As we remember the heartbreaking events of September 11, 2001, I am honored to repeat a blog I first posted last year.

September 11

Last Tuesday I woke up to greet a southern New Jersey morning in all its September glory.  The humidity that had plagued our region for weeks on end had finally given way to the cool, crisp air that signals the start of autumn.  Abundant sunshine, a slight breeze, and barely a wisp of clouds, coupled with temperatures hovering in the high 70s made me yearn to spend the day outdoors.

In meteorological terms, we had stumbled upon a picture perfect day.  Much like the weather that had greeted an eerily similar Tuesday morning, on September 11, 2001.

When a colleague arrived a few minutes after 9 am to the hospital public relations office where I worked, she shared some troubling news.  Seems a plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York City, located less than an hour away.

My first reaction?  Honestly, I don't recall, but I know that I would not describe it as surprise.  I, like many others on that day, naturally assumed a small engine plane had veered of course, and, with a building so tall, a tragic accident such as this seemed inevitable.

I called my husband Bob at his home office.  Like me, he had not yet comprehended the magnitude of the events that were yet to unfold.  Citing his busy schedule and an upcoming meeting, he said he'd call me back.

A few minutes later, another co-worker came in to share the unbelievable truth.  Another plane had struck the World Trade Center.

This could not be an accident.

This could not be random.

We were under attack.

We walked the short distance down the hall where several people had gathered around a television housed in the physician's lounge.   As the news replayed the searing image of a jet plane making sickening contact with the building, we gasped in horror.

I recall my emotions in vivid detail as I watched the moment of impact.  Anger.  Anger that whoever flew plane number one into the building wanted to make sure that TV news cameras were fixed on the World Trade Center so that the world could witness, live, in vivid, heartbreaking detail, the shock of plane number two.

First New York City.

Then Washington, DC.

A field in rural Pennsylvania.

Where would the terrorists strike next?

We were at war.

With a growing sense of dread and urgency, I irrationally longed to crawl under my desk and hide, as if the terrorist planes could not find me there.   Instead I tried to call Bob again, and, much to my dismay, could not get through.  Panicked, I needed to tell him to pick up our innocent four-year old daughter Melissa from day care.  For, once again, I held onto the irrational belief that the terrorists would surely find her at Kiddie Academy, but she'd be safe at home.

What's more, my step-daughter Jessica, at the beginning of what has evolved into a successful career in political and grassroots advocacy, had been in New York on that beautiful Tuesday morning working on a local election.  We were somewhat sure that her destination did not involve the World Trade Center, but still....unbridled fear filled our hears.

When I finally reached Bob, he agreed to "rescue" Melissa from day care.  He spent the rest of the day fielding calls from worried friends and family who, knowing of Jessica's plans, needed the reassurance that Bob could not yet give, for we had not heard a word....we could not get through.

At the hospital public relations office, we discarded the routine of a typical Tuesday as we drafted statements for the media, responded to hundreds of callers wishing to donate blood, and watched as the towers came crumbling down.

By 2 pm, a bright glimmer of light flickered during this unnaturally dark day.  Jessica had called.  Tucked away in Brooklyn, she had observed the events of the day from the other side of the East River.  Horrified and shaken, she was, nonetheless, safe.

I'm not sure what time I finally left my office on that day.  During the drive home, the streets were eerily quiet, thanks to the recently imposed state of emergency in New Jersey.   I desperately wanted to turn on the news, to find out the latest, to get answers to the questions that now plagued an entire globe.  However, I refrained from situating myself in front of the television and instead,  gave my daughter the rare treat of eating her macaroni and cheese in the living room while our TV played the well worn Disney classic Beauty and the Beast.  Images of death and destruction filled every void that day, but I'd be damned if I'd let my four-year old witness footage of people choosing between a blazing inferno or a fall from 100 stories high.

During the surreal days that followed, while the realization that our world had forever changed slowly took hold, I found solace in the innocence of my beautiful daughter.  While shielding the horrors of September 11 from her, I subsequently shielded myself as well.  I took comfort in her sweetness, her smile, her delight, her routine, her likes, her dislikes, and her complete ignorance of her changing world.  Perhaps, in holding onto her innocence, I tried to hold onto the notion that things could still be the same.

A planned trip to Disney World two day after September 11 had to subsequently be cancelled.  We told Melissa the pilot had become sick, and, with the complete trust that a preschooler instinctively bestows upon her parents, she believed our tall tale.

I'm not sure how many years passed before we finally came clean about the pilot, the airplane, or the horrible events of that terrible Tuesday morning.  When we did talk about it, we made sure to explain in terms she could understand.....even though the events of that day were still beyond terms we could understand.

