There she goes....Miss America....

Good morning! I hope all is well in your world. I was just interviewed by my son for a class. It's odd to hear him in a professional mode since he had to tape the interview. In contrast, I hope that I did not sound like a major dweeb.

On to weekend plans....what does a person wear to a Miss America parade? I can't find my sash and tiara so I am going to have to figure it out by reading this month's edition of Vogue magazine. I am sure that watching the parade will be fun but also a bit disconcerting. After all, these women could be my daughters.....they are young....in shape....pretty and allegedly intelligent. I wonder what their moms look like.....hmmmm.....

Are the mothers like the Honey Booboo mother....or like Mama June in the play/movie Gypsy? Did the girls from an early age say: "I want to be Miss America and be in a parade in Atlantic City, New Jersey!"? Or did they aspire something much lower like pediatrician or manicurist?

What were dinners like in their homes?  I would hear "dad, I need a new glove....I flunked math....I was beaten up by a bunch of third graders.....some kid stole my pants....ma! I got a sticker up my nose!...Black Friday means only Blacks can shop...." What was the topic of conversation at their table? "Daddy, I gotta have a breast augmentation.....got toooo.....puh-leeze!" Or would they hear: "I ran out of the expensive eye liner. Ma, be an angel...run to Sephora for me!"

Did they drive up and down the east and west coast going to pageants and look to be discovered by a Hollywood producer? Did their parents break the bank helping them to achieve their dream of being on a float on the boardwalk?

Guess what? My life is not much different. The beauty queens worked toward Miss America. My kid is working toward MLB. Honestly, there is not much of a difference...both are passionate and will sacrifice for their goals. My kid sacrifices sleep. Miss America sacrifices cookies (yikes!).

And so, I am going to watch this parade and think about the hard work that went into their pursuit of winning this pageant. It parallels the big kid's journey. I am going to appreciate their hard work and dedication and NOT make fun of them....Ok, maybe a little bit. Come on...cut me a little slack! It's Miss America, not the Pope...President....George Clooney.......

Decisions, decisions, decisions

Good morning! A beautiful day in the northeast and I am ready to put up the Christmas lights. That's right...me...alone...no one else? Why, BPM? You have a family, right?

Uh-huh...I have a family who disappears this time of year and if I waited for them to appear, I would placing up the Easter eggs on the trees. For the life of me, I am not sure why they do not take joy in the season and work with me to prepare. I thought that it was the journey and not necessarily the destination. Maybe I am too much of an optimist, so I will be like the Little Red Hen and do it myself...including eating the cookies myself too. Hmmm...perhaps that is not the best idea...in fact...I need to think that last sentence through.

So, BPM, how is the big kid? Well, I gotta say that he is much much better and on the way back to his old competitive nature....although.....

Yesterday, I took the drive to the campus to meet with the sports psychologist with him. I wanted to support him as he worked to clear his head and work through the fear of reinjuring himself...'cause ya know what? He could....that is reality. So the fear is not one that is unrealistic. It certainly can happen. Sooooo......

We sat in this brilliant man's office and Buddy spilled his guts and talked about the last year. The therapist listened and gave him excellent advice....thank you, Lord!

First, he has to abandon the party house. It is too much for him. He is constantly stressed out as his room mates are trying to duplicate the Playboy Mansion without the grotto or funds for anything stronger than cheap beer. This kid wants to go to school, study, rehab, work out, and kick butt on the pitching mound. Those are his goals. Therefore, cleaning vomit off his bedroom door, bouncing kids out of his house, and spackling the holes in the walls are not his idea of what his college experience should be. Yet, he made the decision to live with these guys and has to live with the consequences. for now....

He is in the throes of a decision to leave the house in January since the roomies are not receptive to any of his requests to not throw parties for the entire campus of 10,00 students. Remarkably, I think that we may be moving the contents of his bedroom from the place and leave the sofa. That's right...the sofa stays. Dad and I are NOT moving it again....no way, no how. Uh uh. Nope....stays until it disintegrates from  spilled, dried, and caked beer and nachos. Yesterday when I dopped him off at the house, he encouraged me not to enter. Naturally, I stayed in the car because the air was fresher and the floors were not sticky. I also figured that I could be scarred for life if I walked into that place one more time.

