see the Cherry Blossoms in Washington D.C. and I have a penchant for all things political. My kids are old enough to appreciate both. It seemed like a good fit and it was. Our country’s capitol has much to offer, for free! Although if you plan on having lunch in any of the free museums, be prepared to spend nearly $20 per person. Air and Space, Native American and American History were our top three. I was particularly impressed with the African American exhibit and the First Lady exhibit in the American History Museum. An over-all favorite find, was stumbling upon Carmine’s Restaurant in downtown D.C, which is related to the two Carmines in NYC that I love so dearly. Other than soft rigatoni, the food was delicious!
We drove back to New York but I’m not a night driver so when the lights begin to blare and I can’t see the horizon, we need to pull over and get a hotel room.
“The restaurant closes at 9pm.” the hotel clerk said upon check-in. It was 8:20. We dashed up to our room, dropped off our bags and arrived back down at the entrance to the eatery by 8:30. With no one there to greet us, the bar tender glanced our way and said, “Go ahead, sit anywhere, she’ll be right with you.” Only two other tables were occupied so we pretty much had the pick of the place. We hadn’t eaten since 2pm and that was three states ago so I chose a far-enough-away-from-the-other-patrons table to make sure we gave them their space. My 10 and 12-year old kids were hungry and punchy. If you’re a parent, you know how that can go. After realizing we’d been sitting at our table for nearly 15-minutes with no sign of service, I asked my daughter to go find us menus in an effort to be prepared for when the waitress finally did get to our table. Hannah came back with one menu.
“That’s all there was, mom,” she said.
Pork Chops and Penne alla Vodka were their dinner choices. But having worked as a waitress all through college, and knowing how fickle each kitchen’s cook can be around closing-time, I knew enough to advise them to pick something from the sandwich menu too. Plan B. We were becoming impatient and just as I uttered the words, “Jeez, Sistah needs to put the move on it”, under my breath, “Sistah” came out of the kitchen and it was clear why it was taking her so long in the first place. With no disrespect intended here, Sistah, was probably 75-years old and while she seemed surprised to see us, she was pleasant and not in any rush at all. After several minutes, she took our drink order and found us another menu to share. Then she vanished again. At five to nine, she took our food order and at 9:05 she came back to say, the cook wouldn’t do it.
“You’re too late.” she informed us. “He stops making dinners at 8:30. Snack foods only.”
(Um, okay, it would have been helpful to know that ten minutes ago.) We revised Plan B and ordered a few appetizers although when it came to Hannah’s turn, before she could speak, the waitress said,
“You can have chicken fingers.”
After writing, repeating and re-writing our order, she once again disappeared behind the swinging kitchen doors. There are two ways you can handle a situation like this. We chose to take the humorous route and laughed at our silly circumstances. Still no drinks. One calamity seemed to follow the other from that point on, interspersed by short, uncontrollable fits of laughter. Several times, Sistah came out of the kitchen looked around and went back in. A couple of times she walked over to the other two tables to check on them and finally at around 9:15 she brought us our drinks. From the moment Hannah got her diet-coke she kept complaining that it just didn’t taste right. We all took a sip and agreed there was something off about it. We concluded a mix-up of sorts, possibly root-beer and coke combined. Another ten minutes passed before Sistah re-appeared with our food. The loaded nachos were loaded indeed, with processed Cheese Whiz and remained for the most part, un-eaten. Our mozzarella sticks never showed up. We all shared Hannah’s chicken fingers.
For dessert our waitress said we could have ice-cream only — even though we saw a variety of cakes listed on the menu. We settled on one chocolate, the rest vanilla. Fifteen minutes later Sistah emerged with one very large bowl of chocolate ice-cream hidden under a mound of whipped cream and topped with a cherry for Noah. She turned to Hannah and said, “Sorry, no vanilla but we have cake,” and proceeded to list the cake options we saw earlier on the menu. After that bizarre exchange and before Sistah came back with Hannah’s carrot cake and the remaining ice-cream, Hannah took another sip from her soda. I watched her as she set her glass down and began to open her mouth, I thought to complain again, but this time something completely unexpected happened.
A small explosion seemed to occur within her little body.
Similar to that of a volcanic eruption, a loud, growling BELCH blasted from her throat filling the room, startling everyone in the restaurant, including herself.
Honestly, it was a monster burp of epic proportions. 
Even the bartender and the three men who came in to watch the hockey game, all turned in our direction. The elderly couple in the booth looked affronted. The middle-aged man dining by himself simply gaped at us with his mouth hung open in disbelief at what came from my sweet little 10-year old daughter’s body. Under ordinary circumstances, I would be mortified. I would admonish her for burping at the table but I can’t even be certain that was a burp! Clearly it was not something she could control and neither was the laughter that ensued. There was no reprimand, instead we nearly fell to the floor doubled-over in bellyaching hysterics. Really the timing was impeccable. It was truly a price-less moment.