Three months after September 11, 2001, Bob, Melissa, Jessica, and I visited the famous Rockefeller Center in New York City.  Thousands of tourists had the same idea, as we braved the cold and the crowds to get a better look at what was perhaps the largest and most beautiful Christmas tree I had ever seen.  Despite my claustrophobic dislike of being surrounded by so many individuals, I couldn't help but feel a strong sense of satisfaction.   We were all there, in New York City, thousands strong, determined......and unafraid.

The terrorist did not win.

Life went on.

Melissa and me in New York City in front of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, December, 2011 - thousands came to New York City a mere three months after 9/11...the terrorists did not win, life went on.

If you like my stories, feel free to leave a comment below.

I originally wrote this post in February, 2012, when my now 16-year old daughter Melissa was in 8th grade.  As she prepares to start her sophomore year of high school, the words I wrote nearly two years ago still hold true.  I dedicate this post to all the moms and dads out there who will watch their cherubs get on the school bus this week. Whether it is for the first time, or, in my case, the 10th....the emotions that come with letting go never change.

Waiting at the Bus Stop with Mommy

Pencils?  Check! 

Crayons?  Check! 

Glue?  Check! 

Pink back pack?  Check!

Yes, the first day of kindergarten had arrived, and my six-year old daughter Melissa brimmed with excitement, a precious cherub waiting to embark on her newest adventure.

She skipped along between my husband Bob and me as we made our way to the bus stop, at least 20 minutes early.  I soaked in her emotions, while keeping my own in check.  The anticipation of the first day reigned supreme among the handful of kids who greeted her at the corner.  With camera in hand, I snapped still poses, while my next door neighbor Angelica shot video footage of her son Christopher, who would be in Melissa’s class.

At long last, or all too soon, depending on your perspective, the school bus arrived. We paused for a moment to let the older students climb on first.  Christopher boarded next, jumping the stairs and taking his rightful place among the big kids.  Then came Melissa’s turn.  She stopped half way up the steps and, in response to my pleas, turned and gave me one more smile.  Although the camera lens captured the scene, I need not have bothered taking photos.  The moment has been burned into my memory forever.

The bus pulled away and I stood there, watching, finally allowing my own feelings to swim to the surface.   I dabbed at the tears in my eyes, wondering just how many times I would experience this strange sort of melancholy every time Melissa passed through another milestone in her young life.

The next day, despite our best laid plans, instead of being at the bus 20 minutes early, we were still gulping down breakfast, and running through the house, making sure we had everything we needed for “Kindergarten: Day 2”.  Bob shouted words of encouragement, hoping to motivate us to move faster, yet his effort was all for naught. 

This time, the tears that flowed were Melissa’s as we watched the bus pull away, minus one member of its precious cargo.

“Mommy can drive you to school day,” I said reassuringly as I wrapped her in my warm embrace.

Soon enough, I found myself walking my baby into the office of her elementary school.   The secretary greeted me with a brusque smile, and asked the reason for the lateness.  

Great, I thought.  They are going to bestow the mother of the year award on me right now.  How was I going to handle 12 years of schooling for this child when I couldn’t even get her out the door on time for the second day of kindergarten?

Before I could answer, the vice principal stepped out from behind her desk and held out her hand, giving my daughter a wide, sweet, calming smile.  “It’s alright sweetie,” she told Melissa.  “I’ll walk you to your class.”

I certainly appreciated her kindness, but walking my daughter to class ranked as the number one, top priority on my to do list at that moment.  I wanted that honor, not some unknown school administrator!

“It’s ok,” I said.  “I don’t mind taking her.”

“Mrs. Weinstein, we really ask that the parents don’t walk the kids to class, it helps them to get used to their new environment,” came her text book reply.

With that, she took my daughter’s hand and off they went.  I stood there in the hallway….frozen…. watching them walk away toward Melissa’s classroom….away from the office….. away from me….

Wait.  What?  NO!  That’s my baby you are taking away!  THAT’S MY BABY!

I wondered if I would ever learn to let her go.

Eight years later, I still wonder.

Melissa, who is now in 8^th grade, has no longer granted permission for her mother to accompany her at the bus stop.  The strict rules allow me to walk outside with her and chat for a few minutes, however, as soon as the bus turns the corner and her fellow classmates get any inkling that she might be standing there with (gasp!) her mother, I must retreat back inside the house.

I break this rule quite often, retreating only to our front porch where I stand until I am absolutely, positively sure she is safely on the bus and on her way to school.  This constant rule breaking is often met with scolding from my teenage offspring.