And now, the decision is being carefully considered as he decides whether it is worth spending another month, five months or 18 months with this bunch of guys. I know how I feel about the subject especially seeing his epiglottis and airway close off in the emergency room last month. But the decision is his. Once he makes it, he must live with the ramifications.

I can only imagine that his hopes and dreams of living in this house with his friends has been quite disappointing. This past summer, he could not wait to leave home and move into the house. He had visions of an open door policy and a place where his friends could come to hang out and play video games, drink beer and gatorade, and eat pizza. Yet, his roomies had other ideas. In fact, they used him to gain access to the house and create a place where they could be hoodlums. The look of the house, windows, porch and front lawn are Animal House-like yet this is not a movie. It is supposed to be a college house where they could be somewhat carefree without breaking any furniture, windows, and window blinds. They could be arrested, sued if anyone is injured, and evicted. Frankly, there is nothing funny or whimsical about this place.

Therefore, he has to make the final decision. As the Clash sing: "Should I stay or should I go?"

Always tease tease tease
You’re happy when I’m on my knees
One day is fine, next day is black
So if you want me off your back
Well come on and let me know
Should I stay or should I go?

Should I stay or should I go now?
Should I stay or should I go now?
If I go there will be trouble
An’ if I stay it will be double
So come on and let me know!

Stay tuned...it should be an interesting month of December....by the way:


Happy Birthday to my wonderful goddaughter, Buttercup! I love you!

Time to decorate the house.....or run off the cookie that I had for breakfast.....

Looking for a large box to live in

Good morning! Tink, Buddy and I are preparing to head for the bakery. I am actually eating a huge breakfast so that I am NOT hungry when I get there. I am looking forward to scooping apples and singing a little song in my head.

Why? Well, in the old days (here she goes....)...before iPods....I worked in a kitchen. We put the radio on when the supervisor wasn't there and would sing until it was time to serve dinner. Listening to tunes and singing helped the time to go quickly and pleasantly. Music is actually quite therapeutic....when I played singles in matches or tournaments, I would sing a song over and over in my head and sometimes out loud to get me in the rhythm of the game and keep my mind off of choking. Yep, I do believe that music has a great deal of power and can lull someone to sleep or motivate them to perform at their peak.

I suppose this is why the baseball players have their "walk out" songs. This is also true for the pitchers. Buddy has been working on his walk out song for years. It seems to change every few weeks. I actually suggested a Lenny Kravitz song that had an amazing guitar opening (Are You Going My Way?). Initially he loved it, but is now leaning toward a Toby Keith song. Whatever he wants, it is meant to inspire and keep his level of motivation and concentration at its highest level. My only request that he does not choose a song with 'cuss words, 'cause his momma and grandparents are listening....oh yea and his young impressionable cousins and any other little kid in the stands.

On to their living conditions....yes, there was yet another citation....what does this mean? Well, the room mates have to pay yet another fine for not putting the trash out or bringing the cans back in. Also, if there is trash on the lawn, the police drive by and write out a ticket and hand it to the landlord. From her latest email (yesterday), she is beyond peeved and probably muttering some 'cuss words that won't be found in any walk out song. If she receives another citation, these party boys are out on their !(#^@#))*%. Yeah...then what?

Well, they continue to pay for the house that they rented plus rent on another place as they search for another apartment to live in. If the landlords are organized, then Buddy and his posse have their faces posted on bulletin boards and telephone poles throughout the borough as students NOT to rent to...then what? Hmmm....perhaps if we get a television to replace the one that is not working well, they can live in the box in an alley. No cable...internet...electricity....heat...air conditioning.... oh yeah, no trash to take out. To say that dad is livid would be an understatement. We all know that if they are evicted, then we are responsible for providing the big box for him to live in. Yes, that's right...it will be a box and not a neat condo with a trash compacter but a box with a few holes poked into it for ventilation. After all, his sneakers stink.

Gotta head out....have a good one....however, if you see a big television box with air holes near a large university campus in the future, it could be my son and his friends living in luxury until they leave for the summer recess.