After dessert (and regaining our composure) came the bill.
“I took $4 off because you had to wait so long at the beginning,” said Sistah.
Upon further scrutiny, I saw that she also gave us $4 in coupons for our next meal and we were not charged for the mozzarella sticks that never came.We were also not charged for our drinks. Nor were we charged for the ice-creams and carrot cake. Our bill came to $21 and change. It was 10pm.
I can’t remember the last time we laughed so much together as a family. I left a $15 tip. Thank you, Sistah!
Tell me, what curve balls has life thrown you lately?
Photo Credit #1: Jet Photos
Photo Credit #2 & #3: Me
Photo Credit #4: Google Images
Photo Credit #5: Brian Gray -Monster Burp
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Everything Must Go – Including Me!
“The only thing constant in life is change.”
François de la Roche Foucauld
This June, I will have lived at the same address for 19 years. It’s where my kids were born, learned to swim, catch a ball and ride a bike. It’s where I greeted trick-or-treaters and decorated for the holidays, where I chose to put my career aside to become a stay-at-home mom; planning day trips, hosting play-dates, pool parties and birthdays. There are no regrets. I wouldn’t have had it any other way for my kids and while many things have changed over the past 19 years, my address remained a constant.
Now, that’s about to change.
In preparation for this event, my daughter and I are having a MEGA lawn sale. For weeks we’ve been gathering items to be sold and we’re selling, EVERYTHING! From the attic to the basement, she and I have been cleaning house. We’ve gone through every closet, including the ones we used to hide in, from Nana, when she’d come to visit during the toddler years. We went through boxes, like those filled with plastic play-food my kids served in the restaurants they’d “open” on a weekly basis. We emptied drawers that housed costumes, like the one this “craft-challenged” mom fashioned out of a black pillow case by cutting holes in it for arms and eyes and then just putting it over my two-year old son’s head. (Who makes a ghost costume out of a black pillowcase??) He LOVED it and wore it all-year-long.
We cleared shelves full of games we played so often, so long ago. The ones they are too big for now. We even found the Spy-Alarm my son put on his bedroom door a few years back. Meant to be a deterrent, to keep his little sister out, a blaring alarm would sound if anyone (usually me) tried to enter his room without knowing the code. Of course, she figured out the code, every single time. He finally gave up and took it off. We’ve washed, sorted, bagged and tagged everything from Cinderella, Belle and Snow White dress up outfits, to books, baskets, Barbies and blankets. It’s been a wonderful opportunity to say “hello” again to so many treasures that have been resting in the dark for such a long time.
A heartwarming experience on several levels, working with my daughter has been a real treat. She’s been a driving force behind this endeavor and has been pretty amazing about giving up much of what she’s amassed over the past 10-years, even willing to say “good-bye” to Pooh.
“I don’t really play with him anymore. Maybe some other kid will. You know mom?”
I’m taking as little as possible with me. I don’t want to bring things from this house into my new home. Much of the sentimental value attached to a lot of our stuff was robbed a year ago, along with the over $10,500 worth of cash, jewelry and small electronics that walked out the door or should I say, climbed out the window, that winter. That whole occurrence plays a large role in why this house doesn’t really feel like a home anymore — to me anyway. And it’s not really what was taken, as much as what was left behind, that brought me, to this point of needing to go.
It was the constant discovery of yet another missing something that left behind feelings of anxiousness and wonder. It was the months of worry leaving behind so many sleepless nights. It was knowing that a “stranger” was watching our “comings and goings”, mine in particular and taking advantage of the “goings” by taking his time to root through our precious closets, boxes, drawers and shelves, our bedrooms and private things and taking our things, that left behind feelings of anger, fear and helplessness. It was the repeated invasion of privacy, more than eight times in four months, that ultimately left no love-loss between this house and me. Much as I tried, I just couldn’t continue to make it a home anymore. After a while, I didn’t want to.
In her little heart of hearts, I believe my daughter is as eager to leave as I am. She gets it. She always has.
A home should be a sanctuary, a haven, a warm peaceful retreat from life’s daily stresses. Honestly, it could be in a cardboard box, as long as it’s a happy place to be. A home should be and feel safe. When it doesn’t, it’s time to go.
I’m ready to go and to let go, eager to get on with this next adventure and continue life’s journey. And although I may not be taking many things with me, I will be taking all of those treasured memories that resurfaced while going from the attic to the basement. Those, I will keep forever in my heart.
Everything else, must go! Including me.
(And Edward of course. He goes where-ever I go.)
Tell me, where are life’s changes taking you?
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Striving to live life on life's terms while taking the world on with a smile.
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Taking The World On With A Smile! 