“Mom, the little 6^th grader down the block doesn’t even have her mother wait at the bus with her!” she yelled in exasperation. 

I’m not sure why I can’t let her go.  I am gripped with some irrational fear that if I do not actually witness her stepping onto the bus, something will go wrong, she’ll be in harm’s way, and it will be beyond my control to do anything about it.

I try to explain that I worry out of love, which just leads to more exasperation on her part.  She assures me that she is fine, and deep down, I know she is right.

This morning, I tried to follow the rules.  Indeed, I removed myself from the vicinity of the bus stop and went back into the house within the designated time frame.  But the rules couldn’t stop me from watching out the window until I knew she was safe.

Next year, high school beckons, and four years after that, college.  It’s ok though.  I’m going to stow away under the bed in her dorm room.  She won’t even suspect I’m there.

When will I let her go?

The answer is quite simple.  Never.

Melissa on her first day of 10th grade!

As Melissa followed Chris onto the bus, she turned to give me one last hesitant smile before she embarked on her journey to her first day of kindergarten. This week she will start her sophomore year of high school.....10 years later, it's still so hard to let her go!

To my readers, can you tell me in the comments section below how you found my blog? Thanks so much!

White water rafting during our fantastic vacation!

The Hypnosis Show

All summer long, my husband Bob and I had been struggling to find the perfect spot for our annual family getaway .  Our goal? To carefully accrue our precious time off at work so we could tack on a week's vacation following our daughter Jessica's wedding on August 10 in Virginia.

Bob's original desire to spend a week touring civil war sites throughout the south did not meet with raucous enthusiasm from my 16-year old daughter Melissa...or me.  While I enjoy American history as much as the next guy, the thought of spending our afternoons under the hot summer sun on a civil war battle field, when we could just as well be at the beach...well, you get the picture.

As the weeks inched closer to the wedding, we still had a planned week off with no place to go!  We had been to Disney countless times, same for the Jersey shore. What's more, the myriad of suggestions I provided as an alternative were either deemed:

1. Too expensive by my hubby
2. Too boring by my daughter

Finally, one evening as I scrolled through pages and pages of hotel listing at nearby beach towns, Bob made an "out of the blue" suggestion.

"Why don't you Google the Great Smokey Mountains in Tennesse?"

"Tennesse?" I exclaimed with skepticism. "What in the world could be in Tennessee?"

I typed the unlikely vacation idea into the search engine, and immediately, Google showered me with pages and pages of results for a place called Gatlinburg.

With interest, I clicked on a link, only to discover a town that offered white water rafting, zip lining, amusement parks, arcades, hiking, alpine sledding, a zoo, a wax museum, dozens of restaurants to tap anyone's taste buds, and no shortage of family-friendly evening entertainment!  Upon further research, we discovered some terrific hotels with a host of amenities, offering accommodations that didn't empty our bank account.

When we suggested this seemingly terrific place to Melissa, her response was, you guessed it...

"It sounds boring."

Further conversation revealed that the boring aspect of Gatlinburg did not involve all of the wonderful activities....it involved doing all of the wonderful activities with .....(egads) HER PARENTS!

Hmmmmm. Who could we bring with us on our journey that would:

1. Keep Melissa company
2. Not drive us crazy

"I know!" exclaimed Bob.  "How about if we bring the boys?"

The boys, my dear friend Angelica's sons Chris, 16, and Brandon, 14, had become a part of our family over the past year. But would they want to spend a week with us in Tennesee?  The answer, after speaking to their mom....a resounding YES!

So, the morning after the wedding, we packed our three teenagers into the back seat of the car...and away we went!  Each activity-filled day passed much too quickly as Bob and I relished in the kids' adventurous spirit. Our last night in Gatlinburg found the five of us in the audience of a small theater, waiting with anticipation for Guy Michaels, a self-proclaimed hypnotist, to make his entrance.

In response to Guy Michaels request for volunteers, Bob, Chris, Brandon, and I enthusiastically jumped from our seats and ran onto the stage with Melissa, who left the safety of her seat a bit more reluctantly.

Guy Michaels sat each of his "subjects" in a chair and instructed us to sit back, tilt our head and attempt to relax.  He told us to visualize a spot where we felt at peace, an outdoor spot, a happy place. I struggled to find this unspoiled place of perfection.  I imagined various places in my world - the beach, the pool, my patio - with none giving me the serene sense of satisfaction that Guy Michaels had asked us to find.

I should have relaxed.
I tried to relax.
The truth was, I simply could not relax.

The more I heard Guy Michael's voice, the more my daily worries crept into my thoughts, barring all attempts to embrace a hypnotic state.  Feeling like a failure, I dutifully followed Guy Michael's instructions to leave the stage and return to my seat, where I discovered my daughter who, like me, could not find the happy place of hypnosis.

Disappointed, I wondered why the attempts at relaxation resulted in negative images flooding my mind. I felt lucky to be on a fantastic vacation with people I loved, yet I could not escape the stress that plagued my life back home.

Troubled by my mind's refusal to let go,  I instead turned my attention to the nine people who remained on stage, slumped over in their chairs in a hypnotic state...including Brandon, Chris, and Bob.

Melissa and I instantly forgot our failure as we focused on the scene that had unfolded in front of us.  A middle-aged woman had fallen asleep on Chris's shoulder, yet he seemed unaware of her presence. In the meantime, convinced that Bob would break out into his trademark "rock the rafters" snoring, we struggled to stifle our increasingly loud laughter.

As the show progressed, Guy Michaels had his "subjects" act like piano players, dancers, kittens, and body builders. He had them sunbathing on the beach (Chris really acted the part by taking off his shirt), shivering in the rain, and roaring like dinosaurs!  Watching my mild-mannered, couch potato Bob strutting around the stage resulted in panic-stricken laughter that had Melissa and I wiping tears from our eyes.

When the show came to a close, the "subjects" claimed not to remember anything....statements that were not entirely true. Had they been hypnotized? We'll never quite know.  Bob simply explained that because he felt so relaxed, he didn't mind hamming it up for the crowd. So maybe he had, indeed, slipped into a hypnotic state.

As for me, for that delightful hour, while watching the antics of my hubby and my two favorite boys, I embraced a pure, unadulterated place of joy and just laughed and laughed and laughed.

And the laughter knocked the negative thoughts from my mind.

And the laughter kept my stress at bay.

And thanks to the laughter, finally....

I relaxed.

Hmmmm.....perhaps I had been hypnotized after all.

Chris (center) and Bob strut their stuff during the hypnosis show

Brandon becomes a dinosaur during the hypnosis show

A middle-aged woman unknowingly fell asleep leaning on Chris during the hypnosis show

A Toast to the Maid of Honor

During the early evening hours, after my family has spent quality time at the dinner table rehashing our days, we all tend to retreat to our favorite places in the house.

My husband Bob sets up shop in his "Man Cave" - AKA the Family Room - 20 remotes by his side, as his 70 inch TV screen blares the latest zombie movie.  My 16-year old daughter Melissa finds her place of comfort on the living room floor, guitar in hand, and starts strumming away, while I sit on the living room sofa, working on my blog and savoring the beautiful music brought to life by my oh so talented offspring.

For the past few weeks, however, the music stopped every time I walked into the room.  Troubled by her sudden tendency to not want me around while she played, I inquired about her change of heart. Seems my baby was attempting to add "song writer" to the list of her multiple musical abilities, and her mother's presence just stopped the creative process in its tracks!

The reason for the song? Her sister Jessica's wedding!

Melissa had been appointed to the important role of Maid of Honor, which meant she would be required to publicly toast the bride and groom during the reception.  Public speaking? Not my daughter's thing.  Yet put a guitar in her hand and my Melissa becomes one with the audience, connecting in a way I never thought possible.

So instead of giving a speech, Melissa sought to write a song - a special song to express to her sister just how very much she loved her....and to her brother-in-law Brian, how happy she was to welcome him to the family.

The result? A poignant parody of Taylor Swift's "Love Story".

To view the video of Melissa's performance at the wedding, 
click here

LOVE STORY
By - Melissa Weinstein, Maid of Honor Extraordinaire

We were on a long 8 hour car ride when Jessie mentions that she met a new boy
She gives a sigh
Everything he says is from Family Guy

Brian knew he had to get on my good side
He texted me so I wouldn't be bored on the way home
Little did I know.....
That Jessie and Brian had to be together
Ohio's not nearly close enough for her
Planes are too expensive, driving is way too far...

And she said
Brian move in with me please don't leave me all alone
I'll be waiting all that's left to do is pack
We'll get some dogs they'll chew up the sofa
It's a love story
Baby just say....
Yes

So mom asks Jessie is this new boy Jewish
She says kind of he's half and half is that ok
Mom says to marry him anyway

We were at the mall we were going shopping 
Then I turn around to Jessie I said wait hold on
Have you thought about it lately is Brian gonna be the one?

And she said
Yes baby sister Brian is the one for me
We love each other and that's how it should be
We're gonna get married but don't tell a soul yet
It's a love story baby just say....
Yes

Oh ohh   Oh ohh

But as I started thinkin....
Wondering if I've said this enough to no end
But Jessie I love you....
And did I mention that you're my best friend

Brian please take care of her
She's helped me through everything
First year of high school and how to deal with stupid boys
So let's make a toast to Jessie and Bri 
'Cause he knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said

Marry me Jessica you'll never have to be alone
I love you and that's all I really know
I talked to your sis go pick out a white dress
It's a love story baby just say....
Yes

Oh ohh  Oh ohh

We were both at AFSCME when I first saw you........

My beautiful step-daughter Jessica and her new husband Brian!

In addition to her beautiful performance, Melissa made this poster for Jessica and Brian - it's a Dr. Suess quote!

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Walking Off My Fat Arms

Two weeks ago, on a Monday morning at 6:30 am, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, with one pound weights held firmly in each hand, I left my house and began my brisk walk through the still sleeping streets of my quiet suburban neighborhood.

As the occasional jogger passed me by, we both followed the "runner/jogger/walker code of ethics" that states, you must make eye contact, smile, and say good morning.

Yes, by dressing the part and even adding the weights for good measure, I had managed to fool "professional" runners, joggers, and walkers that I had been doing this for years!

HAHAHAHAHA!

The truth is, my idea of exercise is getting up and walking the measly two inches from the sofa to the bathroom several times a night during my evening sedentary activities of either:

1. Blogging
2. Facebooking
3. Reading
4. Watching TV

All noble hobbies, I might add, but good for getting those cardio juices flowing? I think not!

So why, you may ask, for every day for the past two weeks, with the temperatures steamy enough to pop popcorn on the sidewalk, did I leave the comfort of my cozy bed at the insanely early hour of 6:30 am to go outside for a walk?

I will tell you the answer in two words.

Fat arms.

Some of you may be scratching your heads?

Fat arms you say, Lisa. Is that the name of a new rock band? (If not it should be)

For those of you wondering why fat arms are relevant, allow me to share that I recently tried on the dress I am going to where to my step-daughter's wedding in two weeks.

(My middle-aged, female readers are beginning to understand and empathize, I'm sure.)

Since my "I must lose 3,000 pounds before the wedding diet" falls victim on an hourly basis to pretzels, cookies, pasta, and ice cream, I have come to the cruel realization that I just might not lose the pitiful pounds before the blessed event.

This left me in quite a quandary.  Sure, I loved the dress, but it came with a billboard attached blaring the following advertisement.

THE LADY IN THIS STRAPLESS DRESS HAS FAT ARMS!

My solution? 

Use my magical powers to transform my fat arms into impressive, "Don't mess with Lisa" muscular arms.

But how?

I know! I'll lift weights! 

(Keep in mind that the closest I have come to lifting weights is lifting a one gallon container of milk from the supermarket shelf into the cart)

But lifting weights is boring. Then it hit me!

I know! I'll lift weights and walk....AT THE SAME TIME!

Since the mandatory summer heat wave had settled over my southern New Jersey neighborhood, stepping outside anytime past 9 am was out of the question.

However, at 6:30 am, the sun's rays had not yet peeked over the trees, whose branches provided welcome shade as I forced myself to maintain a brisk and steady pace, swinging my arms back and forth so that the weights would do their magic.

The early morning hour kept the oppressive humidity temporarily at bay, allowing me to relish in the calm serenity of my world at dawn.  My early morning exercise had become much more than a ridiculous quest to look good in a dress.  It had become a time to capture of few moments of peace before the start of a hectic day filled with work and family and chores and appointments and precious little time to sit back and well....just BE.

Now, when the alarm so rudely jolts me from my slumber, I resist the temptation to slam my fist on the snooze button. Instead, I get up, throw my hair in an "oh so flattering" ponytail, and hit the sidewalk.

After several days of trying to convince my husband Bob and 16-year old daughter Meliss to experience the serenity by my side, I finally won half the battle....Melissa agreed to join me.

There are precious few moments to connect when your offspring becomes a teenager. Moms who were revered from birth through the tween years, are suddenly ridiculed for singing, laughing, dancing, and (egad) attempted to engage in public displays of affection.

However, in the early morning hours, before the rest of the world joins the fray, the rules between mother and daughter are relaxed just a bit.  And during our brisk walk down the tree lined streets, we share in something special.....we just.....well.....we just....talk!

We talk about anything. We talk about everything.  We just talk.

All too soon, we're back home, where we walk through the door and symbolically part ways. Melissa grabs breakfast, and I head upstairs for a warm shower, signaling the start to another busy day.

My walks may not result in any change in my fat arms....but I guess in the end it really doesn't matter.... because time with my daughter is worth so much more.

My beautiful daughter Melissa and me at her 16th birthday party!

If you like my stories, please tell me in the comments section below!

Taylor Swift and Broken Cars and Lightening Storms...Oh My!

Horror movies? Not my thing.

Not so for my husband Bob.  He thoroughly embraces the horror movie experience, reveling in the suspense and marveling at the special effects. However, by the time the credits roll, Bob pushes the imaginary "delete"  button in his brain, rendering the movie null and void. In other words, it's completely vanquished from his mind, and he simply moves on to the next movie or TV watching experience.

As for me, on the rare occasion I do sneak a peek at a horror movie, you'll find me curled up in bed in a fetal position for weeks on end, thumb in mouth.  Why? Because for me, horror movies are REAL!

Therefore, I do not actively seek out horror movies, leaving Bob to watch them alone, or find others who share his strange enjoyment of being scared to death.

So, on Saturday night, as my 16-year old daughter Melissa and I prepared to spend the evening hanging with Taylor Swift, Bob made the brief journey to the next town over to pick up "our" boys (my dear friend Angelica's sons Chris, 16 and Brandon, 14) who were enthusiastically willing to participate in the horror flick experience!

In the meantime, Melissa and I climbed into our "secondary" car, an 8-year old, boat-sized Mercury Marquis with nearly 100,000 miles under its belt.

I gave Melissa full radio control, and, getting into the concert spirit, we sang our hearts out during the 40 minute drive from our suburban home in southern New Jersey across the bridge to Philadelphia and our final destination,  Lincoln Financial Field, a huge football stadium affectionately known by the locals as "The Linc".

Tonight, The Linc would play temporary host to Taylor Swift and her opening act, singer Ed Sheeran. Bob had surprised Melissa with the tickets nearly six months ago, and now that only a few hours remained until the concert, we couldn't hide our excitement.

Disclaimer.
I know. I am a 48-year old middle-aged woman, but YES! I admit it! I like Taylor Swift!

As we approached the concert venue, we joined approximately 50,000 cars all vying to get the best spots inside the limited parking facilities.  I vowed to stay calm as traffic ground to a halt, and continued to enjoy the time with my daughter.  Finally, after what seemed like 21 years, we inched our way into the lot, paid the outrageous $30 parking fee, (A few choice words shattered my calm as I prepared to part with the cash) and found the perfect spot to leave our car for the evening.

Or so I thought.

I put the gear shift into park, and prepared to turn off the engine...however, the car continued to inch forward. Perplexed, I slammed my foot on the brake and the movement stopped.  Slowly, I lifted my foot off the brake and sure enough, the car resumed its forward motion.

A bit panicked now, I employed the use of the emergency brake and pulled the key out of the ignition.

The car stood still.

Melissa and I cautiously got out, only to discover that because of the car's mysterious forward movement, the Mercury Marquis had come to rest too far outside of the designated parking space. I jumped back behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition, while Melissa waited outside.

Once again, I could only describe my emotions as perplexed as I wondered why Melissa held up her hand, signaling for me to stop moving. I had done nothing to make the car move, yet it slowly inched backwards this time, seemingly of its own accord.

I slammed on the brake, bringing my possessed vehicle to a halt.  Sure enough, when I removed my foot, much to my horror the car resumed going backwards.  I again turned to the safety of the emergency brake, which seemed the only means of controlling the ghosts and goblins that had surely taken residence under the hood.

I attempted to start the ignition, but turning the key produced zero results.

My demon-car had the ability to move forward and backward on its own, yet decided it would not let me start the engine!

Clearly it was time to perform an exorcism call in the big guns, the expert, the big kahuna...Bob!

Meanwhile, unaware that Melissa and I were experiencing our own horror movie - Bob, Chris, and Brandon were killing time at the mall until it was time to see their own horror movie.

In response to my call of sheer panic, Bob assured me that he and the boys would abandon their plans and drive immediately to The Linc to investigate the situation. He told us to go in and see the show, to have a good time, and not to worry.

Easier said than done.

Had my car not waited until we had parked to reveal its demon side and acted out while travelling 65 MPH on the expressway, we could have been in serious danger. My daughter, my baby, the love of my life, my reason for living.  If something had happened to her...

I couldn't finish the thought.

Instead I focused my energies on joining the throngs of moms, daughters, tweens, and teens making their way into the stadium. I tried to concentrate on the show, but my mind stayed on Bob, and the car, and our transportation home.

Once we had hiked up the 2,972 stairs that led to our upper level seats, I sent Bob and the boys text after text after text that went unanswered, thanks to the lousy reception in The Linc, which only served to magnify my frustration!

As Melissa happily turned her attention to Ed Sheeran, I stole glances at my cell every three seconds, hoping for an update from Bob.  After an achingly long hour, my "Night in Shining Armor" ensured me the car had been towed, he would take Chris and Brandon home, and then come back to The Linc to safely escort his girls back to New Jersey.  He also emphatically told me to enjoy the show.

So I took his advice and kept my worries at bay..... until I looked at the sky.

Ominous clouds had gathered on the horizon, while the occasional flash of lightening signaled the approach of an impending storm.

It is important to note at this point in my tale that The Linc is an outdoor stadium.

Sigh.

Suddenly, a voice came over the public address system blaring a message I could not hear thanks to the screams of the tweens who mistakenly thought they were listening to an introduction to Taylor.

Fortunately, the message repeated over and over and over again.

"The national weather service has issued a severe thunder storm warning. We are expecting heavy rain, wind, and lightening.  Please leave your seats and take cover in the stadium concourse. We will inform you when it is safe to return to your seats."

Melissa and I made our way down the 2,972 stairs and claimed our spot among the thousands of moms, daughters, tweens, and teens who now occupied the stadium concourse.

While the snack bar employees helped pass the time by playing Taylor Swift music for the crowd, we stared out at the incredible spectacle unfolding before our eyes. Lightening strikes of epic proportion invaded the sky, creating unstoppable sparks of jagged, electric beauty...nature's own spectacular strobe light.

Then came the rains, and the wind, coupled with sounds of little girls screaming in response to the thunder.

Sigh.

Ten minutes ticked away. Then 15....25...35....

Tired of standing, we joined a number of other moms, daughters, tweens, and teens who decided to simply sit right there on the concourse floor.

Five more minutes ticked by.

Would the rain ever stop?

Ten more minutes.

Would the concert be cancelled?

Fifteen more minutes.

People were getting to their feet!

Could it be!?

Could the rain have stopped?

Would the show go on!?

YES!

At 10:45 pm, two hours later than planning, Taylor Swift finally greeted her Philadelphia fans!

Fast forward 90 minutes. Amid a dazzling display of fireworks, Taylor belted out the last note to her hit single "We are Never Getting Back Together", took a bow, and left the screaming crowd to navigate their way out of the stadium. (The show was very good, I might add)

Once again, Melissa and I joined the throngs of moms and daughters and tweens and teens into the concourse, down the stairs and out into the midnight air, where a slight drizzle was all that remained of the earlier storm.

Our next task at hand....find Bob among what seemed like the entire population of North America.

With one hand holding the cell to my ear and the other trying to grab Melissa's hand so we wouldn't get separated (she refused take my hand, she is 16 after all - there was a principle to uphold here) we pushed our way through the throngs of moms, daughters, tweens, and teens, all walking in 27 different directions.

In the meantime, my cell conversation with Bob went something like this:

Bob: "I am parked on Darien Avenue, you have to walk about a half a mile."

Me: "What!"

Bob: "Just keep walking on Darien"

Me: "I am on Darien, where are you."

Bob: "I'm on Darien, keep walking."

Me: "Are you on the left or right side of the street?"

Bob: "The left side."

I grab Melissa's hand as we shoved 32 moms and daughters out of the way in our mad dash to get to the other side of the street.

Me: "Ok, I'm on the other side."

Bob: "Stay right there, I'm coming to get you."

Me: "WHAT?"

Bob: "Stay right there on Darien, on the right side."

Me: "WHAT?"

Bob: "I'm driving up on the right side, stay there."

Me: "I'm not on the right side I'm on the left side!"

Bob: "WHAT?"

By what can only be categorized as divine intervention, Melissa and I finally saw the familiar headlights of our car, my "Night in Shining Armor" tucked safely behind the wheel, ready to whisk us home.

As soon as we climbed in I took one look at Bob and knew something was terribly wrong. Sure enough, when we arrived at our house in the wee hours of the morning, the thermometer confirmed my suspicions....my hero had a 102 degree fever.

I took off my concert-goer hat and replaced it with my caregiver hat, nursing my man back to health.

Two days later, the car's still in the shop and my man is still sick.  If anyone needs me I'll be upstairs...in bed...in a fetal position...thumb in mouth...

Melissa at the Taylor Swift concert! Great show, despite the 2-hour rain delay and our broken down car!!

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Mommy Can I Have a Dog?

The story below was my first official blog post in January, 2012, before I had any followers. Since I'm suffering from horrible writer's block, I thought it was a good time to run it again. I originally wrote this story when my now 16-year old asked for a dog at the age of six.  Although I don't write about it in this blog, our dog sadly, passed away soon after she entered our life.  

“Mommy, can I have a dog?” 

And so it began. The official start of my 6-year old daughter’s quest for a canine companion. 

Unaware that her seemingly logical attempts to convince me to say yes have been used by thousands of children before her, Melissa tried to appeal to my sense of fairness.

“Mommy, I’ll take care of her, I’ll give her a bath, I’ll feed her, I’ll walk her, I promise,” she proclaimed with confidence.

“Even at 6:00 in the morning in the middle of January when it’s freezing cold outside?” I asked.

“Uh huh”

“Maybe when you’re older,” piped in my husband Bob.

“BUT Daaadddddyyyy, I want a dog now!”

Alas, she is guided by love, not logic, which is not inherently a bad thing.  Sometime I wish that logic did not occupy such a prominent part of my brain, but in this case, my head, not my heart, took hold of the reins.  The reasons for not getting a dog were endless.  Our townhouse was small.  Our cat, who has had a sure and steady rule over the family for nearly 12 years, would certainly not welcome an intruder.  My husband and I both work. We have no yard for the dog to roam free and, contrary to my little girl’s solemn promise to walk the pup at sunrise on winter mornings, I knew full well that the person taking those frigid strolls would be me.

Melissa’s constant begging for a dog eventually subsided, but never entirely went away.  Every few weeks or so, particularly after seeing one of those heart-wrenching “Boy finds dog-boy loses dog, boy finds dog again and lives happily ever after” movies, the pleading would begin anew

“Mommy, I don’t want to wait until I’m 13, I want a dog NOW!”

Repeat anti-dog rationale stated above.

She forgot about the dog during the holidays, which was good since the bombardment of gifts from relatives across the country left little room for anything else in our tiny house.  She forgot about the dog during the month of January, as the winter weather drove her outdoors, immune to the cold, to frolic in the first snow of the season.  She forgot about the dog until that fateful day in February, when my husband and I somehow had to find a way to tell our little girl that we were going to move far away from her school, her friends, her Brownie Troop and all that has been familiar to her.

I picked her up from school that day and drove her home, dreading the moment that she would notice the “For Sale” sign in the bedroom window.  That moment came immediately.

“What’s that sign mommy?”

Before I could answer she wandered into the house, up the stairs and into my husband’s home-office where he scooped her up with his big, strong daddy arms.

“Melissa,” he said.  “When we move, we are going to get you a dog.”

My eyes widened.  My mouth dropped.  I glared at him in silence and thought, how about discussing this with me?!  No luck.  She jumped off his lap with glee and started thinking up names for her future pet.  There was no turning back

Fast forward 6 months.  Finally, after many real estate pitfalls that I’ll save for a future column, we are in our dream home.  “Emily”, lovingly named by the animal shelter workers who cared for her, sits at my feet, happy as can be.  A Rottweiler/Shepard mix (or so they suspect), our new dog had lived for three months at the shelter.  It only took two days for Emily to feel comfortable in her new home.  She’s crazy about us, and the feeling is mutual.  We wonder about her life prior to wandering the streets as a stray.  Her pleasant demeanor and ability to let us know when she has to “go” leads us to believe that her former owner trained her well.  Sadly, our vet tells us the new addition to our family may be further along in her life than originally thought. 

Now, I too, am guided by love.  Giving her back is not an option, she is already a part of our family.  Bob and I decide that Melissa need not know that her dog is old.  “We’ll enjoy her as long as we have her,” said Bob as we watched Melissa play with Emily is the comfortable confines of our large, fenced in back yard.

The two of them run over to us, both out of breath from their fun.  “Mommy,” says Melissa with a smile on her face, “ I love Emily, I want to keep her forever.”

“Me too, Melissa,” I said. “Me too.”

Melissa with her new dog Emily!

According to the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA), millions of dogs and cats are destroyed annually in shelters across the country because there are no homes for them and many of these animals are pure breeds. If you would like to adopt from a shelter and save a life, log on to www.petfinder.com, the ASPCA's online partner.  Their database website accesses approximately 60,000 animals at 5,528 shelters and rescue groups that are available for adoption throughout the United States. You can search this site by breed, sex, age, gender and location.  Petfinder will provide you with a photo and bio on each pet waiting for adoption.

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